I got my start when I was 16. My Sunday School teacher invited me and some other boys my age to go with him to a place I had never heard of, Quetico. We had several planning meetings where he attempted to get us 'up to speed' on what we needed to bring and how to prepare. One of the meetings was to work out menu. He asked us to write down what we liked to eat & drink, and we discussed it. This was back before the advent of lightweight gear and sugar-free drinks. We had canvas tents, heavy sleeping bags, etc. We brought it all. The funniest part, was he completely ignored our menu choices, including the kool-aid. Beverages were coffee or water. That is where I learned to drink coffee. The coffee was cajun coffee. I think the stir stick stood upright.

On the trip, we flew in to Cabin 16, (on Basswood) to clear customs, and then on to LLC to the old ranger station north of Warrior Hill. We paddled to Black Robe, and then to Minn. It rained every day, and nothing, including our sleeping bags stayed dry. But we caught fish. Some huge northerns, bass, and waldos. Our raingear was cheap plastic ponchos. We did not have a cooking tarp, or any stove, so all of our cooking was over open fire. My job for dinner, was to stand over the fire with my poncho extended to try to keep the rain off the fire. One evening, one of my buds had finished peeling the spuds, and without warning, dumped the wet peelings in our fire, immediately extinguishing it. I had a sudden urge to kill...but resisted.

Why do I come back? Did I mention the fishing? I figured if I could survive that trip, I could survive any trip. Did I mention the fishing? ;)