The following year when we made our annual visit and I went to go find my hidden bounty, I found to my horror that my Grandpa had cleared out that section of the grove for one reason or another. To this day my three quarter, four dime, a nickle and a dozen pennies lays hidden in the soil of the old farm. I believe Duckie had found hers, but she never did tell me where her hiding spot was located.
On the year that Duckie and I were the only ones to take the trip, 2001, we reminisced about the old days when we still lived at home with Mom and Dad. Somehow we got on the topic of the hidden treasures from the days of the old farm when one of us suggested we do something like that again, only this time bury the hidden treasure somewhere out here, at the Doons.
At first I suggested we bury a notebook we could dig up every year and write down tales of our adventures on the river. We both liked this idea, but weren't quite sure what to bury the notebook in to protect it from the elements. A little cooler was mentioned and then a metal box. One of us even threw in the idea of buying a home fire safe box, but neither of us wanted to spend that kind of money on a notebook protector. Then it came to one of us; instead of burying a notebook we should bury a bottle of our favorite whiskey...Windsor.
On the following year of the annual canoe trip, be brought along a 1.75 liter bottle of Windsor. Since the Doons are the only constant as to where we camp every year, it was to be the place we would bury the booze.
That evening, when the first signs that the sun was going to be setting soon we pulled the bottle from the cooler, grabbed the shovel that was brought specifically for this purpose and took off down that trail that leads north from the hill top camp site. We went alone, this was going to be our own private tradition.
We travel a hundred yards or so and then took an old beaver skid trail down towards the river, the crashing sound of the water grew as we neared its shore. We looked around for a suitable spot to bury the bottle. It was decided that we should move away from the shore because if we were to have another year like 2001, the burial spot wold be submerged beneath the rumbling Bigfork. Moving to a level spot between the hill and the river we found the perfect location. After clearing away dead leave and musty moss I tore into the soft earth with the shovel; I stopped when the hole was a foot deep and large enough to accommodate the shiny brown bottle. Cracking it open we each took a mighty swig, no wash mind you, sealed it back up and tossed it into the freshly dug hole. We carefully replaced the dirt, moss and leaves, attempting to leave no trace that we had been there. Then we went back to the camp.
That evening TBD carved a tiny sapling into what looked like a pencil. Duckie said it would be the perfect marker for our bottle, so TBD gave it to her to place before we left the Doons the following day. The crew then proceeded to get just totally shitfaced and enjoy our time at the greatest camp site in Northern Minnesota.
Proud of The Damn ThingThe week following the canoe trip I got a phone call from Duckie, she explained how when she was unpacking her camping gear she came across the "pencil" TBD carved. The same one we were going to use as our marker. It seems we celebrated a little harder than we thought.
When we arrived at the Doons the next year we set off for out bottle after we had gotten camp all set up for the evening. The topic of the bottle was hot that years as it was the first year we were going to dig it up, take our annual swig and set her back in the grave for another year's worth of aging.
We trampled up and down the bank for a good twenty minutes, checking here, checking there and even arguing about which beaver skid trail we should take. Duckie was right, it was closer to camp than I thought. We had to dig a few holes before we found the sweet spot. Then, before our eyes, the dirt gave way an our bottle was unearthed. We each took a horn, took a picture with the bottle and chucked her back into the hole. However, this time I brought an ax and marked the tree closest to the bottle.
The next year we didn't make it to the Doons because of the Curse of the Yellow Rubber Duck, but that is a story for another day.
We have been to the bottle a couple more times, but missed last year because of the low water level in the river, that however, didn't stop us from having another adventure with the gang. This year when we visit the bottle's grave we are going to replace it with a bottle of a finer whiskey, Jameson.
We found it Again!!
1 comment:
We are going to make it this year, and it is the first time since I stared this blog. We have not got that bottle since 2006...this is some aged whiskey.
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