Now here's an episode from a trip through southern Pickerel Lake a couple years back that I ain't particularly proud of:
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Humming away, we sighted the sandy beach and stroked our Souris River towards the campsite. It was almost empty—.
That's where we first saw The Creature.
"Yo, Jimbo!! Look! Under those trees by the beach!!" cried Matunik in a hoarse raised whisper.
I saw IT alright, sitting on a fallen log. Its sharp-eared face was slightly turned on its torso. The biology teacher twisted around to face me in the stern, still pointing excitedly at the figure.
"Bubo Virginianus!!" he declared.
"Bobo what?!" I responded, perplexed. I wondered if he was looking where I was looking.
"A great horned owl, Jimbo!!"
Yes! That's what I saw! Not a Barred Owl or a Gray Owl— this was a Great Horned Owl! Its head remained cocked ever so slightly to the left, facing us but not moving an iota. This was an incredible wildlife find, right off the bat! The large predator was perhaps 30-40 meters away, sitting right in the middle of the camp. We stealthily glided closer to the beach to get a better look.
Totem-like, it sat on the log, unblinking, unmoving— eyeballing our approach.
Trying not to make a sound, I slowly reached for and retrieved my digital camera from the pack strapped to our thwart. Deliberately, I aimed and snapped a couple shots as we drifted ever closer. Meanwhile, seated in the bow, Matunik did his level best to elicit a response, expertly cupping his hands together and softly calling, "Hoot ~ hoot ~ hoot!"
Nothing.
"This is spectacular, Jimbo! Did you get that shot?! Did you— ummmmm, ut-oh."
A LONG pause.
"Ummmm—" he continued. "Oh, brother—."
An even longer pause followed. Momentum carried our canoe silently forward until it scoured sand and slid up the beach.
"Yeah— oh, brother", I repeated from the stern, shaking my head in disbelief.
Whacking the side of his head, Matunik half-laughed, half-sighed, "Pretty sad, ain't it?! We're getting OLD, Jimbo!!"
"Blind, anyway" I moaned, nodding. I consoled myself, however. Secretly, I latched onto a notion that MY ancient eyes had detected our mistake first.
"A hunk of wood!" barked Matunik. "A hunk of wood!! Dang it... gotta get my eyes checked!"
Yet another pause. "Ummm, Jimbo... you don't think those other guys heard me, ummm— hooting, do you?"
"I kind of doubt it, Chief— they're pretty far back." Pause. "But hey— I snapped an excellent picture of you attempting to charm that hunk of wood off its roost."
"Very funny—."
We beached our vessel, grabbed our lunch pack, and sat down right beside "Bobo", as I came to refer to him. I patted him on the head. "Nice Bobo", I said, as if to my cocker spaniel, back home.
We continued to stare at our folly while we munched on sausage, crackers, and cheese. The others began to arrive at intervals and set-up their tarps and tents. Before long, the teenagers had a twenty-foot Wenonah out in the middle of our cove. Despite one very sore foot, they jumped overboard, carefree, splashing about, again and again and again.
By then, Matunik and I had abandoned Bobo for a much sunnier spot on the beach.
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This comes from a story called "Nothing but Blue Skies" that QPassage put out in his "Wilderness Passages" CD-based magazine a couple years back. db recently put it up on the QJ Stories page. Yikes, twenty-plus Q trips under my belt and I'm STILL capable of such bone-head stuff!
I think the "power of suggestion" is particularly noteworthy in that little tale. Matunik "saw" that damned owl first and made his comment. My brain immediately filled in the blur/void before my eyes and shaped it in my mind as his stupid bird. I was absolutely dumbfounded when reality kicked back in.
Oh, well. Like I'm fond of saying: NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE MORON FACTOR!
Jimbo
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