1999
Uncle Wally's Weirder Than Real Paddling Adventures
(Teenagers in the BWCA)
by Uncle Wally
You know, this Leave No Trace thing is nothin' new. I figured out a long time ago you shouldn't leave stuff behind when you're paddling. You never know when it might be something important.
Now, I learned this lesson way back when I was young enough and foolish enough to volunteer to ride herd on a pack of teenagers tryin' out their (water) wings up in the Boundary Waters for the first time. They were big on energy and enthusiasm but a little short in the experience department. And this was back before the Forest Service wised up and put a cap on herd size. So it was a circus to start with.
Then, of course, almost nobody had their own gear. So we had the Complete Outfitting package. This meant we had a lot of neat stuff that almost no one knew how to use and that nobody felt any particular affection or responsibility for. Heck, like a borrowed minivan in a large parking lot, we couldn't even recognize this stuff as our own! So I guess something was bound to happen.
Well, our first portage was pretty educational; an overly-enthusiastic free-for-all. Kids and canoes hit the Lake One portage landing like John Wayne storming the beaches of Normandy in some celluloid, WWII epic. Packs went flying like artillery shells. Some of the landing troops fell shrieking back into the wave. There ensued a spirited exchange of volleys of water, even among the allied forces. At least there were no casualties reported, as far as I know.
Our beachhead secured, we mobilized for the 30-rod hike with full pack portion of the portage maneuvers. Here the John Wayne role model was thrown over in favor of Errol Flynn and things began looking more like a pirate raid. Everybody grabbed a pack, any pack, and made off into the woods with it. Canoes fared likewise. In no time at all, both portage landings began to look like beaches strewn with flotsam after a shipwreck. Happily, no one staggered out of the trees with a dagger between the teeth and a treasure map in hand.
Anyway, our portage out of Lake One was made with all the ardent fervor of adolescents who hadn't yet figured out they were doing Work. On the way, we sorta got tangled up with another gang of 20 or 30 people goin' out across the portage in the other direction. They at least had the advantage of having had a week or so to get friendly with their rental gear. So they were in a position to help us sort out our stuff from theirs at the portage landings. This was a good thing, 'cause those old Duluth packs do have a certain sameness to 'em.
Eventually, we all got back on the water. The kids were still coming up against that irony that most beginning paddlers face: the harder you paddle, the faster you go off course. But we did OK. As the day passed, the portages got smoother and tidier, the paddling got a little straighter, and we didn't get lost. Well, not REALLY lost. We did get a little bewildered for an hour or two. But when we finally figured out that we were on Fire Lake instead of Hudson, we could still get There from Here. So we were content to call it the Scenic Route.
It wasn't until we made camp that night that our Complete Outfitting began to look a little incomplete. Sure, we faced the perennial problem of the first night's steak dinner still being frozen as solid as the center of a glacier in the last ice age. But there was no salt or pepper in any of the packs, or any other spices for that matter. It seemed an odd thing for an outfitter to forget.
Next morning, things seemed odder still. There was no sugar. But that was OK, 'cause there was no coffee to put it in anyway. And there were no kitchen knives for slicing the bacon. Carving up warm slabs of uncooperative bacon for 25 people with nothing but a dull pocket knife was a unique and moving experience. How the bacon could get so warm while the steaks stayed so cold is one of life's unsolvable, little mysteries.
Then some astute person, who was not under the influence of caffeine deprivation and was therefore in full possession of all faculties, finally took a quick inventory and discovered we were missing one entire pack. It was the pack labelled STAPLES. The outfitter was exonerated but we were in some trouble. We had no salt, no pepper, no sugar, no milk powder, no coffee, no sharp knives, no toilet paper.
Well, there was no tellin' where that pack was. But we managed to do all right without it. The adults got over their early-morning jitters in a few days. With toilet paper supplies limited to dwindling, personal stock, futures in pocket handkerchiefs and bandanas skyrocketed. It was an object lesson in supply side economics. The only thing we had a hard time doing without was the powdered milk. But that's another story.
Turns out our inadvertently abandoned pack made it home sooner than we did. Seems it got lost in the shuffle back at the Lake One portage. Or, just maybe, it sensed our incompetence and willfully deserted to sign on with a tighter-run company. In any case, there it sat at water's edge, looking lonely and forlorn, until some civic-minded group picked it up and delivered it back to the outfitter. He no doubt had a good laugh at our expense. And why not? If you're goin' to take your circus on the road, you might as well have an appreciative audience, eh?
********
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.
Tell Uncle Wally all about some interesting experience you've had while out paddling. 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 your old Scout master.
