RAGE AGAINST MY FAINT HEART When I called Terry about Che~lo~han Free-trappers' Canoe trek little did I know we were to drive to roads end.
Pack our camp gear and canoes down to the beach at Bumping Lake about 100-yards, pack the gear in the canoes and put in.
The primitive camp site was about 30 miles from the launch site ( actually 2 1/2 miles which seemed like 30-miles)
Now at this juncture kick me, cuss me, beat me but all I had to go in was a 8-foot pontoon boat.
I tried to find a canoe at Bi-Mart, Walmart and Costco but none were available, I read every Nickel Nick, Penny Press and Nickel Saver available.
The closest canoe was in Oregon and this was the day before the trek.
SOOOO I looked in the garage and decided to use my pontoon boat, that was the beginning of the avalanche of goofy decisions.
I don't know whom substituded as the village idiot while I was away.
I went over and over my camp gear to get as light a load as possible.
The pontoon is rated for 380-pounds gross load in the instructions.
I weigh in at 260 pounds and my load was 120 pounds. I don't know how I expected to get away with showing up to a primitive on a pontoon boat, all I knew was I wanted to go.
At this juncture I must explain my perceived problem of being 60 and fainthearted. You know how yor wake up on Saturday morning and just want to stay in bed and snooze till noon when it's a gorgeous day and you should already be up at the lake fishing?.....That's fainthearted, and I got it bad! I was going to rage against being fainthearted by making this trek.
"THE LAUNCH"
With the help of friends I hauled all my gear and boat down to the beach.
The snide remarks didn't phase me, I was on a quest and "damn the torpedoes". I should have thought something was amiss when I loaded the pontoon boat and it was sticking straight up on end that it was tad over loaded and I hadn't got on yet.
Another clue should have come when the others pushed off and disappeared and I was still tied to the dock.
My pontoon boat was at a down bow angle like a sub doing an emergency dive. I started rowing but wasn't going so pretty good. I looked in the side pocket where I keep my my anchor thinking that it had slipped out and was stuck on the bottom. No, it was right there with the line neatly wrapped around it.
I was plowing more than gliding like the canoes had. I thought, self, I better double my strokes if I am going to get to camp before the weekend was over. So I shifted into high gear. I did make some headway.
Everyone had long since arrived at the camp and were almost completely set up when I arrived.
What took them a half-hour, took me two-and-a-half hours.
Oh, when I was away from the launch about a mile, the wind came up, blowing 10 to 20 mph. The waves were breaking over the duffle bags I had loaded on the front cargo rack. The ice cold water was splashing on my back and I would shudder.
I spit in the water to mark how fast I was moving. Instead of moving behind as it should, it went slowly ahead of the direction I was rowing, I was losing ground.
I reached inside for resolve and started pulling harder. Several times I told myself, self, "you got to be kidding, where the hell did they go"?
Finally I rounded the last curve and could see the canoes beached ahead several miles or so it seemed. I was plowing into waves and was running on reserve energy, I didn't know I had. My palms and fingers were blistered. My shoulders and chest were burning.
Finally,I pulled into the beach and my feet felt the bottom. I got over the gawfaws and snide remarks once more, just glad to be on dry land.
New problem was I couldn't stand up. Both legs had fallen asleep. I did not want to feed the harassments by showing any physical stress, so I sat there till I could stand up.
"THE PRIMITIVE CAMP"
It took about 30-minutes to get my composture and feel a burst of strenght to haul my ass and gear off the beach.
I set up a primitive camp and felt a little obsolved of coming in by a rubber boat. The snide remarks slowly subdided. A little girl stopped by and salved my bruised ego by telling me, "everyone is laughing at you".
I had originally planned to row past the beach landing site, hide my boat and hike back to the camp.
There was no PAST, I barely made the landing site, that I was sure. I blended into the crowd of twenty other buckskinners and slowly got over my embarrassment.
The jugs came out and were passed around. The spirits made us all more sleepy than frisky, so we all were in our bed rolls snoring by 8:30pm.
My hidden air mattress needed for my bad back, went flat every hour leaving me on the cold hard ground. I tried to be as quiet as possible in the rain blowing it back up. I heard some under the breath comments but finished my blow up task.
I don't know why I set up a lean-to cover when I got soaked every hour till daylight blowing up my air-mattress.
About the time I would get through with the mattress and crawl in my bed roll, quit shaking and fall asleep, it was time to rise and blow up the mattress again. To say the least, this situation made for a long three day weekend.
Saturday night we had a sing fest. No one knew all the words to a song. Since we couldn't make a fire, we hauled out our lanterns and placed them in a circle to act as the bonfire.
I didn't mention the canoe bow contest that took place Saturday morning because I didn't want to open the rubber boat subject again.
I quietly took pictures from the beach. Some of the contestants shot perfectly from canoe, while others shot holes through their canoe floors. It was fun to watch.
We had a mountain man run after the canoe bow shoot but a sudden rain storm sent us for cover.
"A HOLE IN THE SOLE"
When I came ashore Friday, I was wearing UN-primitive Nikes, nylon swim and a U of W exercise shirt. I was soaked. My plan worked in that my leathers were dry inside one of the two large canvas duffle bags. As quickly as possible I changed to frimitive attire. The each was made of small patches of sand punctuated by yards of large hard ice age boulders. Within one trip from pontoon boat to camp wearing thin moccasins my tender feet were stone bruised to hell. When I walked back to the beach I stepped on a nail that went deep into the arch. I actually had to sit down on a log and tug hard to pull it out. OUCH! it really hurt. I squeezed the puncture wound as hard as the pain would allow to make it bleed and squeeze the tetanus out. It hurt to walk on, of course and then it swelled.
On my last trip hobbling to the bench to pull my boat furhter up on the shore, I slid down a sharp incline and rolled my right ankle.
Now I'm hobbling on both legs making a somewhat bizarre sight to the few that noticed.
These two infirmities added to my physical burden over the long three days. I tried not to hobble and draw attention to myself and possible references to coming in a rubber boat.
I bared up well.
The tetanus shot was fun on Monday.
"THE RETURN VOYAGE"
You guessed it, the wind came up but from the opposite direction this time and the waves were bigger.
I loaded early to get a jump on the other.I launched about 10:00am.
Once again, the waves were breaking over the bags and splashing on my back. I was soaked.The return trip was again two-and-one-half-hours. Being stiff from Friday made this return effort harder, an understatement much like saying that The Elephant Man was just a little puffy around the eyes. I hurt. My blisters cracked open and my chest and shoulders felt like they had ripped loose.
I pickled up a new malady on my return voyage, my lower back started shooting pains, probably because of frozen kidneys.
Missed and went past the launch point by about a quarter-mile.
I had to turn around and pull my hardest with the waves breaking between my legs and splashing up to my face. If I had a ounce of reserve left I blew it when I had to turn around and row back.
You would think that with less load on the return, having eaten the food and drinking the two-gallons of water would have been easier. NOPE, it seemed twice as hard.
My friends came around the last corner while I was struggling back and covered the last mile in a few minutes.They were loaded and up at the rigs eating a can of mixed nuts when I finally came ashore.If they hadn't help me haul my boat up to my van I would still be laying on the beach awaiting burial.
The biggest relief came when I crawled behind the wheel of my van and started home.
I have the pontoon boat up for sale and have ordered 17'x 43" Coleman Scanoe rated at 950 lb payload. I raged against my faintheart and prevailed. I had fun. I learned my lesson, yet still much the fool.
The voyage of the "Ruptured Oracle" is finished for now.
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