Well, this was probably our most successful year in a long time on the river. I think we may have broken the Curse of the Yellow Duck. Everyone made it throught the rapids this year without a hitch. As a matter of fact, the only time I hit a rock was with my paddle towards the end of the rapids at the Doons. Other than that we sailed right through the roughest parts of the raging water without incident.
The trip started out great. We were able to meet up at the cabin early Friday morning with The General and Rev with 98% of our gear ready to go. We had to do a little dinking around to repack a few items that were either duplicates or needed to be downsized. Next we got mine and Duckie's canoes loaded on the Generals trailer and soon we were headed to the town of Bigfork to buy license for the Canoes. I can't believe that Duckie and I have owned our own canoes for three years now. It was about that time that we realized that the General and Duckie both had forgotten to grab a CD player for the trip. So while I was buying the license, they were searching for a CD player to buy for the trip since Duckie had burned a shit load of new CD's. Sadly though, none were to be found, however, Duckie called our Mom and she was able to borrow one from one of the doctors at the hospital. Funny thing is that I don't think he knew about it, but that doesn't matter because we returned it to him in the same shape we got it.
After messing around in Bigfork for about an hour, we were off to the Highway One Bridge, this year's launching point. We chose to start there this year becuase we wanted to skip the Highway One Rapids. It seems like those rapids have clamied more people than the Doons have. They are considered a smaller class of rapids but are by far harder to navigate. We figured that if we started there this year we would at least have a fighting chance at a good run. Yet our hearts sank a little when we pulled into the launch site.
Sitting there, with canoes ready to launch, was a group of four men ready to take their journey down the Bigfork. The General chatted with them a little and found out that there were headed for the Muldoons their first night, the same place we were headed. I'm not going to lie when I say it pissed me off a little bit. I know the river is open to all that may want to enjoy its cool, relaxing waters, but I felt like they were stepping on our toes a little because this is suppose to be the River Runners weekend, not some other band of local-yocals. I knew that since they were going to be the ones to leave the landing first, they were going to be the ones to get the good campsite at the top of the "Fucking Hill". I just kept thinking to myself that we wouldn't have to tackle that fucking hill with all our gear, so it wasn't such a bad thing this year for the Mule to miss. Once the other group on the river took off, we were able to get our canoe's off the trailer and into position to be loaded.
It truly is a poetical thing to watch our crew load our canoes'. We take a majority of our shit, throw it all on the landing infront of the water-crafts and then begin to methodically place every item into a specific nook or cranny of our vessels. Whenever people stop in to watch, they gaze in total amazement as we find a way to stuff ten pounds of shit into a five pound bag. It never fails to impress me how well we load our gear into our canoes so as to maximize all the possible space within the skinny space allowed. By the time we finish loading, our canoes look like this:
The piolit and navigator usually have room enough to sit somewhat comfortably with little to no gear right below their feet. Most of the piolits have some gear right behind them, while both peole have gear located under their seats. Between the two people is a lump of gear covered by a tarp with a spider-web of rope and bungees holding everything into place just in case of a roll-over. On top of the tarps are the usuall, life-jackets, a spare paddle or two and a possible jacket, in case the wind picks up and things get a little chilly.
This year I was the designated "Beer Bitch" for the first day of the trip. This meant that I had to have access to my cooler so whenever someone wanted a cold one while making our way to the Doons, I could oblige them.
About twenty minutes after our choosen start time we pushed off from the shore and started this year's trip. Duckie was in my canoe, while The General had Digger in his, and this year Rev was going it solo till the following day when we were scheduled to pick up Princess since she had to work that night and could not get off to join us for the start. A hundred yards down the river I cracked my first brew and boy did it taste good. I knew right then that this year was going to be a great year for the trip.
To Be Continued...
Till next time I will remain...Crazy Joe
The story of The Bigfork River Runners begins back in 1996. It was the end of my first year of higher education and to celebrate I put together a motley crue of friends to take a canoe trip down the Bigfork River on Memorial vacation. The trip was a blast to say the least; since then we have carried on the tradition of canoeing the river every year on Memorial Weekend. Through this blog The Bigfork River Runners will share their stories and pictures from trips past and trips to come.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Can't believe it is over all ready!
Well the trip is done and over with for the year. We all had a great time. The river was flowing fast , the beer went down so good, the fire stayed in the ring and new friends were found on the river. So now for 13 years the Bigfork River Runners have conquered the mighty river and we pray that there will be many more for those of us going again. Pictures and more post will shortly follow in the next few weeks so stay tuned.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Duckie is Here to Blog a Bit....
Well as you have probably noticed the canoe trip is almost underway. I can't believe another year is almost upon us. We are down a few people this year, two due to the Mini-Hulk and the Mule expecting their first little one in only a few weeks. The Mule and I decided no one wanted to have the responsibility of delivering that one on the river, although it would be a first. They will be missed this year, the Mule especially the first night when we have to get up that fucking hill at the Doons. At least next year my mother had already offered to watch the Mini-Hulk Mule so they should be back next year barring any other little ones in the works. They other important one is Dishmen who cnould not get off work. Damn those little furry creatures and their offspring. I meant the mink Dishmen helps with not the Mules and Mini-Hulks kids, come on now. Still at least his wife Dishmen's Woman can make it. (I hope we can give her a better name after this because that one sucks.)
So we are down a few, not anything unusual still the General is gonna be there, I only hope he leaves that fucking CD at home or at least in his truck! As for me I get to canoe with Crazy Joe for the first time in about 8 years. It was the Year of the River!! If you have ever been or ever will go on the trip Crazy Joe and I will talk about that year. The year that you couldn't stand up in the canoe while going under the bridges with out getting hit in the chest by said bridge. The year there were no little Doons rapids before the campsite. The year that we flew past the Doons Campsite because the current was so swift and it took us 15-20 min to paddle back up river only a few yards. The Year that the Doons were nothing but white water and the waves reached 3-4 feet above the canoe when we were in a trough. Now that was a freaking AWESOME year to canoe. Sadly Crazy Joe and I were the only ones that went that year. But this year, at least for the first day 1/2 I get to be with Crazy Joe and I am looking forward to it. As long at the Jag is NOT passed around 5 min into the trip.
Now comes the question...Are you ready? Hell no I am not ready I have about 1/2 a million things to do before I have to drive to pick up Dishmens Woman. Being that I have to work these last few days before the trip I am having a bit of trouble getting everything done. I was going to buy a new tent this year being that the last few I have bought did not work out and had to be brought back. I have to do laundry before I can pack so I have at least 2 loads left to do. At least this year the food has already been brought up North by Crazy Joe so that is one less thing for me to deal with. I am hoping to get a ton done tomorrow before I have to go to work and then do a few more things on Thurs before I leave.
So with that I bid you good by and hope when Next I blog I have stories to tell and pictures to post. Have a Great Memorial Day Weekend and maybe we will see you on the river.
So we are down a few, not anything unusual still the General is gonna be there, I only hope he leaves that fucking CD at home or at least in his truck! As for me I get to canoe with Crazy Joe for the first time in about 8 years. It was the Year of the River!! If you have ever been or ever will go on the trip Crazy Joe and I will talk about that year. The year that you couldn't stand up in the canoe while going under the bridges with out getting hit in the chest by said bridge. The year there were no little Doons rapids before the campsite. The year that we flew past the Doons Campsite because the current was so swift and it took us 15-20 min to paddle back up river only a few yards. The Year that the Doons were nothing but white water and the waves reached 3-4 feet above the canoe when we were in a trough. Now that was a freaking AWESOME year to canoe. Sadly Crazy Joe and I were the only ones that went that year. But this year, at least for the first day 1/2 I get to be with Crazy Joe and I am looking forward to it. As long at the Jag is NOT passed around 5 min into the trip.
Now comes the question...Are you ready? Hell no I am not ready I have about 1/2 a million things to do before I have to drive to pick up Dishmens Woman. Being that I have to work these last few days before the trip I am having a bit of trouble getting everything done. I was going to buy a new tent this year being that the last few I have bought did not work out and had to be brought back. I have to do laundry before I can pack so I have at least 2 loads left to do. At least this year the food has already been brought up North by Crazy Joe so that is one less thing for me to deal with. I am hoping to get a ton done tomorrow before I have to go to work and then do a few more things on Thurs before I leave.
So with that I bid you good by and hope when Next I blog I have stories to tell and pictures to post. Have a Great Memorial Day Weekend and maybe we will see you on the river.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
The General and I have talked
Today the General and I had a discussion about this year's trip. We are definitley starting from the Highway One Rapids and canoeing all the way to his land past the second crossing of the river on Highway Six. He just bought 140 acreas with a nice chunck that is river front property.
We talked about two different locations for campsites. This year's is going to be where he establishes a work base for the future construction projects. It is going to be a quick job done basically so we just have a place to put the tents this year. Nevertheless, next year we are going to have a spot that is just killer the way it is set up. We will actually have a stream that we run up to get to the campsite. It is going to be TITS to say the least.
We also talked about who is going on the trip this year. Well, Em and I have broke up so she will no longer be a part of this tradition, however, in a few years I hope to be taking some of my kids on this trip to give them a taste of true camping. Anyway, the crew we have so far this year is The General, Duckie, Crazy Joe and a friend of mine. This person is going to be this year's FNG. That is ok though, it is always awesome to introuduce the joy that is this trip to someone new.
So that is about it, I have provide the tenitive schedule of what we are going to be doing this year on the trip. I will provide more details as the game plan developes.
Until that time arrives, I will remain...Crazy Joe.
We talked about two different locations for campsites. This year's is going to be where he establishes a work base for the future construction projects. It is going to be a quick job done basically so we just have a place to put the tents this year. Nevertheless, next year we are going to have a spot that is just killer the way it is set up. We will actually have a stream that we run up to get to the campsite. It is going to be TITS to say the least.
We also talked about who is going on the trip this year. Well, Em and I have broke up so she will no longer be a part of this tradition, however, in a few years I hope to be taking some of my kids on this trip to give them a taste of true camping. Anyway, the crew we have so far this year is The General, Duckie, Crazy Joe and a friend of mine. This person is going to be this year's FNG. That is ok though, it is always awesome to introuduce the joy that is this trip to someone new.
So that is about it, I have provide the tenitive schedule of what we are going to be doing this year on the trip. I will provide more details as the game plan developes.
Until that time arrives, I will remain...Crazy Joe.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
The Planning Hath Begun...
Well, the planning for the trip has officailly begun. The General gave me a call the other day and invited me to go check out his property he bought on the river last fall. He picked up 140 acres with a good portion of that right along the riverside. The General is interested in my opinion on where to put in the campsite along the river. We plan to try, and notice I'm leaving room open for some fucking shit to happen this year to prevent us from finishing out trip. Since the Year of The Duck, which was 2004, we have only made completed the trip twice. One year the water level was too low to canoe and, well you know about the cluster-fuck we created last year. Oh, that is right, I never finished last years story. I think I will have to do that here in the near future.
It has been a couple of weeks since I started this entry, and since then I have been able to go and check out the General's land. Let me say that I was throughly impressed with the land that he has purchased. The land has everything a man from the great state of Minnesota could ever want, nicely wooded ares, a decent stream that cuts right though the middle of it, so killer spots for deer food plots and stands, but the best part is that a half mile of the land runs right along the river. Oh how sweet it is.
Well, I'm not sure on the numbers this year. I know we will have four people for sure on the trip. There will be the General, Duckie, Myself and this year's FNG Sandra Bloch. This will be quite interesting since Sandra hasn't really done this type of camping before in her life. Sure she has camped, I mean very few people from our state don't get our at least once in their lifetime, however, I don't think she has ever really roughed it like we do on the canoe trip. I use the term "roughing it" very loosly considering all the crap that we bring with us down the river. This year, as I think I have stated before, we are going to down-size our operation to try and take the bear minimum of what we need. The General is even talking about sleeping on the ground. He is so gun-shy about tipping, ha ha how does it feel fucker, that he doesn't want anything in his canoe that isn't truly essential to our journey. Personally I think he is crazy to not even bring a cot or air-matress. He is no spring chicken and I know that if I don't have something to put between me and the cold, hard, rocky ground, I would be waking up with more pain than just the normal hang-over. Still, once we get the final number set, I will provide a list of the gear that we plan to take this year.
I'm hoping that I can find a few other people to go on the trip with us. If anyone is interested in going on this trip they should get in touch with me via the Jag Bomb comment section of this blog. I would be more than happy to provide some more intimant details about our excursion into God's country. It is also a proven fact that the more people we get to go on this trip the more fun we have in the end. So any takers, let Crazy Joe know.
UPDATE OF THIS POST
5/11/09
I started this post about a month ago, but haven't found the time to complete it with all that is going on in my life right now. We have confirmed five people going on the trip and we are looking for a sixth or even more people to go. My buddy from work, Adam, isn't going to make it for personal reasons. Tracy hasn't given me a go or no go yet. I did contact Dishman about a week ago and he was up for it if he could get off and Kelly had gotten the time off already, so she was in too. Well, Dishman had to bail, but his wife is still coming. So she is the new adition to the list. Duckie suggested that she ask Dishman's sister Jen if she would like to go, but that is still pending. Duckie is going to check on some othe people. I'm going to talk with the General and see if cousin Joshee can make it. I also asked Sandra if she knew of anyone that wanted to go on the trip. However, anyone that reads this blog, if you are interested in going, let me know asap.
I spoke with Duckie today and we started to hammer out the details of the trip and how we are going to "down-size" our gear this year. I'm going to take less clothes this year, but that is about all I'm going to do to downsize. But, I'm going to sit down here one of these nights and make a list of gear that I will need. I"m hoping to get my favorit tent repaired and ready for the trip. If not I'm going to be using "old red", which is a good tent, but nothing like my "spider-tent". But I digress.
As with any year there is a lot to do before the trip takes place. I'm starting to think that the planning is half the damn fun. I think I'm going to get to the list and maybe strat packing some of my clothes and stuff. I'm going to be back a lot more in the upcoming days to keep everyone posted on the Fourteenth Annual Memorial Weekend Canoe Trip with The Bigfork River Runners.
Till next time I will remain...Crazy Joe
It has been a couple of weeks since I started this entry, and since then I have been able to go and check out the General's land. Let me say that I was throughly impressed with the land that he has purchased. The land has everything a man from the great state of Minnesota could ever want, nicely wooded ares, a decent stream that cuts right though the middle of it, so killer spots for deer food plots and stands, but the best part is that a half mile of the land runs right along the river. Oh how sweet it is.
Well, I'm not sure on the numbers this year. I know we will have four people for sure on the trip. There will be the General, Duckie, Myself and this year's FNG Sandra Bloch. This will be quite interesting since Sandra hasn't really done this type of camping before in her life. Sure she has camped, I mean very few people from our state don't get our at least once in their lifetime, however, I don't think she has ever really roughed it like we do on the canoe trip. I use the term "roughing it" very loosly considering all the crap that we bring with us down the river. This year, as I think I have stated before, we are going to down-size our operation to try and take the bear minimum of what we need. The General is even talking about sleeping on the ground. He is so gun-shy about tipping, ha ha how does it feel fucker, that he doesn't want anything in his canoe that isn't truly essential to our journey. Personally I think he is crazy to not even bring a cot or air-matress. He is no spring chicken and I know that if I don't have something to put between me and the cold, hard, rocky ground, I would be waking up with more pain than just the normal hang-over. Still, once we get the final number set, I will provide a list of the gear that we plan to take this year.
I'm hoping that I can find a few other people to go on the trip with us. If anyone is interested in going on this trip they should get in touch with me via the Jag Bomb comment section of this blog. I would be more than happy to provide some more intimant details about our excursion into God's country. It is also a proven fact that the more people we get to go on this trip the more fun we have in the end. So any takers, let Crazy Joe know.
UPDATE OF THIS POST
5/11/09
I started this post about a month ago, but haven't found the time to complete it with all that is going on in my life right now. We have confirmed five people going on the trip and we are looking for a sixth or even more people to go. My buddy from work, Adam, isn't going to make it for personal reasons. Tracy hasn't given me a go or no go yet. I did contact Dishman about a week ago and he was up for it if he could get off and Kelly had gotten the time off already, so she was in too. Well, Dishman had to bail, but his wife is still coming. So she is the new adition to the list. Duckie suggested that she ask Dishman's sister Jen if she would like to go, but that is still pending. Duckie is going to check on some othe people. I'm going to talk with the General and see if cousin Joshee can make it. I also asked Sandra if she knew of anyone that wanted to go on the trip. However, anyone that reads this blog, if you are interested in going, let me know asap.
I spoke with Duckie today and we started to hammer out the details of the trip and how we are going to "down-size" our gear this year. I'm going to take less clothes this year, but that is about all I'm going to do to downsize. But, I'm going to sit down here one of these nights and make a list of gear that I will need. I"m hoping to get my favorit tent repaired and ready for the trip. If not I'm going to be using "old red", which is a good tent, but nothing like my "spider-tent". But I digress.
As with any year there is a lot to do before the trip takes place. I'm starting to think that the planning is half the damn fun. I think I'm going to get to the list and maybe strat packing some of my clothes and stuff. I'm going to be back a lot more in the upcoming days to keep everyone posted on the Fourteenth Annual Memorial Weekend Canoe Trip with The Bigfork River Runners.
Till next time I will remain...Crazy Joe
Monday, March 16, 2009
Tales from the Doons: The General vs The Hill
As I have stated before, The Muldoon Rapids are a staple of the trip. In the fourteen year history of this trip we have failed to hit it three times. Twice we failed to make the Muldoons because of those cursed Highway One Rapids. They are tricky, trecherous and an all around pain in the ass to negotiate. The other time we didn't make it there was because of dry spring which made the water level on the river so low we didn't dare take our canoe's down it for fear of wrecking them on the many rocks that would have been exposed. For some reason rocks and canoes just dont' get along. That year we went camping on a little lake I know back in the boondocks. Someday I may get to adding some of those stories to this blog, but as of now I'm going to concentrate on the ones that stem from our adventures on the Bigfork.
Because we have stayed at the Mulldoon campsite the most on our trip, a lot of crazy shit has happened there, and will continue to happen as long as we are able to stroke our paddles. It is the place where Duckie and I have our buryied bottle of Windsor, which is going to be replaced this year with a bottle of that fine Irish whiskey, Jameson. Maybe Duckie and I will rebury the Windsor and leave some clues on this blog for anyone that takes a trip downt he Bigfork to find.
This particular story took place during either the 2003 or the 2005 canoe trip. For some reason I want to say 2005, but I could be wrong. To the other River Runners that read this, if I am wrong could you please make the correction.
It was a typical night at the Doons. We had arrived early enough for the Mule to easily get our gear to the top of the fucking hill from hell. Remember from past entries the hill that is close to a football field in lenght and has a very steep grade. Some years we have the fortune of a little rain to make the hill slicker than snot, but this wansn't one of those years.
We had no problem setting up camp. Dishman and some of the other newbies had collected up enough firewood to last through most of the night. The General and I proceeded to imbibe the spirits as we prepared our yearly meal of steak and Rajin-Cajin-Potatoes. The General usually does the steaks while I prepared the delectiable RCPs. Rajin-Cajin-Potatoes, many have told me, is one of their highlights to the trip. Many years ago I developed a recipe for this dish, while on the trip and it had become another one of our traditions we carry out every year. Someday I will post the recipe, but for now I will tell you that after I combine all the ingredients into two different allumnium foil wrapings, I do a seperate one every year for Mini-Hulk because someone doesn't like onions. Then I place these raps next to a hot bed of coals and roast the dish to perfection. Like I said, just an average year at the Doons.
I'm sure I have mentioned what this campsite looks like, but I will try to devulge a little more about it. Obviously it is at the top of a huge hill, but the vista is definatley one of the best on the river anywhere on the river. Lush spruce trees line the bank on both sides of the campsite barring the campsite itself. In recent years small trees has begun to grow up and block this view, so hofully the DNR will come in and trim so of them away to open it back up to the bubbling waters below.
The campsite itself is not very big, It is only big enough for three or four smaller tents. When I say small I mean three to five people tents. Anyone that has camped knows that these are highly inaccurate measurements becuase it only takes into account the number of people that can lay down in a tent to sleep; somehow they seem to forget to factor in people's gear, so in reality these tents are basically two-man tents. The tents go on the outskirts of the campsite and in the middle we have the kitchen area and then the sitting area around the fire-ring. The remainder of the tents are a little north of the main camping area. Several years ago, when we had our first big crew, we set about clearing some brush and rocks to make this area to accomadate everyone's needs. Since then, the DNR has helped to maintain this area by keeping in clean and clear of debry. However, on certain years, like this year, we had a lot of people, so space around the fire at night becames a valuable comdity.
The west side of the campsite is the one that faces the river, which also means it is the side with the hill. Now, we don't have to walk up this part of the hill to get to the site, for that we take a path that is south of the site. This path actually starts at the beginning of the rapids, but we usually shoot them right away and then land about two hundred yards downriver, which is at the base of the hill. Although the trek up the south end of the hill is a bitch, it would be a placid past-time compared the what the hill is like just west of the camp area. The hill starts about five feet from the fire-ring and plummets down to the river at a 65 to 70 degree angle. It doesn't take long for the terra firma to run out. If there was no hill, the campsite would only be fifteen twent feet from the river.
With our bellies full we an our spirits high, we settled in for a night of partying and getting crazy. Of course we had the tunes going, so some of us were making fools of ourselves as we danced and pranced to the beat. I know a bottle or two of puckers was going around the horn, with each of us doing our best help polish it off. Eventually we settled down a little and eveyone was sitting around the fire shooting the shit and tellins stories from years past. Like I said before, the space this year was limited, so some people ended up sitting close to the edge of the western hill. If I remember right, the General and Grand-pa were the two closes to the edge, one was on each side of our semi-circle.
A little while longer into the festivities, although that is hard to gage considering that we party pretty much non-stop on the trip, just at different levels of moderation. But at the Doons, moderation is given a chuck down the hill and eveyone lets loose. Anyway, the General had to go take a leek or get something from his canoe at the bottom of the hill. Whatever it was, he got up and staggered away from his chair down the hill, plucking a hanging lantern from a tree as he went.
"Member General," I said in a slurrish glee, "if you shake it mor'an twice yer playin' wit it."
"Well," he said pausing to turn wobbly, "someun's got to." He gave us his chipped toothed grin and turned to bumble down the hill.
A few whoops and hoots from the bottom of the hill later, the General returned with a beer in his hand and a smile on his face. He carefully, or at least as carefully as he could, re-hung the lantern in the tree and shuffled back to his chair. I noticed that he was standing really close to the western edge of the hill, so just to be a smart-ass I said: "I'll give anyone a hundered bucks to give the General a nudge down the hill." I got a couple of laughs from the crowd and the General just shook his head.
What happened next happened so fast that there was a moment of complete and total silence from our group as our inebriated brains took a couple of extra seconds to process what our eyes had just witnessed. The General went to sit down, or rather plop down into his chair. What he failed to realize was that when he had gotten up he had bumped his chair just enough so the back left leg was suspended in mid-air over the hill. When he ploped all I remeber seeing are these two feet suddenly sticking straight up in the air, holding for the briefest of moments and then both the General and chiar dissappeared from sight.
All of us sat there, THUNDERSTRUCK!! Then it hit us all at once. The General had just fallen down the hill, not just any hill, the big fucking hill. The absolute worst freakin' hill anyone could fall down while on this trip. As Mini-Hulk, the Mule and Em sprang into action, Duckie and I looked at each other and could not help but bust out laughing. The next thing we saw was goood old Dishman come flying in and over the edge of the hill he went.
What we saw when we got to the edge was the General about ten feet down holding onto a little sapling for what looked like dear life. The look of fear was so great that I was surprised that he didn't shit his pants. Below him was Dishman, trying to untangle his chiar from some brush.
When all was said and done what could have been a true tragedy turned out to just be a funnier than hell story. The General said that when he went over all he could think of was grabing anything he could to slow or stop his decent. Fortune smiled on him that night when he grabbed that sapling on his first attempt. Had he missed he would have went ass-over-tea-kettle again, picking up speed and possibly impailing him on a branch or something.
From then on, whenever someone sits by the edge, they always check to make sure their chair leg isn't hanging over the edge. So always look before you sit.
Untile next time I will remain...Crazy Joe.
Because we have stayed at the Mulldoon campsite the most on our trip, a lot of crazy shit has happened there, and will continue to happen as long as we are able to stroke our paddles. It is the place where Duckie and I have our buryied bottle of Windsor, which is going to be replaced this year with a bottle of that fine Irish whiskey, Jameson. Maybe Duckie and I will rebury the Windsor and leave some clues on this blog for anyone that takes a trip downt he Bigfork to find.
This particular story took place during either the 2003 or the 2005 canoe trip. For some reason I want to say 2005, but I could be wrong. To the other River Runners that read this, if I am wrong could you please make the correction.
It was a typical night at the Doons. We had arrived early enough for the Mule to easily get our gear to the top of the fucking hill from hell. Remember from past entries the hill that is close to a football field in lenght and has a very steep grade. Some years we have the fortune of a little rain to make the hill slicker than snot, but this wansn't one of those years.
We had no problem setting up camp. Dishman and some of the other newbies had collected up enough firewood to last through most of the night. The General and I proceeded to imbibe the spirits as we prepared our yearly meal of steak and Rajin-Cajin-Potatoes. The General usually does the steaks while I prepared the delectiable RCPs. Rajin-Cajin-Potatoes, many have told me, is one of their highlights to the trip. Many years ago I developed a recipe for this dish, while on the trip and it had become another one of our traditions we carry out every year. Someday I will post the recipe, but for now I will tell you that after I combine all the ingredients into two different allumnium foil wrapings, I do a seperate one every year for Mini-Hulk because someone doesn't like onions. Then I place these raps next to a hot bed of coals and roast the dish to perfection. Like I said, just an average year at the Doons.
I'm sure I have mentioned what this campsite looks like, but I will try to devulge a little more about it. Obviously it is at the top of a huge hill, but the vista is definatley one of the best on the river anywhere on the river. Lush spruce trees line the bank on both sides of the campsite barring the campsite itself. In recent years small trees has begun to grow up and block this view, so hofully the DNR will come in and trim so of them away to open it back up to the bubbling waters below.
The campsite itself is not very big, It is only big enough for three or four smaller tents. When I say small I mean three to five people tents. Anyone that has camped knows that these are highly inaccurate measurements becuase it only takes into account the number of people that can lay down in a tent to sleep; somehow they seem to forget to factor in people's gear, so in reality these tents are basically two-man tents. The tents go on the outskirts of the campsite and in the middle we have the kitchen area and then the sitting area around the fire-ring. The remainder of the tents are a little north of the main camping area. Several years ago, when we had our first big crew, we set about clearing some brush and rocks to make this area to accomadate everyone's needs. Since then, the DNR has helped to maintain this area by keeping in clean and clear of debry. However, on certain years, like this year, we had a lot of people, so space around the fire at night becames a valuable comdity.
The west side of the campsite is the one that faces the river, which also means it is the side with the hill. Now, we don't have to walk up this part of the hill to get to the site, for that we take a path that is south of the site. This path actually starts at the beginning of the rapids, but we usually shoot them right away and then land about two hundred yards downriver, which is at the base of the hill. Although the trek up the south end of the hill is a bitch, it would be a placid past-time compared the what the hill is like just west of the camp area. The hill starts about five feet from the fire-ring and plummets down to the river at a 65 to 70 degree angle. It doesn't take long for the terra firma to run out. If there was no hill, the campsite would only be fifteen twent feet from the river.
With our bellies full we an our spirits high, we settled in for a night of partying and getting crazy. Of course we had the tunes going, so some of us were making fools of ourselves as we danced and pranced to the beat. I know a bottle or two of puckers was going around the horn, with each of us doing our best help polish it off. Eventually we settled down a little and eveyone was sitting around the fire shooting the shit and tellins stories from years past. Like I said before, the space this year was limited, so some people ended up sitting close to the edge of the western hill. If I remember right, the General and Grand-pa were the two closes to the edge, one was on each side of our semi-circle.
A little while longer into the festivities, although that is hard to gage considering that we party pretty much non-stop on the trip, just at different levels of moderation. But at the Doons, moderation is given a chuck down the hill and eveyone lets loose. Anyway, the General had to go take a leek or get something from his canoe at the bottom of the hill. Whatever it was, he got up and staggered away from his chair down the hill, plucking a hanging lantern from a tree as he went.
"Member General," I said in a slurrish glee, "if you shake it mor'an twice yer playin' wit it."
"Well," he said pausing to turn wobbly, "someun's got to." He gave us his chipped toothed grin and turned to bumble down the hill.
A few whoops and hoots from the bottom of the hill later, the General returned with a beer in his hand and a smile on his face. He carefully, or at least as carefully as he could, re-hung the lantern in the tree and shuffled back to his chair. I noticed that he was standing really close to the western edge of the hill, so just to be a smart-ass I said: "I'll give anyone a hundered bucks to give the General a nudge down the hill." I got a couple of laughs from the crowd and the General just shook his head.
What happened next happened so fast that there was a moment of complete and total silence from our group as our inebriated brains took a couple of extra seconds to process what our eyes had just witnessed. The General went to sit down, or rather plop down into his chair. What he failed to realize was that when he had gotten up he had bumped his chair just enough so the back left leg was suspended in mid-air over the hill. When he ploped all I remeber seeing are these two feet suddenly sticking straight up in the air, holding for the briefest of moments and then both the General and chiar dissappeared from sight.
All of us sat there, THUNDERSTRUCK!! Then it hit us all at once. The General had just fallen down the hill, not just any hill, the big fucking hill. The absolute worst freakin' hill anyone could fall down while on this trip. As Mini-Hulk, the Mule and Em sprang into action, Duckie and I looked at each other and could not help but bust out laughing. The next thing we saw was goood old Dishman come flying in and over the edge of the hill he went.
What we saw when we got to the edge was the General about ten feet down holding onto a little sapling for what looked like dear life. The look of fear was so great that I was surprised that he didn't shit his pants. Below him was Dishman, trying to untangle his chiar from some brush.
When all was said and done what could have been a true tragedy turned out to just be a funnier than hell story. The General said that when he went over all he could think of was grabing anything he could to slow or stop his decent. Fortune smiled on him that night when he grabbed that sapling on his first attempt. Had he missed he would have went ass-over-tea-kettle again, picking up speed and possibly impailing him on a branch or something.
From then on, whenever someone sits by the edge, they always check to make sure their chair leg isn't hanging over the edge. So always look before you sit.
Untile next time I will remain...Crazy Joe.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
The Curse of the Yello Duck Part IV
I can't remember if this was the first year that Dishman brought his climbing rope or not. He had lived in Colorado for a couple of years with his older sister and had gotten into rock climbing. He is a man that fears nothing, and I literally mean it, so it didn't surprise me that he had gotten into that dangerous sport. He had decided to bring the rope, and rest of his climbing gear, because such items can and do come in handy when trying to set up a large tarp for a rain-fly. In any case it was a good thing he had brought it this year because before too long it was going to come in very, very handy.
As Dishman went to fetch the rope, I emptied my pockets on the shore, heaven forbid I get my smokes wet, and took the first step into the chilly waters. Instantly goosebumps shot up my leg and the rest of my body followed suit. I could only imagine how poor Beans was feeling, or wasn't feeling for that matter. She must have been in the water for at least fifteen minutes, maybe longer. She looked absolutely miserable.
Four steps into the river I almost lost my balance slipping in a slick rock the size of a basketball by my feet. Losing my balance, even just slightly, caused me to drift a couple of feet down river. I had underestimated the strength of the current in my rush to get out to my cousin. Quickly I was able to regain my balance and force my body back up stream. I decided to go back to shore, walk up stream a ways, and then angle myself downstream todays their wedged canoe. It was then that I realized that once we got Beans out of the water we were going to have an even bigger task of getting the canoe out. "Fuck me." I said under my breath.
Having taken a smarter approach to get to the canoe, I was at Beans side in no time.
"How you doing?" A stupid question I know, but I didn't want to ask, "Are you having fun yet?"
"Just lovely." Her words were heavily laden with sarcasm. About this time Dishman was back with his rope. He was about to head into the river with one end when Duckie stopped him. She grabbed the rope and went upstream to get a better angle to reach us.
While we are waiting for Duckie to get to the canoe, I start to examine the situation. The canoe, although wedged on the rock, was wobbling back and forth from the current. Duckie had learn from me well because all of their gear was still in the canoe, soaked, but securely tied in. I glanced over the top to check out the bottom and I saw a huge tear in the hull. Yep, this trip wasn't going any farther than these rapids. I grabbed the stern and tried to pull it against the current to see if I could dislodge it from the rock. It moved a few inches back towards me, but then the mighty Bigfork pushed back and easily won the battle.
No sooner did I turn around and Duckie was there with he rope.
"I'm sorry Beans," she apologized again.
"Shit happens," Beans replied with a shrug.
"Do you think we can get it off the rock?" Duckie asked me.
"Maybe Dishman and I can get it loose, but I doubt it. There's a lot of pressure from the current. I think we're going to have to unload it."
"I'm sorry," she apologized again.
"Hey," I said looking at Beans, "shit happens."
By now Dishman had the rope wrapped around a tree to use as an anchor as the three of us used the rope to pull ourselves out of the drink. I immediately lit a smoke as soon as I quit dripping enough to not drench my pack.
"What's the plan?" Dishman looked out to the half submerged canoe with a hunger for adventure in his eye. I loved the way Dishman always approaches a task with a beautiful optimism.
"Well we figure out a way to get the damn canoe out of the river," I said exhaling a drag. "I tried to move it when I was out there, I got a little wiggle, but that was it. Like I told Duckie, we are going to have to unload it."
Uloading a canoe isn't a difficult task when it it upright an on shore, but half submerged in the middle of river rabids is a completely different story. I knew the second we cut or untied the ropes holding the gear it we were going to have a lot of shit that was going to want to float away into oblivion. I wasn't too worried about the larger items like coolers and totes, although they were bulky, they could be half-assed floated back to shore. No what I was worried about was the little shit, chair-in-a-bags, small utility-boxes, lanterns and propane canisters, plus the other various odds and ends we pack into our canoes. Once we cut the lines and opened up the tarp it was going to be a free-for-all.
We agreed that Beans should stay on shore and the rest of us would go back into the water to start hauling gear. We had the angle down on how to make it back to the canoe without getting taken away by the current. Pretty soon we were once again up to out nuts in the chilly water that was relentless in tying to push us down the river. All three of us got on the stern and tried to use our combined might to free the canoe. And once again the Bigfork kicked our collective asses.
"I don't think we are going to move it even if we get it unloaded," Dishman commented after our third attempt.
"Well if we get it emptied, maybe you and I will be able to lift it up and flip it over the rock, dumping the water out."
"I don't know," Dishman said sceptically. "With the current and weight of the water, we are probably looking at 800 pounds or better."
"I didn't know you were good with math." I said with surprise.
"I'm not. But I know a SNAFU when I see one."
"Let's just get the shit out and then see where we are." Duckie said as she started to untie one end of the rope. The second she got the rope loose, the river caught the tarp and filled it up like a sail in the wind. A small tote with extra rope, bug-drug and other camping items dislodged and threatened to sink to the rocky bottom of the Bigfork. I snatched it up just before it drifted out of reach.
"We have to be more careful," I said looking at Duckie. "Or we are going to lose a lot of shit." I noticed that I had the fifty gallon black Hefty bags in this particular tote. Sweet! I thought as I carefully emptied the water out and pulled out the black roll. "We can use a bag or two to load up all the small stuff," I said handing Duckie a black bag. "Just be careful it doesn't fill up with water."
"No shit," she said snatching the bag.
"I'm just saying..." but I let it go. Duckie wasn't in the best of moods, which was understandable.
Little by little we would open up the tarp and add all the small things we came across into the bag. Then without warning, it happened.
While we were concentrating on containing and bagging all our little camping gear items, we had failed to notice that the red bread and chip cool was slowly dislodging itself from the confines of the tarp. With a slap from a ripple caused by the fact we were standing in the middle of rapids, the red cooler popped out and took off down the river.
"Dishman! Grab that cooler!" I yelled as it quickly floated off. I wouldn't believe it had I not seen it.
Dishman practically jumped out of the water, how he got that much lift is beyond me. I mean the guy is built like a brick shit-house, but damn it was a hell of a vertical. The truly amazing part was that he landed on top of the cool like a pouncing cat. Both Duckie and I stood there in wide-eyed and mouth agape as we watched our cousin ride a cooler down the Highway One Rapids.
At first he was on top, riding the red cooler. Then he hit a rock, but instead of falling off her held on and suddenly the cooler was riding him. Bouncing off yet another rock he was now on his side, with his head pointed down-stream, but still hanging onto the fucking cooler. Somehow he righted himself and was once again on top. This varied pattern of who was riding who continued until passed under the bridge and collided with the big snag of trees and brush on the other side.
"Holy shit!" I said pointing. "Did you see that shit? He rode that sonofabitch the whole freakin' way."
"Only Dishman could pull off a stunt like that." Duckie said with amazement. "I wish I had my camera."
"That would have been sweet." I agreed.
"Was it just me or was he yelling woo hoo?"
"Knowing Dishman, probably."
After hitting the snag, Dishman got his fee underneath himself and stumbled his way to shore, pulling the cooler behind him. With all the banging and crashing into rocks, I was amazed that the cooler had stayed shut the entire way. Later, when we opened it up, both the bread and chips were dry as a bone and in perfect shape.
Later, when we asked what the hell he was thinking, Dishman said that it seemed like a fun thing to do at the time. He knew that once he lept onto the cooler he was going to have to ride it out because the current was too strong to fight. He was right because the part he went through was all white-water.
About a half-hour after Dishman's rodeo ride down the rapids on a bucking red cooler, we had all of girl's gear on shore and was attempting to free the empty canoe from the rock. Just as Dishman had predicted, we were unable to do much more than move it a couple of inches. Duckie and I looked at each other, thinking what the other was thinking, we had only one option left. We had to go to the Brula's and see if one of us could get a ride to Effie and get some help from Dad.
The Brula's moved to the Effie area from Tower in 1986 or 87 and bought a place on the river about a quarter mile from the rapids. Both Duckie and I were close in age to their children, and their son and I had take Tae Kwon Do classes together, so they are good friends of the family. This wasn't the first time, however, that we have had to ask them for some assistance. A couple of years earlier we had to borrow a couple of life-vests from them since we don't allow anyone to go unless they have a vest. It is an absolute must when it comes to shooting rapids.
Duckie was the one to go and get a ride into Effie. Dad was still at work, but I knew that all we needed was his come-along. A come-along is a type of hand-winch that provides, well I don't really know the specifics, but I do know it is a shit-load of leverage. I also knew that if we could get that we could easily use Dishman's rope and a tree for an anchor to pull the canoe from the clutches of the Bigfork.
Roughly four hour later Dishman and I, Duckie and Beans, were sitting around a warm crackling campfire in dry clothes, sipping on some beautiful Jameson and Coke's. The Irish Whiskey was doing wonders to warm our bones. The thundering roar of the Highway One Rapids filled the air. We had decided to spend one last night camping, even though we were done canoeing. Duckie had brought back our Dad and with help of his come-along we pulled the canoe out. Being that we were also close to home home, we were able to replace all the soaking wet items with dry ones from Mom and Dad. As I said before, the canoe was shot, but what was crappier was that it was a rental. But what were we to do, shit happens.
Duckie said when they got to the rapids, she picked her Vee and let the current pull them in. About twenty feet into the rapids they nudged a rock on the left and the bow bounced off just enough send it to the right side of the rock that the canoe was trapped on. Well, when the canoe was turning sideways she panicked and attempted to jump out of the canoe so she could right it and keep if from tipping. Seemed her foot got caught on something and only half her body made it out of the canoe, however, the half on the inside did exactly what she was trying to avoid; that half tipped the canoe into the current and well, you know the rest.
I suppose you are wondering where in the hell that damn yellow duck comes into play. Duckie had been the one to find the duck and take it from the river. The duck was in her canoe when she tipped, free floating, not tied down. Some how, some way, that little yellow duck got trapped behind the stern seat and was there when we winched the canoe to shore. Duckie and Beans were the first ones to tip a canoe on the trip since I had dumb and dumber with me that time at the Doons five years ago, remember this happened in 2004. In 2005 we didn't bring the duck with us and made it without incident, but 2006 was a totally different story. That year we brought the duck and well...I'll save that for another time. But this is the story of the beginning of the Curse of the Yellow Duck.
Until next time I remain...Crazy Joe.
As Dishman went to fetch the rope, I emptied my pockets on the shore, heaven forbid I get my smokes wet, and took the first step into the chilly waters. Instantly goosebumps shot up my leg and the rest of my body followed suit. I could only imagine how poor Beans was feeling, or wasn't feeling for that matter. She must have been in the water for at least fifteen minutes, maybe longer. She looked absolutely miserable.
Four steps into the river I almost lost my balance slipping in a slick rock the size of a basketball by my feet. Losing my balance, even just slightly, caused me to drift a couple of feet down river. I had underestimated the strength of the current in my rush to get out to my cousin. Quickly I was able to regain my balance and force my body back up stream. I decided to go back to shore, walk up stream a ways, and then angle myself downstream todays their wedged canoe. It was then that I realized that once we got Beans out of the water we were going to have an even bigger task of getting the canoe out. "Fuck me." I said under my breath.
Having taken a smarter approach to get to the canoe, I was at Beans side in no time.
"How you doing?" A stupid question I know, but I didn't want to ask, "Are you having fun yet?"
"Just lovely." Her words were heavily laden with sarcasm. About this time Dishman was back with his rope. He was about to head into the river with one end when Duckie stopped him. She grabbed the rope and went upstream to get a better angle to reach us.
While we are waiting for Duckie to get to the canoe, I start to examine the situation. The canoe, although wedged on the rock, was wobbling back and forth from the current. Duckie had learn from me well because all of their gear was still in the canoe, soaked, but securely tied in. I glanced over the top to check out the bottom and I saw a huge tear in the hull. Yep, this trip wasn't going any farther than these rapids. I grabbed the stern and tried to pull it against the current to see if I could dislodge it from the rock. It moved a few inches back towards me, but then the mighty Bigfork pushed back and easily won the battle.
No sooner did I turn around and Duckie was there with he rope.
"I'm sorry Beans," she apologized again.
"Shit happens," Beans replied with a shrug.
"Do you think we can get it off the rock?" Duckie asked me.
"Maybe Dishman and I can get it loose, but I doubt it. There's a lot of pressure from the current. I think we're going to have to unload it."
"I'm sorry," she apologized again.
"Hey," I said looking at Beans, "shit happens."
By now Dishman had the rope wrapped around a tree to use as an anchor as the three of us used the rope to pull ourselves out of the drink. I immediately lit a smoke as soon as I quit dripping enough to not drench my pack.
"What's the plan?" Dishman looked out to the half submerged canoe with a hunger for adventure in his eye. I loved the way Dishman always approaches a task with a beautiful optimism.
"Well we figure out a way to get the damn canoe out of the river," I said exhaling a drag. "I tried to move it when I was out there, I got a little wiggle, but that was it. Like I told Duckie, we are going to have to unload it."
Uloading a canoe isn't a difficult task when it it upright an on shore, but half submerged in the middle of river rabids is a completely different story. I knew the second we cut or untied the ropes holding the gear it we were going to have a lot of shit that was going to want to float away into oblivion. I wasn't too worried about the larger items like coolers and totes, although they were bulky, they could be half-assed floated back to shore. No what I was worried about was the little shit, chair-in-a-bags, small utility-boxes, lanterns and propane canisters, plus the other various odds and ends we pack into our canoes. Once we cut the lines and opened up the tarp it was going to be a free-for-all.
We agreed that Beans should stay on shore and the rest of us would go back into the water to start hauling gear. We had the angle down on how to make it back to the canoe without getting taken away by the current. Pretty soon we were once again up to out nuts in the chilly water that was relentless in tying to push us down the river. All three of us got on the stern and tried to use our combined might to free the canoe. And once again the Bigfork kicked our collective asses.
"I don't think we are going to move it even if we get it unloaded," Dishman commented after our third attempt.
"Well if we get it emptied, maybe you and I will be able to lift it up and flip it over the rock, dumping the water out."
"I don't know," Dishman said sceptically. "With the current and weight of the water, we are probably looking at 800 pounds or better."
"I didn't know you were good with math." I said with surprise.
"I'm not. But I know a SNAFU when I see one."
"Let's just get the shit out and then see where we are." Duckie said as she started to untie one end of the rope. The second she got the rope loose, the river caught the tarp and filled it up like a sail in the wind. A small tote with extra rope, bug-drug and other camping items dislodged and threatened to sink to the rocky bottom of the Bigfork. I snatched it up just before it drifted out of reach.
"We have to be more careful," I said looking at Duckie. "Or we are going to lose a lot of shit." I noticed that I had the fifty gallon black Hefty bags in this particular tote. Sweet! I thought as I carefully emptied the water out and pulled out the black roll. "We can use a bag or two to load up all the small stuff," I said handing Duckie a black bag. "Just be careful it doesn't fill up with water."
"No shit," she said snatching the bag.
"I'm just saying..." but I let it go. Duckie wasn't in the best of moods, which was understandable.
Little by little we would open up the tarp and add all the small things we came across into the bag. Then without warning, it happened.
While we were concentrating on containing and bagging all our little camping gear items, we had failed to notice that the red bread and chip cool was slowly dislodging itself from the confines of the tarp. With a slap from a ripple caused by the fact we were standing in the middle of rapids, the red cooler popped out and took off down the river.
"Dishman! Grab that cooler!" I yelled as it quickly floated off. I wouldn't believe it had I not seen it.
Dishman practically jumped out of the water, how he got that much lift is beyond me. I mean the guy is built like a brick shit-house, but damn it was a hell of a vertical. The truly amazing part was that he landed on top of the cool like a pouncing cat. Both Duckie and I stood there in wide-eyed and mouth agape as we watched our cousin ride a cooler down the Highway One Rapids.
At first he was on top, riding the red cooler. Then he hit a rock, but instead of falling off her held on and suddenly the cooler was riding him. Bouncing off yet another rock he was now on his side, with his head pointed down-stream, but still hanging onto the fucking cooler. Somehow he righted himself and was once again on top. This varied pattern of who was riding who continued until passed under the bridge and collided with the big snag of trees and brush on the other side.
"Holy shit!" I said pointing. "Did you see that shit? He rode that sonofabitch the whole freakin' way."
"Only Dishman could pull off a stunt like that." Duckie said with amazement. "I wish I had my camera."
"That would have been sweet." I agreed.
"Was it just me or was he yelling woo hoo?"
"Knowing Dishman, probably."
After hitting the snag, Dishman got his fee underneath himself and stumbled his way to shore, pulling the cooler behind him. With all the banging and crashing into rocks, I was amazed that the cooler had stayed shut the entire way. Later, when we opened it up, both the bread and chips were dry as a bone and in perfect shape.
Later, when we asked what the hell he was thinking, Dishman said that it seemed like a fun thing to do at the time. He knew that once he lept onto the cooler he was going to have to ride it out because the current was too strong to fight. He was right because the part he went through was all white-water.
About a half-hour after Dishman's rodeo ride down the rapids on a bucking red cooler, we had all of girl's gear on shore and was attempting to free the empty canoe from the rock. Just as Dishman had predicted, we were unable to do much more than move it a couple of inches. Duckie and I looked at each other, thinking what the other was thinking, we had only one option left. We had to go to the Brula's and see if one of us could get a ride to Effie and get some help from Dad.
The Brula's moved to the Effie area from Tower in 1986 or 87 and bought a place on the river about a quarter mile from the rapids. Both Duckie and I were close in age to their children, and their son and I had take Tae Kwon Do classes together, so they are good friends of the family. This wasn't the first time, however, that we have had to ask them for some assistance. A couple of years earlier we had to borrow a couple of life-vests from them since we don't allow anyone to go unless they have a vest. It is an absolute must when it comes to shooting rapids.
Duckie was the one to go and get a ride into Effie. Dad was still at work, but I knew that all we needed was his come-along. A come-along is a type of hand-winch that provides, well I don't really know the specifics, but I do know it is a shit-load of leverage. I also knew that if we could get that we could easily use Dishman's rope and a tree for an anchor to pull the canoe from the clutches of the Bigfork.
Roughly four hour later Dishman and I, Duckie and Beans, were sitting around a warm crackling campfire in dry clothes, sipping on some beautiful Jameson and Coke's. The Irish Whiskey was doing wonders to warm our bones. The thundering roar of the Highway One Rapids filled the air. We had decided to spend one last night camping, even though we were done canoeing. Duckie had brought back our Dad and with help of his come-along we pulled the canoe out. Being that we were also close to home home, we were able to replace all the soaking wet items with dry ones from Mom and Dad. As I said before, the canoe was shot, but what was crappier was that it was a rental. But what were we to do, shit happens.
Duckie said when they got to the rapids, she picked her Vee and let the current pull them in. About twenty feet into the rapids they nudged a rock on the left and the bow bounced off just enough send it to the right side of the rock that the canoe was trapped on. Well, when the canoe was turning sideways she panicked and attempted to jump out of the canoe so she could right it and keep if from tipping. Seemed her foot got caught on something and only half her body made it out of the canoe, however, the half on the inside did exactly what she was trying to avoid; that half tipped the canoe into the current and well, you know the rest.
I suppose you are wondering where in the hell that damn yellow duck comes into play. Duckie had been the one to find the duck and take it from the river. The duck was in her canoe when she tipped, free floating, not tied down. Some how, some way, that little yellow duck got trapped behind the stern seat and was there when we winched the canoe to shore. Duckie and Beans were the first ones to tip a canoe on the trip since I had dumb and dumber with me that time at the Doons five years ago, remember this happened in 2004. In 2005 we didn't bring the duck with us and made it without incident, but 2006 was a totally different story. That year we brought the duck and well...I'll save that for another time. But this is the story of the beginning of the Curse of the Yellow Duck.
Until next time I remain...Crazy Joe.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
THe Curse of the Yellow Duck III
There is something about shooting rapids that is so Zen. It pulls all your concentration into a single, unifying task to successfully navigait the crashing, splashing white-water that roars all around your tiny watercraft. It is terrifyingly beautiful to watch one's bow plow into a three foot high cresting wave, completley disappear under that wave, then blow out the other side like a surfacing sub, sending drenching sprays of water into your face and occasionaly the piolt in the back. Sometimes a rock is deep enough to allow the bow to pass over, yet the middle isn't. Suddenly the canoe will list to one side or the other and instinct will instantly shift your weight to keep the canoe upright all the while feeling the bottom of the canoe shudder and grate across the top of the rock. The floor even raises up a little; many times I have watched my gear lift up in a rippling wave under the tarp from front to back as the canoe scraped over a rock. This is all happening while also riding a killer adrenalean high.
The navigator, or person in the front of the canoe has the task of telling the piolt, the person in the back, which way to steer the craft. A good navigator will call out directions well in advance to allow the piolt to make the proper adjustments to the dircetion of the canoe. In many cases the contol is an illusion, because one never truly knows what is under the surface of the churing waters. Nevertheless, the adrenalean provides hightened reflexes and reactions to the problems presented while in the whtie-water. Commands bellow over the roar of the river:
"Hard LEFT!! STROKE! STROKE! STROKE!...HOLD!! THREE HARD ON THE RIGHT!!!"
Then, before one knows it, the angry water is calming down. Fluffy dabs of off white foam dot the smoothing waters or collect in little inlets along the shore. In most cases there are a few rocks that pock-mark the water and have to be navigated around, but nothing like the main set.
Whoops and shouts fill the air as everyone that makes it through says a little prayer for the safe passage and celebrates by cracking open a fresh brew. This has to be done because no open beer has ever made the ride without tipping over.
As Dishman and I came up to the Highway One Rapids, Duckie and Beans were nowhere to be seen. We discussed waiting for them but then decided to just shoot the rapids and wait for them on the other side. This way we could get some stellar pictures as they came through later.
Out of the three sets of rapids we shoot on this trip, the Highway One Rapids scare me the most. I don't know why since I always get stuck at the end of the Rice. The Muldoons are by far bigger and longer the Highway One, however, they cover a corner in the river, which tends to make them more intimidating. This could be coupled with the fact that more people have tipped on the Highway One's than all the others combined. Up until last year, I never had a problem, but they still freak me out.
Well Dishman and I sized up the situation as the river quickened and pulled us closer and closer to the raging waters. The strongest vee of water started a little to the left of center, drifted to the right a little and then we had a choice to take the left or right side under the bridge. I figured we would take whichever one had us in the best pull as we came up on it. We ended up taking the right because the bow was pointed in that direction and that was where the river wanted to take us. Of course when it spit us out on the other side of the bridge we had to cut it hard, hard left to keep from slamming into a log-snag that was caught up on some rocks.
Just like past years we were through he rapids before we knew it and offering up our shouts of joy to whatever creature would listen at the moment. Chicot, went our victory beers as we each enjoyed a well deserverd brew.
After slamming half my beer I manuvered our canoe to the right-side of the river. I bumped the bow into the soft, mucky earth and let the current of the river pivot our canoe so we were facing upstream. Having a prime view of when Duckie and Beans took the ride, we pulled out our camera's and waited. And waited...and waited...and waited some more. Finally after another beer and a half of waiting I started to get a little concerned.
"They should be coming anytime now," I said to Dishman.
"Wonder what's taking them so long?" He replied.
"Well I don't see any shit floating through, so I don't think they tipped." I commented.
"Lets just pull up on shore so I can take a piss." He said over his back. That didn't sound like a bad idea because I had to piss also. I jammed my paddle into the muck and grabbed a small bush on the shore to steady the canoe enough for Dishman to get out. Once out, he grabbed the bow to steady it for me.
We pulled the canoe half out of the water and each found a bush in need of some watering. I Finished before Dishman so I decided to walk up the hill to the bridge. I figured if I stood on the bridge I could get a really good shot of them going in and coming out of the rapids.
I got to the top of the hill and when I got halfway across the road I discovered the reason Duckie and Beans weren't coming. Fifty feet into the rapids sat their canoe, sideways, on its side, half submerged under the water caught dead center on a rock. I could see that the canoe was buckled hard. To my relief I saw Beans standing in the water next to the the bow of ther broken canoe and Duckie was almost out of the river, struggling hard against the current. Fuck this is going to suck.
"Dishman!" I yelled. "They rolled, get your ass up here!" Having my camera handy I snapped off a few shots. I don't know if Duckie has a copy of any of these photos, but I will make sure to get one up on this sight so you can see what I saw.
I had no sooner finished taking my pictures when Dishman reached my side.
"This is going to be an adventure." He said with a grin and bounded off down the other side of the road. Duckie was now on the shore, bent over resting from her battle against the waters relently current. I followed right behind Dishman. The closer we got to Duckie the more colorful her language got. She was spewing profanities that would have made a Andrew Dice Clay blush.
"We're so fucked Joe," she said half out of breath when we got to her. "The canoe is fucked. It ripped along the bottom. There's a huge gash in it. We're not going anywhere."
"What about Beans?" I motioned towards our cousin who looked like she was done with canoeing for the rest of her life.
"We need to form a human chain to get her out. The current is too strong for her. She tired to walk to shore and almost got swept away."
"I can go get my climbing rope and carabeiners," Dishman offered. "We can use it as an anchor to get her out of the water."
"While you do that I'll wade out to her to see if maybe I can help her in anyway I can" I said. "You rest." I told Duckie.
Well, it is getting late so I will finish this story her in the near future.
Until then I will remain...Crazy Joe.
The navigator, or person in the front of the canoe has the task of telling the piolt, the person in the back, which way to steer the craft. A good navigator will call out directions well in advance to allow the piolt to make the proper adjustments to the dircetion of the canoe. In many cases the contol is an illusion, because one never truly knows what is under the surface of the churing waters. Nevertheless, the adrenalean provides hightened reflexes and reactions to the problems presented while in the whtie-water. Commands bellow over the roar of the river:
"Hard LEFT!! STROKE! STROKE! STROKE!...HOLD!! THREE HARD ON THE RIGHT!!!"
Then, before one knows it, the angry water is calming down. Fluffy dabs of off white foam dot the smoothing waters or collect in little inlets along the shore. In most cases there are a few rocks that pock-mark the water and have to be navigated around, but nothing like the main set.
Whoops and shouts fill the air as everyone that makes it through says a little prayer for the safe passage and celebrates by cracking open a fresh brew. This has to be done because no open beer has ever made the ride without tipping over.
As Dishman and I came up to the Highway One Rapids, Duckie and Beans were nowhere to be seen. We discussed waiting for them but then decided to just shoot the rapids and wait for them on the other side. This way we could get some stellar pictures as they came through later.
Out of the three sets of rapids we shoot on this trip, the Highway One Rapids scare me the most. I don't know why since I always get stuck at the end of the Rice. The Muldoons are by far bigger and longer the Highway One, however, they cover a corner in the river, which tends to make them more intimidating. This could be coupled with the fact that more people have tipped on the Highway One's than all the others combined. Up until last year, I never had a problem, but they still freak me out.
Well Dishman and I sized up the situation as the river quickened and pulled us closer and closer to the raging waters. The strongest vee of water started a little to the left of center, drifted to the right a little and then we had a choice to take the left or right side under the bridge. I figured we would take whichever one had us in the best pull as we came up on it. We ended up taking the right because the bow was pointed in that direction and that was where the river wanted to take us. Of course when it spit us out on the other side of the bridge we had to cut it hard, hard left to keep from slamming into a log-snag that was caught up on some rocks.
Just like past years we were through he rapids before we knew it and offering up our shouts of joy to whatever creature would listen at the moment. Chicot, went our victory beers as we each enjoyed a well deserverd brew.
After slamming half my beer I manuvered our canoe to the right-side of the river. I bumped the bow into the soft, mucky earth and let the current of the river pivot our canoe so we were facing upstream. Having a prime view of when Duckie and Beans took the ride, we pulled out our camera's and waited. And waited...and waited...and waited some more. Finally after another beer and a half of waiting I started to get a little concerned.
"They should be coming anytime now," I said to Dishman.
"Wonder what's taking them so long?" He replied.
"Well I don't see any shit floating through, so I don't think they tipped." I commented.
"Lets just pull up on shore so I can take a piss." He said over his back. That didn't sound like a bad idea because I had to piss also. I jammed my paddle into the muck and grabbed a small bush on the shore to steady the canoe enough for Dishman to get out. Once out, he grabbed the bow to steady it for me.
We pulled the canoe half out of the water and each found a bush in need of some watering. I Finished before Dishman so I decided to walk up the hill to the bridge. I figured if I stood on the bridge I could get a really good shot of them going in and coming out of the rapids.
I got to the top of the hill and when I got halfway across the road I discovered the reason Duckie and Beans weren't coming. Fifty feet into the rapids sat their canoe, sideways, on its side, half submerged under the water caught dead center on a rock. I could see that the canoe was buckled hard. To my relief I saw Beans standing in the water next to the the bow of ther broken canoe and Duckie was almost out of the river, struggling hard against the current. Fuck this is going to suck.
"Dishman!" I yelled. "They rolled, get your ass up here!" Having my camera handy I snapped off a few shots. I don't know if Duckie has a copy of any of these photos, but I will make sure to get one up on this sight so you can see what I saw.
I had no sooner finished taking my pictures when Dishman reached my side.
"This is going to be an adventure." He said with a grin and bounded off down the other side of the road. Duckie was now on the shore, bent over resting from her battle against the waters relently current. I followed right behind Dishman. The closer we got to Duckie the more colorful her language got. She was spewing profanities that would have made a Andrew Dice Clay blush.
"We're so fucked Joe," she said half out of breath when we got to her. "The canoe is fucked. It ripped along the bottom. There's a huge gash in it. We're not going anywhere."
"What about Beans?" I motioned towards our cousin who looked like she was done with canoeing for the rest of her life.
"We need to form a human chain to get her out. The current is too strong for her. She tired to walk to shore and almost got swept away."
"I can go get my climbing rope and carabeiners," Dishman offered. "We can use it as an anchor to get her out of the water."
"While you do that I'll wade out to her to see if maybe I can help her in anyway I can" I said. "You rest." I told Duckie.
Well, it is getting late so I will finish this story her in the near future.
Until then I will remain...Crazy Joe.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Curse of the Yellow Duck Part Duex
I can't believe that it is already March, and tomorrow will mark a third of the month already gone. We are roughly ten weeks away from this year's canoe trip. I know I have mentioned the itch starting, but as the days become longer and the soft warming rays of the spring season streches thier fingers across our great state my yearning to feel the blade of my paddle push against the cool water's of the Bigfork really starts to intenseafy.
I'm now in the mode of thinking about the trip daily. It's not all the time that I think about the trip, yet. If it wasn't for several other event's that happen in May: Logy's birthday, Mother's Day, opening of fishing and the end of the school year, canoeing would truly be all I thought about. As crazy as it may sound, but on the eve of the trip, every year, I'm as excited as an eight-year-old on the eve of Christmas. It is all I can do to contain myself once we pass the fishing opener. Still, I'm digressing from the second part of the story of the Yellow Duck. I only mention the growing anticipation of the trip because this is the time of year that I start to recall all the stories of the trip. I doubt that all of our tales will make it into this digital log, some are a little too X-rated for the kiddies, but I won't get into that. Sometimes what happens on the river, stays on the river. But anyway...
The following morning we awoke with dry mouths, pounding heads and bladders that threatened to leak if they weren't relieved ASAP. A typical morning after on the river. It was a beautiful morning that day, we had blue skys above, the birds were singing and playing grab-ass in the trees. Down river from where we camped the shores of the river open to a dew covered field and the morning sun was turing the dew into soft whisps of the fog that floated in the low areas. The river also had spider web fine mist hanging couple of feet above the water.
I think Dishman got up and stoked the fire as soon as he was done with his piss. I followed suit with the pissing busines and headed for the water cooler. I slammed half a bottle and lit a smoke. Duckie and Beans emerged from their journey in the woods, and Beans was actually looking good for having partied intot he wee hours of the morning, and with her not being an outdoors person, I was truly impressed. I mean Dishman looked like shit and I new I probably looked liked shits ugly cousing puke. Duckie's eyes looked like little red road maps and her face had the, "fuck I drank too damn much" look on it. I asked what her secret was and I think she said something about taking a Zantac pill before bed and it helps with not having a hang-over in the morning. I'm not a hundred percent sure that us the correct pill, but I'm at least eighty. Anyway, I know I popped about 1600 mg of tylenol with the rest of my bottle of water and headed back to my tent. I looked at Duckie and said wake me in half an hour.
Half an hour later I emerged from my tent feeling like a million bucks covered in shit. I felt better. While I was out the rest of the crew sat around the fire and smoked grits with gulps of water. They also seemed to be feeling a little better. The girls had washed up and Dishman was starting to pull things out of eggs and bacon. We cooked the meal while the girls tidied up the area, getting things ready to load back into the canoes for the days journey to the Busti campsite. Within two hours we were fed, packed and pushing off the shores of the Rice Rapids campsite. I sunck a glace over my shoulder and whisper, "see ya next year".
I have heard the cliche of the only thing for sure in life are "death and taxes", well I can add something else to that list for me. As sure as the sun rises in the east I will get my fucking canoe stuck somewhere at the end of the Rice Rapids. It is a mathmatical certainty that it will happen every year we go through them. I have no idea why either. I always follow the same path as everyone else and somehow I seem to find the one evil rock that grins as I approach. It knows that here comes a sucker that I can screw with. To date I have never tipped in those rapids. Actually up until last year the only time I had tipped was at the end of the Mulldoons During Duckies first year. The worst part of that one was I was completly sober that trip, but I had two chowder-heads from Nymore in my canoe that year and the dude sitting in the front was color blind. The crash went something like this:
"Stebe, where are the rocks?
There everywhere dude!"
Mind we are in white-water here so one has to shout, but I couldn't help but notice the touch of fear in his voice.
"What way do I steer?
Dude I can't tell! I'm fucking color blind!"
This is when we hit a rock that turns us sideways. We get hung up on this rock and instead of leaning away fromt he current to keep the canoe upright, Stebe and Adam lean towards it. The second the lip of the gunwall submerges I feel the canoe rap around the rock, sink to my waist in the water and look up to see my sister and her friend three feet directly in front of me about to run me over. Then came the coniption-fit...but that is another story.
So Dishman and I got stuck at the end of the Rice Rapids, big fucking deal. Duckie and Sabrina made it through without incident. We continued through the day sipping casually on our beers and shooting the shit about whatever crossed our minds.
As morning slipped into afternoon, so did some grey clouds into our sky. The air cooled slightly and I knew from previous experience that rain was to follow. Sometimes it was a simple passing storm that lasted from five to fifteen minutes, other times it would got into the night. There have been more than one tirp in which we made camp in the rain. I told everyone that they might as well get their rain gear out and put it on, or at least have it handy to don quickly. I had also learned during the early years of the trip to keep your rain gear close at hand because a rainstorm could break at anytime in the spring and nothing sucks more than having eight miles to go before camp and dry clothes.
The rain came and went in spurts. Nothing really lasted so the trip was still rather enjoyable. I know we joked back and forth about taking the duck from his natural habitat and that he was the reason for the rain. Like I said the rain wasn't bad, but it gave us something to talk about.
As we got closer and closer to the Highway One Rapids, the rain seemed to lighten and the sun was threatening to break up the clouds. About a half-mile from the rapids we came across someone fishing from shore. Duckie recognized the person, so they pulled off to stop and chit-chat for a bit. Dishman and I just kept going. We kept up a slow, casual pace and wound our way down the river to the rapids.
Part Three to come soon. Till then I will remain...Crazy Joe.
I'm now in the mode of thinking about the trip daily. It's not all the time that I think about the trip, yet. If it wasn't for several other event's that happen in May: Logy's birthday, Mother's Day, opening of fishing and the end of the school year, canoeing would truly be all I thought about. As crazy as it may sound, but on the eve of the trip, every year, I'm as excited as an eight-year-old on the eve of Christmas. It is all I can do to contain myself once we pass the fishing opener. Still, I'm digressing from the second part of the story of the Yellow Duck. I only mention the growing anticipation of the trip because this is the time of year that I start to recall all the stories of the trip. I doubt that all of our tales will make it into this digital log, some are a little too X-rated for the kiddies, but I won't get into that. Sometimes what happens on the river, stays on the river. But anyway...
The following morning we awoke with dry mouths, pounding heads and bladders that threatened to leak if they weren't relieved ASAP. A typical morning after on the river. It was a beautiful morning that day, we had blue skys above, the birds were singing and playing grab-ass in the trees. Down river from where we camped the shores of the river open to a dew covered field and the morning sun was turing the dew into soft whisps of the fog that floated in the low areas. The river also had spider web fine mist hanging couple of feet above the water.
I think Dishman got up and stoked the fire as soon as he was done with his piss. I followed suit with the pissing busines and headed for the water cooler. I slammed half a bottle and lit a smoke. Duckie and Beans emerged from their journey in the woods, and Beans was actually looking good for having partied intot he wee hours of the morning, and with her not being an outdoors person, I was truly impressed. I mean Dishman looked like shit and I new I probably looked liked shits ugly cousing puke. Duckie's eyes looked like little red road maps and her face had the, "fuck I drank too damn much" look on it. I asked what her secret was and I think she said something about taking a Zantac pill before bed and it helps with not having a hang-over in the morning. I'm not a hundred percent sure that us the correct pill, but I'm at least eighty. Anyway, I know I popped about 1600 mg of tylenol with the rest of my bottle of water and headed back to my tent. I looked at Duckie and said wake me in half an hour.
Half an hour later I emerged from my tent feeling like a million bucks covered in shit. I felt better. While I was out the rest of the crew sat around the fire and smoked grits with gulps of water. They also seemed to be feeling a little better. The girls had washed up and Dishman was starting to pull things out of eggs and bacon. We cooked the meal while the girls tidied up the area, getting things ready to load back into the canoes for the days journey to the Busti campsite. Within two hours we were fed, packed and pushing off the shores of the Rice Rapids campsite. I sunck a glace over my shoulder and whisper, "see ya next year".
I have heard the cliche of the only thing for sure in life are "death and taxes", well I can add something else to that list for me. As sure as the sun rises in the east I will get my fucking canoe stuck somewhere at the end of the Rice Rapids. It is a mathmatical certainty that it will happen every year we go through them. I have no idea why either. I always follow the same path as everyone else and somehow I seem to find the one evil rock that grins as I approach. It knows that here comes a sucker that I can screw with. To date I have never tipped in those rapids. Actually up until last year the only time I had tipped was at the end of the Mulldoons During Duckies first year. The worst part of that one was I was completly sober that trip, but I had two chowder-heads from Nymore in my canoe that year and the dude sitting in the front was color blind. The crash went something like this:
"Stebe, where are the rocks?
There everywhere dude!"
Mind we are in white-water here so one has to shout, but I couldn't help but notice the touch of fear in his voice.
"What way do I steer?
Dude I can't tell! I'm fucking color blind!"
This is when we hit a rock that turns us sideways. We get hung up on this rock and instead of leaning away fromt he current to keep the canoe upright, Stebe and Adam lean towards it. The second the lip of the gunwall submerges I feel the canoe rap around the rock, sink to my waist in the water and look up to see my sister and her friend three feet directly in front of me about to run me over. Then came the coniption-fit...but that is another story.
So Dishman and I got stuck at the end of the Rice Rapids, big fucking deal. Duckie and Sabrina made it through without incident. We continued through the day sipping casually on our beers and shooting the shit about whatever crossed our minds.
As morning slipped into afternoon, so did some grey clouds into our sky. The air cooled slightly and I knew from previous experience that rain was to follow. Sometimes it was a simple passing storm that lasted from five to fifteen minutes, other times it would got into the night. There have been more than one tirp in which we made camp in the rain. I told everyone that they might as well get their rain gear out and put it on, or at least have it handy to don quickly. I had also learned during the early years of the trip to keep your rain gear close at hand because a rainstorm could break at anytime in the spring and nothing sucks more than having eight miles to go before camp and dry clothes.
The rain came and went in spurts. Nothing really lasted so the trip was still rather enjoyable. I know we joked back and forth about taking the duck from his natural habitat and that he was the reason for the rain. Like I said the rain wasn't bad, but it gave us something to talk about.
As we got closer and closer to the Highway One Rapids, the rain seemed to lighten and the sun was threatening to break up the clouds. About a half-mile from the rapids we came across someone fishing from shore. Duckie recognized the person, so they pulled off to stop and chit-chat for a bit. Dishman and I just kept going. We kept up a slow, casual pace and wound our way down the river to the rapids.
Part Three to come soon. Till then I will remain...Crazy Joe.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
The Curse of the Yellow Duck
The Curse of the Yellow Duck begins back in 2004. It was an all cousins year on the river because for various reasons the normal crew couldn't make it. I was there, of course, so was Duckie, Dishman made it and it was the first, and only, year for our cousin Sabrina. We will call her Beans for a nicname. It is one her dad used to call her. Don't know if he still does or not.
The General was doing some construction work for either himself or his father-inlaw, so he was out. Emily was home with our two week old son, Little Man, so she was out. My Mom stayed with her while we were on the trip, so she was in great hands. The Mule had a prior engagement, and she hadn't met Mini-Hulk yet, I don't think, but in either case they were both out. Ladies man was busy moving back to Tower, his home town, and Grandpa had yet to come on the trip. But like any other year, the planning began in January and before we knew it another Memorial Weekend Canoe Trip had arrived.
We had planned to make the normal run from Bigfork to the first bridge after the Muldoon Rapids, stopping at the Rice Rapids campsite for night one, Busti for night two and the Doons for the last night. It was a run we had made countless times before, all without incident for the most part. Dishman and I were in one canoe, the one I use to borrow from Doug Cleath before Duckie and I bought our own canoe's. This left Duckie and Beans in the other canoe, one that was rented from the local sporting goods store.
Like every year, we arrived a little late at the landing on that balmy Friday afternoon. It was slightly overcast, but the sun was doing a fine job at keeping the temperture at a very comfortable level. Since the General wasn't on the trip that year, we weren't overloaded with anything we didn't really need. Both canoes were expertrly packed so the loads were balanced and they didn't sit too low in the water. We had plenty of food, booze and ambition for the trip, all we needed to do was push off from the shore.
With a hug and a wave we said good bye to my mom, she had helped us that year with the vehicles, and the four of us took off on one unforgetable journey.
The temp slowly began to decline as a few more clouds moved in, but it was still a spectacular Minnesota spring day; perfect to start a tirp on the river. Dishman and I had cracked our first beers by the time we reached the Bigfork Hospital and we were catching up on each other's lives as we don't usually get to see or spend time with each other, barring the anual trip. Duckie and Beans were pretty much doing the same, except they hadn't started drinking yet. The current was swift and the realization that we were finally on the trip was sinking in with a relazing calmness.
As our party of four approached the Ortman's homestead, Duckie and Beans were in the lead, Duckie spotted something yellow floating in the reeds next to the north side of the shore. Manurvering her canoe over they came up on the small object and picked it up. It was a little faded yellow rubber duck.
She called over to us to come up to their canoe to show off her newly found treasure. This is a Close-Up duck from one of their fund raisers. She said as she showed us the writing on the bottom that said Close-Up and a number I can't remember. If I recall right, she said that Close-Up sold these to people and then they used them in a race in the river and whoever bought the duck that won the race, hence the reason for the number on the bottom, they won some prize of some sort. It was instanly a puzzle, since the duck also had the year 1998 on the bottom also and it was now 2004. We deduced that it meant one of two things: Either it had gotten lost in the race and drifted into some nook causing it to become stuck; and by some mere chance had stayed lodged in that nook for six years. Improbable, but not impossible. Or someone that lived on the river left it in their yard over the winter and it found its way into the water that spring. I suppose someone could have let it go that year. Saddly though, we will never know the answer to that mystery.
We briefly debated whether to put it back in the water or take it with us. Duckie made the call to keep it, since she found it. In hindsight we should have let it be, but if we had done that I would have this story to tell. Tossing it in the bottom of her canoe we continued on our way. We didn't have very far to go that evening, but we wanted to make camp before it got too late. It is a bit of a pain in the arse to make camp in the dark.
About a six pack each later we rounded a corner on the river and the gurgling sound of the Rice Rapids filled the air. We had arrived at our first campe site in a good buzz going and a rumbling in our tummys. Our spirits were high. The weather was pristine. And within an hour we would have a good fire going a burgers on the grill. In truth we partied like rockstars and then made our food when "the munch" hit us around eleven that night. Needless to say it was a greart start to our weekend.
To be continued...
Untile then I remain...Crazy Joe.
The General was doing some construction work for either himself or his father-inlaw, so he was out. Emily was home with our two week old son, Little Man, so she was out. My Mom stayed with her while we were on the trip, so she was in great hands. The Mule had a prior engagement, and she hadn't met Mini-Hulk yet, I don't think, but in either case they were both out. Ladies man was busy moving back to Tower, his home town, and Grandpa had yet to come on the trip. But like any other year, the planning began in January and before we knew it another Memorial Weekend Canoe Trip had arrived.
We had planned to make the normal run from Bigfork to the first bridge after the Muldoon Rapids, stopping at the Rice Rapids campsite for night one, Busti for night two and the Doons for the last night. It was a run we had made countless times before, all without incident for the most part. Dishman and I were in one canoe, the one I use to borrow from Doug Cleath before Duckie and I bought our own canoe's. This left Duckie and Beans in the other canoe, one that was rented from the local sporting goods store.
Like every year, we arrived a little late at the landing on that balmy Friday afternoon. It was slightly overcast, but the sun was doing a fine job at keeping the temperture at a very comfortable level. Since the General wasn't on the trip that year, we weren't overloaded with anything we didn't really need. Both canoes were expertrly packed so the loads were balanced and they didn't sit too low in the water. We had plenty of food, booze and ambition for the trip, all we needed to do was push off from the shore.
With a hug and a wave we said good bye to my mom, she had helped us that year with the vehicles, and the four of us took off on one unforgetable journey.
The temp slowly began to decline as a few more clouds moved in, but it was still a spectacular Minnesota spring day; perfect to start a tirp on the river. Dishman and I had cracked our first beers by the time we reached the Bigfork Hospital and we were catching up on each other's lives as we don't usually get to see or spend time with each other, barring the anual trip. Duckie and Beans were pretty much doing the same, except they hadn't started drinking yet. The current was swift and the realization that we were finally on the trip was sinking in with a relazing calmness.
As our party of four approached the Ortman's homestead, Duckie and Beans were in the lead, Duckie spotted something yellow floating in the reeds next to the north side of the shore. Manurvering her canoe over they came up on the small object and picked it up. It was a little faded yellow rubber duck.
She called over to us to come up to their canoe to show off her newly found treasure. This is a Close-Up duck from one of their fund raisers. She said as she showed us the writing on the bottom that said Close-Up and a number I can't remember. If I recall right, she said that Close-Up sold these to people and then they used them in a race in the river and whoever bought the duck that won the race, hence the reason for the number on the bottom, they won some prize of some sort. It was instanly a puzzle, since the duck also had the year 1998 on the bottom also and it was now 2004. We deduced that it meant one of two things: Either it had gotten lost in the race and drifted into some nook causing it to become stuck; and by some mere chance had stayed lodged in that nook for six years. Improbable, but not impossible. Or someone that lived on the river left it in their yard over the winter and it found its way into the water that spring. I suppose someone could have let it go that year. Saddly though, we will never know the answer to that mystery.
We briefly debated whether to put it back in the water or take it with us. Duckie made the call to keep it, since she found it. In hindsight we should have let it be, but if we had done that I would have this story to tell. Tossing it in the bottom of her canoe we continued on our way. We didn't have very far to go that evening, but we wanted to make camp before it got too late. It is a bit of a pain in the arse to make camp in the dark.
About a six pack each later we rounded a corner on the river and the gurgling sound of the Rice Rapids filled the air. We had arrived at our first campe site in a good buzz going and a rumbling in our tummys. Our spirits were high. The weather was pristine. And within an hour we would have a good fire going a burgers on the grill. In truth we partied like rockstars and then made our food when "the munch" hit us around eleven that night. Needless to say it was a greart start to our weekend.
To be continued...
Untile then I remain...Crazy Joe.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
The Itch Is Starting
It is getting to be that time of year, yet once again. The time when the itch for the Memorial Weekend Canoe Trip. Duckie and I have already had our customary Christmas time chat about this years trip. I have also been in contact with the General about our journey to come. All three of us have agreed that we need to definalty DOWN-SIZE this year. The end to last year's trip was shit to say the least, which I plan on updating here in the near future. We have a couple of changes for this coming trip, some sad and others...well that still remains to be determinded.
Saddly this year we will for sure not have The Mule or Mini-Hulk on the trip. The reason, Mini-Hulk slipped on past the goalie and knocked up The Mule. They are both happily awaiting the arival of their first born child, a son. All of us from the River Runners wish them the best on their new chapter in life and we look forward to seeing them back again next year. My mom has already volunteered to watch the little rug-rat every year for the trip.
There is a slight possibility that Dishman and his wife will be joining us this year, however, he recently told me he wasn't too hopeful because that is a busy time for him at work and he may not be able to get the time off. I'll keep ya posted.
As for Ladies Man, he and his girlfriend had their first child last December, a baby boy named Aiden, so he will most likley not make it. Also, his job really pick up during that weekend, so he probably won't be able to get it off. Again I'll keep ya posted.
Nevertheless, Emily, Duckie, The General and myself are all a go for this year. We are currently trying to get some former River Runners to come back to the trip along with trying to find some FNG's for this year. (Fucking New Guys) Keep ya posted.
The new thing this year is that The General bought a nice chunck of land on the west side of the second crossing of highway six. Did ya catch all that. It is the second time that the Bigfork River crosses the highway. The only problem is that it is quite a ways down from where we normaly pull out of the river. It also takes us past Little American Falls, and absolute must portage section of the river. This means altering the trip from camping at the Doons for two nights to one and spending a night at Little American. I think a lot will depend on the river level. Goog current equals good progress, bad current equals working your ass off to get somewhere. We'll just have to see what the spring brings us.
On a side note, I apologize for taking so long to post anything new here. I plan to make a little time each week to devote to the stories of this hallowed journey.
Until then I remain...Crazy Joe
Saddly this year we will for sure not have The Mule or Mini-Hulk on the trip. The reason, Mini-Hulk slipped on past the goalie and knocked up The Mule. They are both happily awaiting the arival of their first born child, a son. All of us from the River Runners wish them the best on their new chapter in life and we look forward to seeing them back again next year. My mom has already volunteered to watch the little rug-rat every year for the trip.
There is a slight possibility that Dishman and his wife will be joining us this year, however, he recently told me he wasn't too hopeful because that is a busy time for him at work and he may not be able to get the time off. I'll keep ya posted.
As for Ladies Man, he and his girlfriend had their first child last December, a baby boy named Aiden, so he will most likley not make it. Also, his job really pick up during that weekend, so he probably won't be able to get it off. Again I'll keep ya posted.
Nevertheless, Emily, Duckie, The General and myself are all a go for this year. We are currently trying to get some former River Runners to come back to the trip along with trying to find some FNG's for this year. (Fucking New Guys) Keep ya posted.
The new thing this year is that The General bought a nice chunck of land on the west side of the second crossing of highway six. Did ya catch all that. It is the second time that the Bigfork River crosses the highway. The only problem is that it is quite a ways down from where we normaly pull out of the river. It also takes us past Little American Falls, and absolute must portage section of the river. This means altering the trip from camping at the Doons for two nights to one and spending a night at Little American. I think a lot will depend on the river level. Goog current equals good progress, bad current equals working your ass off to get somewhere. We'll just have to see what the spring brings us.
On a side note, I apologize for taking so long to post anything new here. I plan to make a little time each week to devote to the stories of this hallowed journey.
Until then I remain...Crazy Joe
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