Forgive me bloggernauts, for I have not blogged. It has been a little over 3 months since my last posting. So much for confessing my traveling sins or pretending I know what I am trying to mimic, but I have broken the Missouri border once again. The blog is up and running for a few days to let you know I am heading north to Fiart Island, on Donald Lake, in Ontario, Canada. To go to school on where this is and what I am doing here, visit the Walliebloggin’ archive (on the right side of the blog site) and look for Canada Part I, under the month of September 2011. What I am most looking forward to is The North Star. Astronomy be damned. This north star is not a star at all, but a good old fashioned outhouse. It has a view worth the 19 hours it takes me to reach it. No better view for taking care of business. And of course you leave the door open!
 |
| The North Star |
 |
| The view... |
 |
| Sample of the decor. |
 |
| Jeff, my roomy, taking care of business...pondering lures, Walleye hiding places, ways to get this photo... |
If I were to post our daily activities on this trip as I
have other trips, there would almost be no point after the first day or two to
continue, due to the Ground Hog effect (like in the movie). For the Cliff Notes version, it goes
like this. We awaken to the smell
of breakfast wafting over the partitions that separate our bunks, prepared by
Chef Ron and his trusty assistant Phil.
This varies from pancakes, to bacon and egg breakfast sandwiches on
fresh rolls, to egg and sausage casserole, to French toast or whatever strikes
Ron’s fancy (and you don’t ever knowingly want to strike his fancy or you could
go hungry).
 |
| Here we worship at the alter at the Temple of the Walleye. Good eats! |
After a good portion of storytelling, intermixed with a fair
amount of laughter and questionable truths, thoughts turn to what color spinner
will your worm rig have today.
Will you use a skinhead on that jig or a bee fart (or was that beef
heart?), minnows or worms? Walleye
fishing is the reason for so many wives, families, and friends left behind in
our respective hometowns, as we get farther and farther north to the Canadian
border. For about 4-5 hours each
morning, 3 boats and 8 fishermen (for some of us that label is used loosely)
take off from the dock in search of Walleye, which have been elusive this year. To sustain these men’s men, each boat is
to bring back two fish for lunch. So
far, so good. But (knock on the
new wooden cribbage board) we have not wanted for anything at the conclusion of
each lunch, other than the daily board meeting (nap and downtime).
 |
| Shhhh!...Board Meeting in progress. |
Once re-energized, the flotilla heads back out to resume search,
as each boat goes about their spontaneous gut feelings as to where the fish
must be now (since they weren't where we thought they were before). For many of these
guys, they have been coming up here for so many years, that they have their
favorite spots or old stand-bys where they have been successful before. But for me, I am pretty must lost if I
am out of sight of the dock and every rocky shore looks like a spot I would
hang out if I was a Walleye. But
this time around, new places are being explored and tested. Evidently the word is out that the boys
of Fiart are back. And as Ron
found, among the Walleye and Northern Pike, a Lake Trout of significant
proportions (26 incher) can be found when you least expect it. After an approximate 8 hour work day,
we filter back to the cabin, where dinner is what you make of it. Leftovers, sandwiches, and/or cereal
complete another day of perfection.
 |
| Evening entertainment |
This particular group that visits this Canadian Shield
oasis, also doubles as a work detail.
Many of the more physical, maintenance endeavors are tackled by Greg’s
group of rag-tag, retired old farts (the youngest being me...I know, right?). It is an amazing accomplishment that
all of us fly out that flew in together! This time, the main dock has sagged and our focus is
dock stabilization by adding a new crib below the center of the dock. A crib is a Lincoln Log type box that
is constructed of logs with metal rods in each of the 4 corners to hold it
together. Once it is floated in
place, it is sunk by filling it with large rocks to hold it down and becomes
the support for the dock. The “L”
shaped dock did not have the support in the long side of the “L” it required
over time and has sagged to walking on water status (literally).
 |
| Dock with dip...or was that dips on dock? Not important. Formulating a plan in the works...sshhh. |
On the fourth day, we created a crib. We skipped the daily board meeting
after lunch and began construction from 4 and 1/2 foot logs. These were harvested from downed trees
on the island. And after much hauling,
measurement, drilling, beating on, prying, and more measurement and drilling,
it went together to make one fine crib.
It was the Canadian version of “Pimp My Crib” (for those of you that are
cable TV watchers). Thanks to ancient
Egyptian modes of transporting heavy objects without Cummins diesel engines or
sky cranes, we used leftover logs to “roll” (and that terms is also used
loosely) the crib to the waters edge, where with some persuasion it was floated
to it’s new and permanent location. There, it was weighted down to its final resting place. That description does not describe the time,
hard work, scratching heads, more prying and beating efforts that made it
happen…you had to be there! If you
could cross King Tut and the Three Stooges and reproduce 8 of them, you could
imagine the Keystone Cops-like activity it took to get the crib to the water’s
edge, floating, and sunk.
The weather prolonged the crib construction, but there is always a plan B. More
fishing, board meetings, and cribbage are the rule, but ultimately the crib is
completed and walking on the dock does not mean your feet may get wet. Cribbage
is the mainstay during darkness, inclement weather, and in general…anytime you
were not in the boat fishing. The inclement
part arrived on day 5 and for some reason, better judgment has determined we
hunker down indoors for a while. There
is a cribbage game going most of the time and sometimes two at once. I don’t know if the attraction to the
game is the skill (or luck) innate to us fishermen or the 3 decks of sophisticated
playing cards available to use, compliments of the Hooters Calendar Girls.
 |
| New improved dock without dip (or dips on it!). |
 |
| It would appear that we were playing "Strip Cribbage," but what appears to be the losing card player is merely a tad warm (as I sit in my long sleeved shirt, with two t-shirts underneath,...I know how to play strip cribbage...I mean dress for comfort). |
 |
| A drone's view of the Man Cave within the cabin. |
This brings you to the end of Part I. Good eating has begun, fun has been established, and work is being accomplished between the two.
My Zen from the North Woods: I am not sure if I could have imagined this before my first trip to Fiart Island, but imagine sitting on a sloping slab of granite, as small ripples of water wash up to shore below your feet. A cool Canadian breeze freshens the warmth of your skin as it is bathed in sunshine. The only real sounds that seems to be between you and civilization are the calls of a pair of loons, whose haunting notes echo far from down the lake, yet sound as if they are within a stones throw. That is one of my "happy places" recently added under the file name, "As Needed." Ignore the over dramatic use of adjectives, adverbs, or any other parts of flowery speech I am gagging you with and think of what your "happy place" is when you need it. Do you have one?
 |
| One more sunset, just because I can. Same horizon, different day. |
No comments:
Post a Comment