Chapter 6
Memorial Day was a time of preparation.
We were planning three days in the Boundary Waters, a loop on a route not well traveled but familiar to me. Because it was still early in the season, I hoped we might have our choice of campsites along the way.
I have three Duluth packs. Although I’ve had them for more than twenty years, I’ve kept them in good shape.
They’re canvas and can get heavy when wet.
There are lighter materials these days, sure, but the Duluth packs are like old friends, and I trust them.
In the past decade or so, I’ve also acquired several BearVaults, which are bear-proof food canisters.
In Minnesota, the mosquito is our state bird.
They can get so big and so bloodthirsty you have to strap your babies into their strollers or they’ll get carried away and sucked dry.
Usually, mosquito season begins in summer.
But we’d had a mild, wet spring that year, and by late May I figured they might already be swarming in the Boundary Waters, along with blackflies, which can be even more annoying.
In the old days, my Ojibwe ancestors might have covered themselves in mud or rancid animal fat to keep from being eaten alive.
These days we just use deet. Long sleeves and mosquito head nets can also do the trick.
I had plenty of PFDs—personal flotation devices—for all the men and for Waaboo. Before coming to Minnesota, Mal had bought a life vest for Luke.
I own two canoes, both tandem Wenonahs, which I keep stored in a shed next to Sam’s Place, along with a trailer I use for transporting them and for hauling things in general.
We would be needing three canoes for our outing, and I’d already arranged to pick up a rental from Borealis Outfitters in town.
I put Daniel and Stephen in charge of packing our food and camping supplies and showing Mal and the boys the best practices for doing this while I headed to Borealis to pick up the additional canoe.
Before I took off, Rainy pulled me aside. “Rent a satphone.”
“A satellite phone? What for?”
“Cell phone service is iffy out there at best. If anything goes wrong, I want to make sure you’re not totally cut off.”
“We’ll be fine,” I assured her.
“This is nonnegotiable.”
“Rainy—”
“Nonnegotiable.”
“All right.” I held up my hands in submission.
Back then, when I needed any extra gear for a trip into the Boundary Waters, I dealt with Cordell Bishop, who’d been a guide for decades, one of the best. We’d grown up together, running with the same bunch on the rez, and we’d stayed pretty close all our lives.
We weren’t blood relatives, but when we greeted each other it was always with “Boozhoo, cousin.” When I arrived at Borealis, Cordell’s wife, Babs, greeted me instead.
Babs wasn’t a guide herself—she worked the retail side of the business—but she was well versed in all things Boundary Waters.
Like me, she was of mixed heritage, in her case Finn and Ojibwe, and she greeted me with “Aaniin, Cork.”
“Aaniin, Babs.”
“Came for your canoe, I bet. It’s around back.”
“Where’s Cordell?”
She shook her head and looked peeved. “Got hired to guide for three city folks.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Didn’t like those three. Soft hands. Knew nothing about roughing it. Didn’t come dressed right. Hired Cordell to take care of all their provisions. He’ll be babysitting them the whole time.”
“He could’ve hooked them up with one of your other guides.”
“They wanted him specific. His reputation, they said.”
“How long a trip?”
“Three days. But I’m sure that for Cordell it’ll seem a hell of a lot longer.”
I thought about what I was planning, taking Mal and Luke, two neophytes, into the Boundary Waters.
But everybody had to start somewhere, and it was best they learned from people who knew their way around the demands of that great wilderness.
Daniel, Stephen, and I were old hands at this.
Except for the uncertain condition of my ticker, I didn’t have any qualms.
I loaded the rented Wenonah on the roof rack of my Expedition and tied it down, then dealt with the satphone Rainy had insisted I rent. Finally, I headed to Sam’s Place to hitch up the trailer and load my two canoes.
By late that afternoon, we were set. The boys were eager and excited.
I’d instructed Stephen to pack a couple of my fishing poles and my tackle box.
When I was at Borealis, I’d secured fishing licenses for Mal and Luke.
The rest of us had lifetime licenses. At supper that evening, Waaboo and Luke chattered away about all the fish they were going to catch.
Rainy was noticeably quiet, and several times I caught her gazing at me with a look I couldn’t quite interpret.
We played charades that evening and hit the hay early because we were going to get a start at first light in the morning.
“Still worried about me?” I asked Rainy as we climbed into bed.
“I’d still prefer that you cancel this trip until after you’ve seen a cardiologist.”
“And disappoint the boys?”
“You don’t have to go along. Daniel and Stephen can handle the guiding.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Luke and Mal’s first trip into God’s country. I want to be a part of their memory of that experience.”
“I get the sense that if you were a gorilla, you’d be beating your chest. It smacks of machismo to me.”
I laughed. “I suppose that’s part of it. A guy thing, all us adults showing the boys how to be men. Rite of passage, you know.”
“Waaboo and Luke are still boys. This is more about you.”
I sometimes wish Rainy didn’t read me so well. She was right. This insistence on going through with the trip wasn’t just about making sure I didn’t disappoint the boys.
“Golden years,” I said.
“What?”
“I’m in my golden years. The rocking chair is calling. I hate that thought.”
She reached out and put her hand against my cheek. “Do not go gently into that good night.”
I gave her a puzzled look.
“A line from a poem by Dylan Thomas.”
“You and Daniel and your poetry,” I said.
“I wouldn’t worry about the golden years,” she said. “You’re still quite a stud.”
Now she pressed against me and kissed me long and in an inviting way. I rolled toward her and whispered, “You won’t talk me out of going.”
“Furthest thing from my mind,” she said.