1999
Up here in Minnesota, you're not gonna catch too many paddlers complainin' about the season bein' too long. What with spring comin' so late and winter comin' so early, you just can't go paddling too much up here. But you can go paddling too early.
Now, Charlie and I have sort of a reputation for bitin' off more than anyone else wants to chew. We find ourselves paddlin' alone together a lot of the time. So when we decided one March that winter was over and it was time to go canoeing, Charlie's significant other, Kate, politely declined to come along. She even had a good excuse. She was visiting a friend in central Wisconsin that weekend.
Opportunistic boaters that we are, we viewed this as a heaven-sent car shuttle. The South Fork of the Flambeau was more or less on Kate's way. So we decided to paddle there.
Kate kept the engine running and the heater on as she dropped us off at Fifield Friday night. She said it had been nice knowin' us and promised to pick up "what was left" at the Big Falls dam about sunset on Sunday. It was a good thing Kate had other plans. Early season canoeing requires more optimism and a broader view of reality than Kate possessed.
As a parting shot before she drove off, Kate stuck her head out the window and called back, "Hope you packed your parka, Charlie. The radio just forecast snow for this weekend. Lots of it! You two have fun, now!"
Well, Charlie and I always have fun. And meteorologists have never figured very prominently in our own, personal cosmology. I mean, if you're standin' there with your skis over your shoulder, waitin' for the predicted snowfall, you can pretty much count on goin' for a walk instead. Besides, what's a little snow between dedicated paddling partners? The stuff lyin' out in the woods was lookin' kinda dingy and dismal this time of year anyway. A little fresh snow would only brighten things up.
Furthermore, there wasn't a cloud in sight. That made for a kinda cold night. The river was runnin' skim ice in the morning. But what a glorious morning it was to be out rushing the season!
All the riffs and little rapids up here were a pleasure to run, brimful of meltwater as they were. They sparkled in the warming March sunshine. The thermometer musta topped 45 degrees by mid afternoon. It was delightful to be out on the water again. Sure, some of the bigger pools were skimmed over with ice, but nothin' very thick. The boat made a passable ice breaker. Kate didn't know what she was missin'.
At Cornsheller Rapids, we didn't choose quite the right line and soon discovered that having our boat in the water today was way more fun than having water in our boat. Deciding we'd had about as much fun as we could stand for one day, we made camp right there beside the rapids and hung up our wet clothes to freeze-dry over night.
As the sun sank into a bank of clouds coming up from the west, we hunkered down by the fire and beguiled the time until bedtime alternately warming our front sides and our back sides by the cheery blaze. A little cloud cover would be good. That'd keep the bottom from dropping out of the temperature again overnight.
Our wake-up call the next morning was the soft WHOOMP! of snow sliding off a tree onto our tent. The tent had already taken on a new and dramatic shape under the weight of more'n half a foot of wet, March snow. Small objects left lyin' around outside last night were now firmly interred. And yesterday's paddling clothes were frozen, but not anything like dry. I guess Winter doesn't like it when you prematurely declare it dead.
It took a good deal of gropin' around in the snow to find all our gear. We hadn't kept a very tidy camp. But the exercise was good for us and we eventually found everything. We still got on the water fairly early. Bein' more than halfway to the dam still left us with a lot of miles to cover.
Trouble was, it was still snowin'. It was snowin' pretty hard. From the stern of the boat, I could just make out the huddled form of Charlie in the bow. But beyond him was just a blur of white. From all the fast maneuvering we were doin' even in relatively calm, unobstructed water, I'd say Charlie wasn't seein' very far ahead either. But let's face it, if either one of us coulda seen very far ahead, we wouldn'ta been here in the first place.
Before long, the snow was lyin' 2" deep in the bottom of the boat. . .and more was on the way down. At the County Road M bridge, we gave it up, even if the snow didn't. It sure was hard to quit early, leavin' the best rapids on the river downstream. But it's darned hard to read a rapids in a blizzard. We were runnin' low on dry clothes. And portaging Little Falls through a foot of heavy, new snow was more fun than either of us had bargained for.
It was a BIG snowstorm. By now, Kate probably had a pretty good idea of what she was missin'. She probably thought she had the better end of the deal. Callin' her now to admit we were quittin' early and at a different pick-up point was not gonna be easy . . . especially since we didn't have a phone.
Turned out the closest phone was at the State Prison Forestry Camp, just downstream from the bridge. They seemed kinda surprised to see two paddlers emerging from a blizzard. Either that or they were just not used to having guys knockin' at the door asking to be let IN. Guess they don't get too many visitors. But they did let us use the phone.
Kate promised to pick us up as soon as she could. That would be after they plowed out the drive after the county plow cleared the hard road after it quit snowin'. So we didn't need to be in a hurry to pack.
Kate finally beat a path to our enforced take-out about noon on Monday. She didn't ask much about our trip. She already knew what we'd say. Kate understood that we were unregenerate reprobates when it came to paddling. Whatever happened, she knew that we'd solemnly put our hands on a stack of river guides and shamelessly swear it had been Fun.
Well, it HAD been fun, as long as you define the term loosely enough. But if you decide to try out the pleasures of preseason canoeing for yourself, keep in mind that you may be done with winter long before winter's done with you.
Well, 'til next time, keep your paddle wet. And keep in touch. Drop me a line c/o Mickey McBride, 8191 Belden Blvd., Cottage Grove MN 55106 or mickeymcb@worldnet.att.net. Let me know if your idea of paddling Fun has ever parted company with most folks' view of Reality. Remember, Uncle Wally promises to 1) tell the truth so no one would ever believe it anyway and 2) never reveal your true identity to anyone, not even the National Weather Service.
