Rendezvous in the Bush
by Jim Carrier
Campfire conversation turned philosophical. We discussed how existence in this wilderness world was so "inverted" from day-to-day reality back home. Out here - especially on days like today - we were no longer protected behind glass, passively observing a world that lay beyond a windshield or a television screen. Out here, we did not push buttons and watch the consequences from a distance. Out here, like it or not, we were actively engaged in stiff winds, blowing rain, gnawing cold, smothering heat, burning sunshine, or confounding fog such as the one all around us right now. Out here in the wilderness, the world is always in our face, demanding complete attention and respect as its price for admission. This "wilderness transaction" was our only certainty. If we were lucky, the wilderness might yield glimpses of its grace and its beauty in return. On the other hand, there was no guarantee we would get so lucky while tripping and bushwhacking.
The most we could ever hope to do was to be prepared for the worst and to accept anything better with a thankful spirit.
Overcast sky and plenty of mosquitoes greeted us as we broke camp in the morning mists. At around 7:30am, we pushed our canoe into the mild, swirling current and headed south toward Camel Lake. Bug nets adorned our heads as we waved at a canoe party heading north, gliding past us in the Narrows, the last people we would see for a few days.
The bug nets came off as we cruised down Heron Bay and Fred Lake in a light, following breeze. My new GPS revealed we were moving along nearly at a 5 mph clip, helping me fully appreciate Ben's strength and stamina in the bow! Soon we found ourselves at the fern-covered entrance to Cutty Creek.
Not surprisingly, Ben prefers bug-free breezy lakes where he can paddle aggressively in his customary competitive rowing manner. Personally, despite the mosquitoes and flies - the older I get, the more I prefer languid, lazy creeks and streams where nature envelopes us and offers countless possibilities around each twist and turn. Would we surprise a deer, bear, or moose? Would we finally get a glimpse of a wolf? In my excitement, I started to tell Ben about several such wildlife encounters on a similar stream, years ago, near Cache Lake. Ben silently hushed me, finger to lips, as if to say, "If we must endure all these bugs, let's at least be quiet and maybe we will have a chance to see some wildlife!"