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.