Good Times In Canoes

I am not sure where I first learned about the boundary waters, but as soon as I did I knew it was a part of the world God designed especially for me. It is a simple, primitive area over flowing with countless lakes begging to be canoed, and all teaming with fish. A place so remote that neither of my world traveler parents had even visited. And so they decided it was the perfect place to meet up with us on our trek. Without them it probably would have been a top five stop, with them it was probably my favorite so far.

We went in totally blind. Since no one had ever been there we really didn’t know what to expect. The books had told us to expect two things: rain and bugs. Talking to the locals in “town” (a three hour drive mind you) they prepared us with multiple bottles of bug spray and apologized that they had sold out of bug nets for your face. Needless to say we headed out and my moms biggest expectation was that we would sit inside, watch the rain, and play board games.

As it turned out we timed it just right. An unusually long winter had pushed back the arrival of the bugs, and we only saw rain over a few short spurts.

One day we set out to do a small hike. The host at our campground told us she didn’t recommend it, but she was a 60 year old smoker. The guidebooks said it would take 7 hours, but that was for fat Americans. My mom was confident we could do this 7 hour hike in “no more that two and a half hours.” To top it off we had planned to do another hike at sunset. Nearly six hours later we limped back to the car, exhausted, dehydrated, unable to walk any further and just straight pooped. We barely made it through the door, so tired that we didn’t even bother to do the dinner dishes. By that point the idea of another hike was humorous.

There has been one lesson I have learned over my life that really shouldn’t be challenged: my mom doesn’t make bets she isn’t sure she will win. So why I decided to wager a swim in the lake based on mindless fact is beyond me. On an impulse while grocery shopping I bet my mom on the number of pork tenderloins in a packet (I thought 1, she thought 2). It was excruciating torture wondering and as the days passed I went from cocky and confident to more and more skeptical of my decision to wager. To put it in perspective the owners of our cabin told us that the ice on the lake had only melted away about 2 weeks before we arrived. That makes for very cold water. Then I was reminded that my mom had opened in the neighborhood of a thousand pork tenderloins in her life. Me? Maybe ten?

Over the days everyone took turns examining the packet, trying to find evidence one way or the other. It became a quite frequent topic of conversation. On our second to last day I woke and found the meat in the sink defrosting. Today would be the day we would find out, but we had to wait until it thawed. They say a watched pot never boils, try watching meat defrost.

Hours later it was finally time. Everyone watched intensely as my mom sliced open the package. The meat slid out and came to rest on the platter. My moms face went blank: there was only one. I couldn’t believe it!! I whooped and hollered!!

Aside from that we spent the rest of our time in canoes, on hiking trails, reading books in the sun, laughing, relaxing, and of course fishing. While I never caught an elusive pike, my dad and I each caught our fair share of trout. One day in particular we fished for about two and a half hours caught in the neighborhood of 25-30 fish. Maybe the best day of fishing in my whole life.