The Birth of the Semi-Incredible Hulk and Marshal Sparky the Dick

Instead of hooking-up again we motored down the river trying to make a little time; the rumble in our tummy's egging us on. Em and I were in front and that is when we saw the strange animal attempting to cross the river. Shortly after that we came to a field, so we slowed up to allow the others to catch us.

"General," I said pointing with my paddle, "is that the field?"
He squinted, surveying the shoreline. "Is there a down tree?" He yelled back.
"Nope."
"Keep going then." Back in the water went our paddles.

It is amazing how fast people can really travel on a river if they have a decent current and keep a steady pace with paddle strokes. The shoreline zips by as the tinkling sound of the canoe's ripple compliments the sounds of nature. Within fifteen minutes of our decision to camp the field with the fallen tree came into view, a welcome site if there ever was one.

We selected a nice spot along the shore to dock our canoe. There was a small little hump of land that served a a nice stop-block to wedge our canoe into so Em could climb out and then steady the canoe as I did the same. The Mule and James went about fifty feet downstream from us and Ducking and the General came to rest about fifty feet upstream. As soon as I got out of the canoe, Em and I grabbed the front and pulled it as far out of the water as we could. We got about a fourth of it out of the water when we stopped to peel back the tarp and take a what we could of the gear out of the canoe to lighten the load; then we repeated the process. We did that until the canoe was light enough to pull all the way out of the water. Then a roar broke the tranquil sounds of nature.

The roar came from James. I turned just in time to hear him say something about "unloading"the canoe and see him try to heave a beer and liquor laden cooler almost to the shore. Missed it by that much. I looked at Em and she at me, we then turned to Duckie and the General, all four of us just shrugged our shoulders and went about unpacking our gear. This was the annual Mule and (the now newly dubbed) Semi-Incredible Hulk fight. It has happened every year since he first started coming on the trip. It is almost like tradition. There's the blow-out, the cool-down period, the make-up then everybody is happy and the party continues. It just wouldn't feel like a canoe trip if it didn't happen. Although this year it did seem to come a little earlier than usual. Usually the "argument" happens at the Doons.

After the Fight and Fire

With a good chunk of our gear already out of the canoe I grabbed myself another cold one and headed to have a little chat with the General as to where to set up camp. I had also grabbed the shovel from our canoe, the one brought along to dig up the bottle of Windsor, to use to dig our a fire-pit. The entire field was covered in long, dried out and crunchy dead grass. The General and I walked over to the fallen tree.

"I remember sitting on that tree and cooking breakfast," I said.
"Yep, and we had my big tarp stretched out over to there to provide the shade," the General reminisced. I turned around to survey a spot to dig the pit, picking one about halfway between the fallen tree and the wood line I stuck the shovel into the soft earth.
"Sure is fucking dry," I commented as I just left the shovel and took a swig from my beer.
"Yep," the General replied. "Good you have the shovel. A fire could get out of hand real quick. Let me see your lighter." I handed my blaze orange camo lighter to the General, he bent down and flicked my Bic. Instantly a tiny fire sprung to life in the dead, dry grass. I knew the General was going to burn an area to create the fire pit. Then something we didn't expect to happen, but should have having just had a conversation about it, the little fire began to spread...and quickly. I pulled the shovel from the ground and handed it to the General. He took the flat side of the blade an attempted to squelch the fire, to our horror the fire did not die, but rather spread. What was only moments ago the size of a quarter was now the size of a large dinner plate. Another swipe of the shovel blade and the fire then became the size of a trashcan lid.

"Ah," I said with a touch of terror in my voice, "I think we are going to need some water!" I yelled over to Em. "Grab the water jug!" By now the fire had grown to and area the size of our tent and getting larger by the second. The General and I began to stamp at the fire, but it only seemed to spread it. Em got there with the water and the General tried to dose the flames with the water. On one hand he did prevent the fire from spreading towards our canoes and gear, but on the other hand the other side of the fire continued to lick greedy lips at the fresh fuel and feast. When the water in the jug ran out the our gear was safe, but the fire had by then tripled in size. It was quickly approaching some low lying pine branches from a tree near the fallen one, which is an oak by the way, and they caught. A jet of black smoke shot into the sky as the snap, crackle and pop of the pine needles succumbing to the flames sounded in the air. I said a little prayer to myself, "Please Lord don't let that tree catch completely". No sooner had I finished my little prayer when the flames died out and the tree stood with a few smoldering branches, the fire, however, continued to devour the dead grass as it moved on.

Everyone was using whatever they could to put the fire out. James, or Semi-Hulk as I will refer to him for now had grabbed our green tarp in the process of coming to help fight the fire and tried to use it to smother the flames. It make have aided us if it had been a blanket, and a wet one at that, nevertheless, the only thing that happened was he helped to spread the fire and melt the tarp. I still commend him for the effort. Sometimes it is tough to think clearly when in a panic.

I don't know how I ended up with it, but I had my small utility tote in my hand and was dipping water out of the river to fight the flames. I had tried to use the water jug, but it proved too slow in the filling process to be effective. I think Duckie and the Mule had grabbed the mess kit tote, dumped the contents and were using that for the fight. I recall Em asking if she should call 911, but in my eternal optimism I said no. I had a slight hope that we could get the situation under control and no one had to get in trouble for the damage being caused. However, within thirty seconds reality finally set in and I new we had a snowball's chance in hell of containing the fire. By now the fire had consumed and area the size of a baseball diamond infield an only getting bigger...oh how fucked we were.

This was our trail of water, showing where we were trying to fight the blaze.

"Call 911," I said in a defeated voice. "There is nothing we can do." I hung my head. In a selfish way I was happy that I hadn't started the fire, but I was feeling really bad for my uncle whom I love dearly. Again I prayed to the Good Lord to just let the fire consume the grass, don't let it serve as a catalyst for a forest fire.

We continued to fight the fire the best we could as the General made the call for help. At one point I had to stop fighting to grab the map so he could tell the operator the name of the road that crossed the last bridge we went under, it was County Road 42. I gave him the information and went back to fighting the fire, a futile attempt if there ever was one. Before long I stopped and dropped to my knees, sweating and panting from lack of breath. The fire had now grown to half the size of a football field, showing now signs of slowing and getting closer and close to the tree line. My God, what have we done.

We made our way back over the scorched earth towards our canoes. Gear from emptied totes littered the sea of dead grass. I righted my cooler and started to refill it with its emptied contents, trying to save as much of the ice as I could. The rest of the crew just stood in amazement at the power of the fire. Having finished refilling my cooler I cracked open a fresh beer and stared into the smoke filled sky.

"There's a plane," someone from the group yelled and pointed towards the south. Five minutes had passed, maybe a little more, in any case, I was impressed by the response time. The plane had to be the spotter because it began to circle our location. The fire had grown to the size of a football field and was now creeping into the treeline. I noticed that it had gone through several clumps of smaller trees that dotted the field, but hadn't burned much more than the dead stuff that was less than three feet high, so this added a glimmer of hope that the forest itself may not catch.

Still in a bit of shock from the events that were transpiring I did something that may or may not have been one of my greatest decisions of my life. I made the choice to take a meander through the burned area and check out where the fire was going. The field had a peninsula of trees that came out to a little past the fallen oak, and then curved back around to the north. I could see the fire through the trees as it moved that direction. I wanted to see how far the field went and what was back there. Off I went on my investigation.

As I rounded the peninsula I say to terror, and relief, that the fire was headed towards a swamp. Swamps had water, but because of our late spring, this one also had a lot of dead grass. At least the water may slow its progress. Then a movement caught my eye.

Focusing on the movement I saw that it was a tiny fawn, not much bigger than a large cat. It had hunkered down in between some trees which the fire was quickly closing in on. I surveyed the landscape for the mother, but didn't see anything but fire and more fire. Looking back at the fawn the fire was mere feet away. Then I did something stupidly heroic. I took off at a dead run for the fawn. Jumping the flames I landed next to the clump of trees, scooped up the fawn in my right arm, my left still held my beer, and took off through the woods back towards the canoes. The fawn began to bleat for its mother.

The grove area where at all started

By this time everyone was getting a little excited at my disappearance, especially Em and my sister. They had been calling for me to come back since I had first saw the fawn, but my concentration on the rescue prevented me from responding. I didn't want the little guy to burn up because of our lack of common sense. Nevertheless, as I made my way through the trees I called back that I was OK.

I emerged from the woods, with the fawn still bleating, to wide-eyed looks from the group. Duckie came up and snatched the fawn from my arms and asked where I had got it. I quickly relayed the story as I petted the little guy. I could tell from the way the spots lined up that it was a male. He continued to bleat for his mother, but seemed to relax a little in my sister's arms, almost like he knew that he was no safe from the flames.

The wind then shifted and the fire stated to move towards the peninsula, which was back towards the river where our gear and canoes were landed. The General suggested that we get out shit loaded back into the canoes just in case we had to make a quick getaway back onto the river. Without tying our gear in, or worrying about how the shit was balanced, we stuffed our gear back into the canoes, praying we didn't have to launch.

Suddenly the sound of a boat motor started to drown out the crackling fire as a john-boat with two people, a male and a female, came roaring down the river. They docked their boat between ours and Semi-Hulk's, then got out. Being from the area I instantly recognized the gal, but was a little unsure who the dude was, but I had an idea. The gal was wearing enough make-up to make Tammy Fay Baker jealous and the dude was easily twenty years her senior. In light of that we will call them Make-Up Girl and Sugar Daddy.

They started up with questions that we all expected. What happened? Who is in charge? What were we doing on private property? The General started to explain everything and even showed them our shovel and ax when the didn't believe that we had the tools to make a fire pit and contain a camp fire. Then Make-Up Girl asked where we were from. Duckie and I didn't say anything, however, when the General said he was from down south she commented that if figures people from the urban area of the state would come up an act like we owned the place. Most of us took that as an insult because we never intended for the fire to happen and that when we do this trip we take the utmost care in making sure that we leave a place in better condition that we found it, always have, always will.

Then Make-Up Girl noticed that Duckie was holding the fawn. She asked, "what the hell is that?" as she pointed at my sister. Duckie tried to tell the story of how I saved the fawn, but the bitch tried to make it out like we had kidnapped the deer and we were trying to take it as a pet. In hindsight I wished I would have said, "the fawn was going to be our supper, why do you think we started a fire. Fawns are tender and taste a lot like veil." Then she took out a pen and paper to take down the licence numbers on the canoe and saying that we were all fugitives and had probably stole the canoes from someone up-river. I thought to myself, "yeah right lady. We lugged four hundred pounds of gear through the woods to steal some canoes and a deer all because we were from the cities."

We were thinking that the land we were on was Sugar Daddy's, but learned that it was their neighbors. He had said something to Em and she said something back, then he said that if the land had been his he would have hung her. This really made my hackles stand up on end. I could understand why they were upset, who wouldn't be, however, we didn't run from the fire, we stuck around and called in for help, we had attempted to fight it, basically we were taking responsibility for our actions and didn't justify their insults. I then looked at Sugar Daddy and said, "dude I'd cut your fucking throat before you even got a chance to tie the noose." Looking back it was a dumb thing to say, but I was getting pissed at their false assumptions. All of us are good people that made a dumb choice...shit happens.

Another shot of that grove, you can see where we did stop it

About that time a firefighter dressed in yellow came walking through the smoke that smudged our surroundings. Instantly Make-Up Girl ran to him followed by Sugar Daddy and the General. I'm unsure as to what was said, but when Make-Up Girl walked away, she looked even more pissed off than before. I later learned she tried to get the General arrested by the fireman, but he said that he was only their to fight the fire and there wasn't anything he could do to take the General into custody. The General talked a little more with the firefighter, I'm sure he was just filling him in on the facts of the situation, which was the most important topic at the moment. Then the General rejoined us, walking up to Sugar Daddy and Make-Up Girl, who were still ranting about the fawn and the rest of us being the scum of society.

The General tried to reason a little longer with them, but his words were falling on deaf ears. The he noticed that they didn't have any life jackets in their boat or a visible fire extinguisher, as per the law in our great state, so he took down their boat information. This really pissed them off so they got back into the boat and took off upstream. We waved as they sped by, we were all happy to see them leave. They didn't need to add to the stress we were all under.

Shortly after Sugar Daddy and his woman left, the helicopter showed up. Below it hung a basket that looked to hold at least a hundred gallons or more. It swooped right down between the shorelines and dipped the bucket into the brown flowing waters, kicking up a mixture spray of wind and water; the sound of the engine reverberated back and forth against trees, making it sound louder than an AC/DC concert...then the pilot hit the gas. I had to hold my hat on my head as the accelerated force of the wind and water slammed into me. We watched as the helicopter climbed into the air, forcing the full bucket out of the water.

The Helicopter scooping water from the river

We couldn't see where it dropped that first load; my only guess is that it was where the worst part of the fire burned. Then it came back for another dip. Over and over we watched in amazement as the helicopter came in to take more salvation from the river that has given us, as well as many others, so much enjoyment over the years. Little by little, which was probably more like yards, the fire was extinguished by the two pilots, who's concentration never wavered. They kept the fire from coming through the peninsula, which kept us from having to do an emergency launch.

When the fire was close to being out, the General got a call from the local Conservation Office. He instructed us to proceed up stream to the bridge where we could meet him. Back to our canoe's we went. We preped them for launch; which basically meant that we launched them as they were, poorly packed. Yet we stopped along the shore less than a hundred feet from where we had originally landed; the General had gotten another call saying that we should stay put and Bob, the Conservation Officer, would come to us.

We stayed in the canoes because an all terrain vehicle on a track pulled up to the river with four or five fireman to fill the water tanks. The machine looked to be brand new, there was hardly a sign of wear and tear, and the firemen looked to be in good spirits. While dedicated to their job, their demeanor sort of told us that the fire was under control and they didn't have a major incedent on their hands. We breather a collective sigh of relief.

After ten minutes or so we decided to rel-and the canoes and wait for Bob on the shore. Our wait wasn't long when he showed up with a fireman at his side.

The General answered all of Bob's questions, even the one about the fawn. He agreed that I probably shouldn't have gone through the flames as a risk to my own safety, but he wasn't upset either. He was very cordial about the whole thing and was glad that we had shone some backbone and took responsibility for what had happened. He informed us that we had burned fifteen and a half acres of grass land and that the forest was for the most part safe.

Bob left us with a warning, but also said that this isn't going to be over; we still have to deal with the person that own's the land. As I learn more about the repercusions of our actions, I will update.

Crazy Joe in the charred field

Sometime during the corse of events I said we needed to give the General a new nickname. I suggested Smokey The Dick, but someone suggested we call him Fire Marshal Dick. We finally setteled on Sparky The Fire Marshal.

Even though we were happy that the fire didn't consume any of the major forest, we still held heavy hearts. Unsure of what to do we did the only thing we knew, we climbed back into our canoes and kicked off back into the river and headed down stream.

To Be Continued...until then I will remain...Crazy Joe

We now have MUSIC!!!!

OK we now have a play list for the blog so if you give me an idea of what you want on hear I can get it. There is a theme right now if you haven't guessed. It has something to do with fire. So think of your favorite songs dealing with fire and let me know. I will get them on for you.

We're Back and Blue...(part II)

As you may have well noticed that some of the nicknames have changed during the course of the most recent excursion down the Bigfork, as you continue to read the log of our journey you will learn why.

There is something about canoeing a river that can't be explained, it just has to be experienced to truly understand. It is a quiet, peaceful beauty that takes hold both inside and outside the body. Gliding across the serene waters, being pulled along only by the use of a couple of paddles and the current itself makes a person feel like they are slipping back a little in time to when life wasn't full of the hustle and bustle we endure most days. Simply put, it is a tiny slice of Heaven.

That is the emotion that grips me each year the crew takes to the river. When the initial yearly chatter about how the canoe is centered or why we didn't allow ourselves a decent amount of leg room for the journey dies out, we drift along in silence for a short while, drinking in the moment. "Then the General says, "This is what I live for." Everyone chimes in their approval and we toast to the moment with a sip from our brew.

Crazy Joe and The General enjoying the River

It takes about an hour before the houses start to thin out and we begin to enter patches of wooded areas. The houses we pass aren't new to the world, many of them a house 2nd, 3rd and even 4th generation families. It is always fun to imagine what it would be like to own a house on the river. Someone, usually me, always makes a comment on about stealing one of the river boats to help the General lighten his load. Swampy areas also dot the shore line on the Bigfork and almost always kicks up a duck or two. This year Em and I had a beautiful green-headed mallard fly about five feet away from the canoe. It was gone around the corner before Em had a chance to pull out the camera and snap a shot. Once in a while we will startle a deer, or most likely it will startle us. This year Em and I came across a strange, yet very large creature attempting to swim across the river. While Em was pulling out the camera I was trying to paddle as quietly as possible to close the distance between us and the mystery animal. It got halfway across the river before noticing us, then it turned and went back to the shore from which it come. We weren't able to get close enough to see what it was, but Em did get a picture. By the time we reached the spot where we saw it, it was gone. In hindsight we should have stopped by the shore and checked for prints to determine what it was, but we didn't. I thought it looked like an elk, but that is probably very unlikely. It could be a young moose by its coloring, or maybe even a bear. We will probably never know, just another mystery on the Bigfork.

Emily not wanting her picture taken.

After that first hour we did the traditional hook-up where we tie all the canoes together and just float the river and drink some beer. This is one of our favorite things to do on the trip. Not only does it make the canoes stable enough to stand up in a stretch the legs or hang them over the sides in the cooling waters, but also allow the bullshit to really fly. James, the General and I were all the pilots this year, which is pretty much standard, nevertheless, we started to pass the Jagermeister back and forth. James and I had already done a couple of shots with some Red Bull so we were feeling pretty good. The girls didn't join in on the shots, they were content to just drink their beer. Em had a couple of Mt. Dews before she started to take part in the festivity's.

We separated when we got to the Rice Rapids. Duckie and the General went first. They had a little trouble at the middle of the rapids, a nice sized rock got in their way and threw them a little of course. Em and I we second, and took a route a little to their left, Em was right, it was a mistake. We hit a different rock, got turned a little sideways, then backwards. Before we new it, we were wedged between two rocks, facing backwards. I yelled back to James and the Mule to take the route to the far left. When we got stuck, I saw that it was the best way to take rapids. And you wouldn't fucking believe it, but James and the Mule made it with no problem, as did Duckie and the General, us on the other hand, we were fucked.

The Mule glad shes dry

We got the canoe stable to the point we wouldn't tip, then we attempted to push off the rocks to get the nose pointed back in the right direction. But no matter what we did, we couldn't move the canoe but a foot or two in either direction. The current was too strong to move the canoe upstream and this stupid rock prevented up from moving the nose down stream. I even switched to my back-up paddle, which was a small all wood paddle, for added strength to push off the rocks...still nothing. Having been in this situation before, I knew exactly what I had to do, hop out of the canoe, turn it back down stream and hop back in without flipping. If the weather had been nicer I would have had shorts on, however, on that day I was in my jeans. I took everything out of my pockets, secured them on top of my cooler and hopped out of the canoe. The river's temperature was enough to cause a little shrinkage, but overall not as bad as I thought it was going to be. With little to no trouble I got the canoe turned and got back in, then we got stuck again, since I was wet I once again jumped out. This time I got us set for good, I didn't want to have to do this again because I was bringing a lot of water back into the canoe with me. We did have all our gear we needed to keep dry in dry-bags, but having a couple of gallons of water sloshing around the bottom of your canoe just plain sucks. We shot the rest of the rapids without incident. When we got to the end, there was the rest of the crew cheering us on and snapping pictures of our arrival. Being stopped we made a quick rest stop so people could relieve themselves, then back down the river we went.

It didn't take long for us to hook the canoes back up again, as we did I made myself a portable bilge pump from an empty beer can and began to bail our canoe.

Down the river we floated, the outside canoes took turns paddling to keep us from running into low lying branches or snags hanging out in the water. Snags I can handle, but its the low lying branches I hate to go under. Simply because I hate fucking spiders, and they love to hang out in those branches. Every year some asshole has to shake a branch we come to close to in hopes of knocking a big ol'hairy spider into my canoe. When they sometimes succeed, I swat at the damn thing with my paddle as I cures them out like a salty old sailor. Pricks.

"The moment came as it comes to all when I had to answer nature's call" - Tom Paxton Talking Vietnam Potluck Blues

During Em's brother's first two years on the trip, he soloed the entire trip in a shorter canoe. This was great when we hooked up because if someone had to take a leak they would just crawl across the canoes and into his; he would then take them to shore. Once they were done, he would bring them back to their canoe. This year we didn't have that option. I came prepared by bringing myself along a one liter Mt. Dew bottle for relieving myself. The General and James have perfected the art of standing and kneeling on the gunwall of the canoe, (only when connected in the group) and peeing that way. Neither of these option were really available to any of the girls, yet they did come up with a way of "going" while we were all grouped-up. We had a small wash-bin in the front of our canoe, and that became their "portable john". Em and the Mule had great success with this new system, Duckie on the other hand kept getting stage fright. No matter how much she had to go, she couldn't. Each time she finished trying she would say, "I just need to drink another beer, then I can do it". Never happened. Eventually we had to disconnect so the General could take her to shore to do her duty.

Semi-Incredible Hulk, probably singing

By the time everyone got back on the river I had had time to take a good look at the map and access just how far along we were on our journey. We had planned to make it all the way to the Busti Camp Site, but we had spent a lot of time hooked-up, so we didn't make the best of time. We had gone a long ways, but it was getting close to 3:00 PM and we were getting hungry. If we continued with our plans it would be between 5:00 and 5:30 by the time we reached the camp, much less set up camp, start a fire and cook our grub. I then threw out the suggestion of stopping at the same spot we did a couple of years back and camp there. By my calculations it would be only a mile or so down the river. Then we would have a little more time on the river the following day and be a little more sober before we went through the Highway One Rapids. The General and I had a short discussion on the topic and offered the choice up for a vote. It was unanimous, we would stop and camp in the little field we did back in 2002.

To Be Continued...until then I will remain...Crazy Joe

We're Back and Blue...

Well all, we are back from our Thirteenth Annual Memorial Weekend Canoe Trip; the trip didn't go the way we planned. It started out great, Duckie, The Mule, Mule's Man, Em and myself assembled Thursday night at my parent's cabin. We got all our gear ready that night, to save time getting things just right for loading into our canoes the following morning. I even went as far as to pack, and repack all of our gear in our canoe to make sure everything had the perfect spot for the trip. The key to loading a canoe is to keep your gear low and balanced. Canoes can become very tippy if they are loaded wrong. This can become quite a problem when attempting to shoot any rapids because if you gear is too high, the canoe become top-heavy, if the gear is too heavy one one side or the other, it can throw off the balance and make the canoe lean towards the heaviest side.

After our gear was set to go, we celebrated The Mule's birthday and the happy couples recent wedding with some terrific fried chicken and a coupe of bottles of wine, then it was off to bed.

My anticipation was so high that I barely slept a wink that night. Em and I had to get up a tad earlier so we could bring my dad to work that morning. I did this so he could then pick up my truck after work, thus leaving none of our vehicles in the town of Bigfork. I whipped up a couple of fried eggs and a few slabs of toast for my breakfast, Em wasn't hungry, so she just had Mountain Dew. By the time I was done eating, the rest of the gang were up and preparing thier breakfast before the trip. Then my Dad, Em, and I took off in my Explorer with two of our canoes in tow.

We dropped the Old Man off at work and headed for the public access to the Bigfork River, before we had gone a mile from the hospital, problem number one arose. As Em and I crossed the Rice River bridge, I rolled my window all the way down and stuck my head halfway out, something was wrong, the trailer was making a funky grinding noise.


"Do you hear that," I asked Em. She paused in the middle of a puff on her smoke.

"No, what is it?"

"I think a bearing is going out on the trailer."


Sure as shit, the moment I took the corner next to the Bigfork Village Hall, the bearing cover popped off and tinged down the road way. I stopped and picked up the bearing cover, thinking to myself on what I was going to do. I knew the trailer was in no shape to make the seven miles back to Effie and I didn't want to leave it sitting at the landing because there wasn't a lot of parking. Being that it was the start of Memorial Weekend, I didn't want to be rude.

Nonetheless, I decided to continue with the plan to leave by 9:00 AM, it was only 6:45, so I had time to come up with a solution.

We got to the landing and I backed the trailer down to the water to unload the canoes and our gear. Em worked on unpacking the Explorer and I got the canoes off the trailer. When that was done, Em took a walk to the local gas station for some hot coco and to use a modern bathroom for one last time. I was going to pull the truck up and start loading our canoe.

As I mosied down the ramp I came across a horrible sight, while pulling the Explorer and trailer up to the parking area I ran over my good can cooler, crushing it flat. With a few choice words I picked it up and chucked it into the garbage bin. "At least I brought a back-up," I said to myself.

Shortly after Em returned, Ducking, The Mule and her man showed up in Duckie's Durangoo, smiles hanging out of the windows. She backed it down the ramp and we all pitched in to get it unloaded. Then like a well oiled machine, we set about get our canoes situated, waiting for the General to arrive.

At a quarter after seven, I started to get a little worried that we would once again miss our departure time, the General wasn't there yet. He told me the night before that he would either be waiting for us at the landing when we arrived or he would be there by seven. At 7:32, the General pulled up in his navy blue Suburban with his yellow canoe strapped to the top. I gave him the traditional meet and greet of a handshake and the phrase, "we made it again", we started to unload his canoe and gear.

By 8:00, Duckie and the mule were headed to the gas station for our last stocking of ice and the General had the makings of what looked like a green baby hippo laying in the middle of his canoe.

"I thought we were going to down-size this year?" I joked.

"I did," the General replied with a slight grin.

"I guess, last year's hippo was twice that size." I shook my head.

"It's all in how you pack your gear."



While we were waiting for the General, I had got in contact with my Dad and told him about the bearing. He told me to take it over to a friend's house and leave it there; he would take care of it when he got off work. However, as I expected, he stopped in on a mail run to check out the stituation while the girls were on the ice run. The problem of the trailer was solved and we were still on track to leave at 9:00.

Once all the coolers had their fresh ice in them and all the gear was securly tied and bungeed into the canoes, Duckie, Em and The Mule took off for Effie in the trucks, two to be left at the folk's home and one to bring them back. As I said before, Dad was going to use that one to get home after work.

They got back to the landing with fifteen minutes to spare, The General was finishing up with some minor adjustments to his gear, The Mule and her man, James, were doing the same. Our gear was all tied in and covered in a blue tarp to help keep things dry and my new diamond willow paddle was reading for its maiden voyage. By 9:00, Em and I were pushing off from the shore, Mule and James were getting ready to do the same, and Duckie and the General were still adjusting varios items, still the same old General.

The First Launch of the Weekend

As with every year, the initial launch of the trip was a harrowing, sitting in a canoe was a little different because they always feel tippy at the start. Both Em and I agreed that it felt like the canoe was leaning towards the left. It baffled me because I could not come up with what would be throwing off our balance. I dismissed it and cracked open a beer. I was probably just the fact that we hadn't sat in a canoe for almost two years and needed to get back our river legs, or butts if you will. As Em and I drifted under the Bigfork Bridge, praying we didn't get shit on by the hundreds of barn swallows that call the bridge home, I snuck a glance back at the rest of the canoe. Both canoes were in the river, the trip had officially begun. I smiled and took another swig from my beer. Life was good.

To Be Continued...until then I will remain...Crazy Joe