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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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

A Scary Moment: Never Want to Repeat

Now as you have read in the previous blog by Crazy Joe, we had a little fire problem. I can honestly say I have never been more terrified in my life. Now I wasn't scared for my life, I was just scared by how fast it took off and how we couldn't get it under control. If you have never had the pleasure of seeing/starting a forest fire get going, pray to God that it stays that way. I really never want to experience that again. I will admit there have been times when we have had a bonfire get a little out of control but we have never had a problem with managing it.

So the Mule and I were sitting over by this little inlet, watching the Semi-Incredible Hulk sulk in their canoe, when we heard the call. I have never really heard panic in someones voice until that day. Crazy Joe's voice held a very distinct note of panic and my mind reacted to that note. Once we heard the cry for H2O we raced to the coolers and grabbed some H2O bottles. By the time the Mule and I got there with our few bottles of H2O, the fire had spread to about a six foot circle and it was growing fast. Those few bottles of H2O were so ineffective that I feel kind of bad for wasting the. Maybe if we had known how fast it was going to spread we would have grabbed something bigger but who knew it would get so out of hand.

It really didn't take us long to realize that 911 had to be called. It just got out of hand way too fast for us to do anything about it. We continues to fight it after 911 was called, stopping it from going towards our canoes became a priority. Hey by this point in was already in the field and being that there was only 6 of us I have to say we did the best we could, especially with what we had. Finally we realized that there was nothing left for us to do but wait for the firefighters to get them and fix our little boo boo.

The field that burned

Many say that when the adrenaline gets pumping in your system you can just go, go, go. Either I have a defective adrenal gland or I am way too out of shape. I was sucking air so bad and my legs felt like lead after running to the river a few times. After awhile I just stayed in the river and filled the buckets that people brought to me. I thought I was being helpful and I didn't have to run as much so that was a win win for me.

Once we stopped fighting the fire most of us grabbed H2O bottles and just sat around waiting for the firefighters to get there. It wasn't until awhile later that I heard people calling for Crazy Joe. I couldn't believe it when they told me he went to check out where the fire was headed. OK actually I could believe it. My brother has a tendency to act first and think later in some situations. (If you are reading this Crazy Joe think of the last time we were camping there and what you and Cousin Josh wanted to do. Admit it you do act first without thinking things through.) So when we finally hear him crashing through the brush/trees I am thinking he hurt himself in the fire. Boy were we all surprised to see him coming through the trees carrying a little fawn.

Seeing that he was struggling with the little guy I ran up and grabbed it out of his hands and didn't let go until the fire was under control. I was grateful that Crazy Joe wasn't hurt but I really could have kick his ass for what he did. OK I was happy that he saved the fawn but damn it, he could have been hurt.

When Make-Up Girl and Sugar Daddy came up we were starting to load up the canoes due to the fact that the fire was in a sense turning a corner and heading back towards us. I will give those two the benefit of the doubt, they probably saw us packing up our canoes and thought we were running for the fire we started. Still once we told them what had happened and how we were just being proactive due to the fire heading back they should have laid off. I am not saying we didn't f*#$-up, we did but we were also being adults about it and waiting for the proper authority to come and let us know what we had to do. I kept my mouth shut she Make-Up Girl started to go off. I knew right away there was no reasoning with them, so why should I even bother, it wasn't like they could do anything to us.

Then she went off about the fawn in my arms and then I stared to get a wee bit pissed off at them. Here we are, tired after fighting a losing battle with the fire, scared by what had happened, crashing from the adrenaline rush and then these two come flying up and start accusing us of stealing canoes (because we were from southern Minnesota, eg the cities), being on private property (it wasn't marked as such), and of what stealing Bambi from it mother. I was thinking "For Gods sake woman, get a grip! You are acting like we are the Anti-Christ come to destroy all in our path!"

Finally I said, "What do you want me to do, let it go? Fine I will let it go and it can go die in the fire, OK?" Yeah she didn't like that. There really wasn't any pleasing that woman. At least Sugar Daddy kind of settled down once we had explained what was what.

The View to the River

All in all that is one day I would Love to take back and redo. I know there isn't redo's in life but one can always wish. So once Crazy Joe gets cracking on the next part of the story I will go into why I feel like I am cursed forever on this canoe trip that I love so much. Of course this has to do with The DUCK, but that is another ball of wax I can't get into tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

After the Fight and Fire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The grove area where at all started

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Helicopter scooping water from the river

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crazy Joe in the charred field

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

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

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

We now have MUSIC!!!!

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

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

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

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

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

Crazy Joe and The General enjoying the River

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

Emily not wanting her picture taken.

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

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

The Mule glad shes dry

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

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

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

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

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

Semi-Incredible Hulk, probably singing

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

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

We're Back and Blue...

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

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

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

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


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

"No, what is it?"

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

The First Launch of the Weekend

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

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

Twenty Hour To Go And Counting...

Woo! Hoo! We are almost ready to head for the cabin to meet up with Duckie, The Mule and Mule's Man. The shit is all packed, repacked and packed one more time just to make sure we didn't forget anything. This is by far the longest day of the year, but the trip is well worth the wait. Have a great Memorial Weekend...until I return I will remain...Crazy Joe

Almost Ready

Well Crazy Joe has written some stories about our past trips. I have given you an idea about what it takes to prepare for one of our adventures.

So starting on Fri we are off on another trip down the Bigfork River. We are all excited and thrilled to be off again this year, being that we missed canoeing last year. As in Crazy Joe's last blog we will be in the hunt for the elusive bottle. The idea this year is to place the glass Jameson bottle in a PVC pipe with caps and bury that, this way the bottle doesn't shatter when the frost comes in this winter. I can't wait to be on the river with friends and family, sitting back, having a few brews, listening to toons and not having a worry in the world. So until we get back on Monday the blog will be at a stand still but the stories will be in the process of being made. So stay tuned we will be back before you know it.