Camping gave us some good reminders ~ August 22, 2002

David Heiller

Randy paused as he was about to hang the Duluth pack for the night. “Look at that,” he said.

I turned my gaze to the camp fire. Two boys stood silhouetted against the deep blue lake. They were black shadows, talking, laughing, gesturing with their hands, totally relaxed.

Collin, David and Levi in the
Boundary waters Canoe Area Wilderness.

The image etched itself in my mind, where I hope it stays, because it was timeless and full of innocence and life.

We were on the second day of a trip to the Boundary Waters. The boys, ages nine and 10, had explored the island. They had caught fish, played in their tents, and eaten around the campfire. They were in kid heaven.

It was good to see, reassuring somehow, because I sometimes hear old folks say that kids don’t know how to play anymore. Collin and Levi would prove them wrong.

I had been worried that it wouldn’t be that way, that they and their older sisters and cousin would think this paddling and portaging stuff was too much work.

But they passed the tests. On the trip in, rain fell off and on all day in steady torrents. The three adults were finally reduced to such brilliant conversation as, “Do you believe this?” It was the worst paddling I had ever done on a canoe trip."

Happy and soggy campers.

By mid-afternoon we were soaked and desperate to find a campsite. Most of them were full. It was peak camping season. We finally came to a vacant campsite that met our needs perfectly. It was big enough for our three tents—and gave us a beautiful view of Lake Three.

That often happens on canoe trips. Things bottom out, you hit a low, and then they get better. It’s a metaphor for life.

That was repeated on this four-day trip.

Things couldn’t have been better the next day. Collin and I had drifted with our fishing poles to a rocky shore off an island. Collin threw out a small jig tipped with a minnow, and hooked a fish. He reeled it up to the canoe, then it dove and almost pulled the rod from his hands before breaking his line. We never saw it, but it was big.

I cast into the same spot, and hooked something equally big. At first I thought it was a stick. Then I felt it move. It went deep first, then shot into the air. My jaw dropped. The biggest largemouth bass I have ever seen came entirely out of the water, shook its head, broke my six-pound line, and disappeared. All of this happened in about five seconds.

I cussed for losing it, but it wasn’t a loss in a sense, because the image of that huge fish suspended in the air will stay in my mind for a long time. That was a gift.

We did catch some nice fish that day, and we had a great excursion to another lake. We basked in the beauty of the wilderness.

But Mother Nature wasn’t done with us yet.

Dads and kids on an adventure.

Saturday started glassy, then the wind started blowing from the west, and by 10 a.m. we were facing a gale. It was beautiful and aw­ful at the same time. At one point my brother leaned far into the wind, arms outstretched, and it held him in place. Had it stopped, he would have fallen on his face.

It turned Lake Three into a mass of white caps that thundered onto the rocky shore below our high campsite. The steady wind was at least 30 miles an hour. Gusts must have hit 50.If we had been home, we would have stayed inside and said, “Gee, it sure is windy.” But at our campsite we had to confront it. Traveling by canoe was impossible. We were stranded.

I wanted to go out and find that bass that gave me the slip, or better yet, let Collin find it. And I had promised my niece a fishing trip, and my daughter, too. But that didn’t happen. We read and sang songs and explored and ate and napped. We marveled at the power of the wind. The girls’ tent blew over, adding a bit of excitement during the day.

A hot meal of spaghetti cheered us up before we went to bed. “It will blow itself out by morning,” I told Randy and Phil. That was my rational side. But I slept fitfully that night. I imagined that the wind was dying down, then it would start up in the distance with a howl and whoosh through the huge white pines overhead. I thought, What if this wind doesn’t let up? We would have no choice but to stay until it did.

I imagined the worst. We would be delayed. Our wives would worry. I’d miss work on an important newspaper edition.

But that didn’t happen. Like I said, you hit bottom and then go up. The wind gradually slowed to 30, 20, 10 miles an hour. The whitecaps disappeared. We got up early and broke camp by 8 a.m. which was a miracle with three teen-age girls. Five hours later we were back at the Lake One landing.

The windstorm was an important lesson for all of us. The trip was just a camping trip. Plenty safe. We were in control, right? Wrong. That wind told us something different. We aren’t often at the mercy of Mother Nature. When it happens, it’s a good reminder of our place in the world. I’ll remember that storm, and the other beautiful things, like a big bass, and a silhouette of two boys playing against a deep blue lake.