Once again, suffering through yet another business trip, I have an observation to share. This time I deviate from my usual focus on interesting people and instead comment on one of God's most interesting and beautiful creations; the flower.

I'm at a restaurant in southern California with a wonderful flower decorating my table. Like all flowers, I first enjoy their color. This particular flower has a dark amber hue, with white tips. These colors are more subtle than other flowers but possess an interesting complexity while retaining a pure simplicity. A dichotomy; a contradiction, even a conflict. Yet this beautiful creation seems to exist solely for my viewing pleasure.

So I pick up this beautiful, conflicted, flower and proceed to enjoy its fragrance. Like its visual beauty, the fragrance is conflicted; complex but yet somehow simple. It stimulates some undefined or unmentionable memory, bringing back an exceptionally pleasurable time, totally unrelated to this particular blossom. I savor the memory like I savor the flower's fragrance.

What sensuous pleasure this flower has stimulated! My sense of vision and smell are reeling with synaptic sparks. But only two of my senses are satisfied; my other senses are jealous. Dare I try a little taste of this blossom? Why not, YOLO! So I take the flower to my lips, then into my mouth. My sense of taste is not disappointed! Who would have thought a flower could have such complexity, such pleasure, such flavor!

The tongue not only provides our primary taste information but is one of our most sensitive organs for our sense of touch. So my little indiscretion of taking a flower into my mouth, in a crowded restaurant,  is doubly rewarded with a multitude of tactile sensations. This flower has a liquid-smooth texture while delivering a delicate tingling sensation to the tongue. Should I be alarmed? Perhaps I'm feeling the effects of some nefarious, toxic chemical released by my mastication? I don't think so. How could such a beauty be harmful in such a sinister way? So I savor it; enjoying its color, aroma, flavor, and texture.

What gift hath God bequest to me? Surely such pleasure is from Him and not the Evil One, for the Evil One could not know such joy and such love! What is this flower? What is its name? I must know!

The answer is simple and printed on the menu. 

This flower's name is Hops! Double Hops IPA actually; convincing me that God is a beer drinker. 

Skoal! 

Chapter 1: Cedar Lake

Snap!

Pop!

Sizzle. 

Hiss.

The smoky fire is talking. It speaks but sheds little heat or light into the cold dark night. Why should it? Why should the fire give anything but complaints? The fuel it is eating has been soaked with rain all day. Just like the people sitting around the fire, soaked with rain and now soaked with smoke.

Ma'iingan started the day, waking up when a large drop of rain splatted on his forehead. It was followed by another, then another. Father said it was just a morning shower and would pass. The shower grew as they made breakfast and packed up for the day’s journey.

“It will pass,” Father repeated, but when Ma'iingan saw an osprey fly by with a fish in its claws, he knew this rain would last all day. Ospreys don’t like to hunt in the rain, but if they know it isn’t about to stop; well, they have to eat don’t they. From their vantage point in the sky, they can see if the rain is going to continue. This morning, the ospreys were hunting in the rain. They were convinced it would last all day and had to hunt despite the weather.

They were right. Father was wrong. The rain lasted all day, thankfully ending when they stopped to make camp for the night.

Paddling in the rain. Dragging the canoe through the woods, in the rain. Slogging through a swamp, in the rain. There seemed to be no game as if all the animals had found shelter and were hiding from the storm. Even the osprey had only ducked under the clouds long enough to snatch a fish, before returning to the sunshine high above the overcast sky.

Ma'iingan scratched at a bump on his arm. A new mosquito bite. Right next to one of the swollen lumps from the hornet stings, which was by the spot where he pulled off the leech. All these pests were still active and tormenting. They didn’t mind the rain. No game, but plenty of biting critters to make life miserable.

What a day!

“Little Wolf. Don’t pick at your skin, you will make it worse,” Makwa, the Bear, and Ma'iingan’s father scolded.

“Father, it itches!” Ma'iingan whined.

“Here, Little Wolf, rub some of this on it,” Giizis, The Sun, and Ma'iingan’s grandfather, tossed him a deerskin pouch. “It will help those hornet stings, too.”

“Thanks, Grandfather,” Ma'iingan replied as he picked up the pouch and scooped out a finger full of smelly, oily, goop. He rubbed it into his bites and stings. It may have been just a distraction or the smell, but the bites stopped itching and the stings didn’t hurt as much.

“Father, the hunt doesn’t seem to be going well, does it?” Ma'iingan asked.

It had been a rough couple of days for the hunting party. They had packed their canoe up several trails, to get to the lakes that are higher and farther away from the main camps. Makwa believed this would bring them better luck in finding moose.

“We have just gotten off the main trails. Tomorrow will be better. We have arrived at Gijikiki. Now the hunt begins!" Makwa said. He was excited that their journey had reached its location goal. Now they would accomplish their hunting goal.

“Little Wolf, the moose is a shy creature. He doesn’t like to see people, so he comes to places like this to be hidden. We must be patient and strong. Tomorrow we will find one and it will feed the whole camp for a long time.”

“Yes, Father. I will be strong,” Ma'iingan picked up a stick and began poking at the smoldering fire. It was his first time with the hunting party, so of course, he would have questions. Giizis could see this in his face.

“Little Wolf, your face says you are troubled.”

Little Wolf looked up to his grandfather. He had questions, but he struggled to find the words to ask. His questions seemed so unimportant and weak, but they still preyed on his mind.

“Grandfather, this place is called Gijikiki. What does this name mean?”

“Ha!” Dibikad, Little Wolf’s brother, barked a laugh that echoed through the forest.

“Hush Night. Mind your mouth!” Giizis commanded his moody teenage grandson.

“Gichi Manidoo gave names to every place. Every person, plant, and animal. These names describe the place as the Great Spirit sees it. He gave us our names, through our parents, as they see us. Gitche Manitou saw this place, with all of its great trees and wetlands and he named it Gijikiki; Cedar Swamp.”

“Ha! He should have called it Bagwanawizi memaangishenh! In fact, I bet he did! No one would come here if this place went by that name.” Dibikad challenged.

“Respect your grandfather, Night,” Makwa scolded and turned to his father. “I’m sorry Father. I have raised a brat who does not know how to speak to his elders.”

“Pfft! You have raised a teenager. He will learn,” Geezis replied, “and I will live. I am not offended by such a small thing.”

Plop. Plop. Sizzle.

The rain began to fall again, extinguishing the few flickering flames on the pathetic fire.

Ma'iingan pulled his deerskin over his head and tried to fall asleep. No more questions.

“Maybe it will be warm and dry in my dreams,” he thought as he dozed off. “Yes, bagwanawizi memaangishenh is the correct name for this place.”

Chapter 2: The Plan

“No! Absolutely not!” Matt shouted into his phone.

“He said he could handle it. What’s the big deal? It’s his decision,” Lee argued back. His outraged friend seemed to be unreasonably angry about this simple request.

“This is his first trip. He doesn’t know what he doesn’t know,” Matt explained. “A kayak in the wilderness is insane!”

“I’ve seen ‘em up there, plenty of times,” Lee defended. “You have to. This is not a big deal.”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” Matt sighed, and mustered his patience. “We’ve never seen kayaks where we’re headed. You know that. They are just too hard to portage.”

A deep sigh came across the phone. Lee knew Matt was right. A kayak simply wasn’t designed for long-haul portaging. This fact needed to be explained to his boss, in no uncertain terms. The kayak that his boss had so recently bought and proudly bragged about nearly every day, had to stay home. The job of delivering this message belonged to Lee and only Lee. A stupid canoe trip was going to cost him his career.

“What the hell am I supposed to do,” Lee mumbled. “You know Gord. You know what a first-class A-hole he can be. He’ll probably fire me over this!”

“Nah, he won’t. That would be too quick,” Matt chuckled. “He’ll just assign you to the Bootheel.”

“That ain’t funny!” Lee shouted into his phone. “Dammit, this is serious!”

“Ha! Hey, hey, it’s not so bad. Just explain to him about the rocks. He’ll back down, just like that.” The shorelines of the Boundary Waters lakes were covered with rocky ledges and boulders. These rocks are jagged and sharp. Almost none of the portages or campsites have sandy shores. This means boats take a beating. Most of the outfitters in the area replace much of their fleet every year as the rocks severely gouge, dent, and puncture the vessels. A new kayak would be especially vulnerable. Matt correctly assessed that Gord would have no interest in having his precious new boat abused this way.

“Talk to Chuck. Have him bring his Sawyer in, claiming he needs you or me to look at repairing that puncture he got last year,” Matt continued. “That boat looks like it took a broadside! It’ll scare the daylights out of Gord. You won’t have to tell him to keep his kayak home.”

“Yeah. Yeah! That’ll work. He may even get scared off the whole trip!” Lee exclaimed.

“Well, I wouldn’t count on that. Remember last year.” Matt reminded Lee how his boss had canceled out when his wife showed signs she might deliver their third child early.

“Who plans a trip into the wilderness when your wife is in her third trimester!” groaned Lee.

“Gord does,” Matt answered without hesitation. “You need a plan for his next move. He won’t cancel this time, so we need to be ready. You need to give him a plan as soon as you see he is wavering on the kayak question.”

“What do you mean? What plan?” Lee was still happily digesting the kayak abatement plan and wasn’t thinking of the next steps. Fortunately, Matt, with his chess-player mind, had this issue covered. He had played the kayak meeting out in his mind and had run a dozen follow-on scenarios.

“You need to let him know he can still come on the trip and explain how that will work,” Matt paused for a moment. He knew his next words were going to drop like a bombshell. “Tell him you’ll team him up with Jayden and use my old Penobscot.”

“What! Are you nuts!” Lee came unhinged. “You think I am going to throw my own son under the bus like that! You’re a sick man! Sick, sick, sick…”

“Lee, Lee, hold on. Hold on. Jayden can handle it. You’ve raised a good young man, there,” Matt intervened in Lee’s meltdown. “He’s got three trips under his belt, plus who knows how many river floats. He’ll do fine. Better than fine! He’ll shine like he always does.”

“I know he can handle it, but he’s my boy. This is supposed to be a vacation for him, not some work assignment dumped on him by his old man,” replied Lee. “Why don’t you pair him with your brother? At least Mark is a grown man.”

“Two desk jockey neophytes, paddling in the wilderness of northern Minnesota,” Matt countered. “That sounds like a good plan.”

Both ends of the phone went silent as the two friends mulled over the problem. Would Matt throw his brother-in-law under the bus? Or would Lee sacrifice his son? There were no clear answers until Lee remembered the last time he saw Mark. It was on a short float trip, and his memory was of Mark’s feet flying up in the air as he rolled the canoe over while stepping in.

“It might be good for Jayden. You know, learn how to deal with difficult people and all,” Lee finally broke the silence. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to get more quality time with Ethan.”

“Yes. Yes, it would be good for both the boys,” Matt agreed, recalling Lee’s comments about his struggles to balance his time between his two boys. Matt also remembered the capsized canoe, “and for Mark too. I won’t have to explain his drowning to my sister.”

So, it was settled. Lee and Matt had a plan. They would enlist Chuck and his beat-up old canoe and by the end of the week, the kayak problem would be a thing of the past.

-

The following Wednesday, Chuck rolled into the office with his Sawyer canoe strapped to the roof of his car. The bow of the canoe had an ugly puncture, several inches long and fully penetrating the hull below the waterline. Duct tape residue was clearly visible, evidence of a field patch that allowed the boat to return home. The poor old Sawyer had had a rough life. Numerous fiberglass patches speckled the bottom. Deep gouges told of its many arguments with submerged rocks and rough shorelines. The poor boat had suffered but consistently delivered its adventurous passengers home.

“Hey Chuck! What you doing with the old girl here?” Matt shouted to Chuck as he walked across the parking lot. This was the first step in a carefully choreographed dance. Matt, Lee, and Chuck timed their arrival to the office at exactly the same moment as Gord. Gord made this dance easy as his arrival time never deviated by more than two minutes.

“I wanted you to take a look at that hole in the bow we made last summer. I’m thinking she may be ready to become a duck blind. I don’t think she’ll survive another trip to Minnesota,” Chuck shouted his scripted lines back.

The cross-parking lot shouts caught the attention of the intended audience. Gord diverted his walk to the office to join Chuck and Matt. The three men orbited the canoe, pointing at its various wounds. Lee quietly joined the party to deliver his line in the play.

“Whoa! You did that in the Boundary Waters last year?” he said, expressing awe at the damage. “You’re lucky you made it out!”

“Luck had nothing to do with it. Duct tape to the rescue once again!” Chuck said while scraping at the adhesive residue around the hole.

“Yeah, good thing we had that in the kit,” Matt added. “I read that you should also have a good supply of zip ties. I’ll be adding that for this year.”

“Zip ties? What you need those for?” Lee asked, according to the script.

“I read about a guy who cracked his canoe and had to stitch it back together using zip ties, the awl on his pocketknife to drill holes and duct tape to seal it all up. He was able to finish his trip and get out of the bush with no further problems.” Matt answered, casting a subtle look to Gord to make sure his audience was paying attention.

“Man! What about all this other damage? Where did that come from?” Gord asked. “Were these from the local streams here?”

One of the more thrilling aspects of fishing is when you can see your prey take an interest in your bait. Only the most skilled and experienced anglers know how to restrain their excitement and allow the fish to sniff around. The fish needs time to make sure it’s not being misled. It needs to convince itself that the bait is a tasty meal and has no hooks. The angler knows that once the fish is convinced, it will bite. Any false moves or attempts to set the hook too soon will scare it off, maybe forever. Sometimes, a subtle little motion on the bait will be enough to entice the bite. Subtle, with extreme care to prevent a false move.

“No, most of these are from Minnesota, but I’ve been dragging this old boat up there for years. You’re seeing decades of damage,” Chuck honestly answered. Now to give the bait a little wiggle. “See this gouge right here, and these two over there? Those are from my first trip to the Boundary Waters. Sawbill Lake. Good thing I picked an easy entry point for my first trip. I don’t think the boat, or I would have made it back if I had started on Ottertrack like what we have planned this year.”

Gord stared at the canoe. He reached up and touched the rough gouge. Was he going to take the bait? Had Chuck overplayed it? Gord shifted his gaze to Matt, his forehead crinkled with worry lines.

“Um, say. Did Lee tell you I was planning to bring my kayak?” The bait was being taken. Gord looked to Lee and continued his bite, “I’m thinking that may not be a good idea. Would that be a problem?”

Time to set the hook.

“No. Not at all,” Lee answered, hoping he wasn’t too eager. “Matt, you’ve got another boat we can use, don’t you?”

Matt nodded his head in affirmation, “Yeah. It’s an old plastic Penobscot. A bit of a barge, but comfortable.”

Gord nodded his head, smiled, and returned to his original walk into the office, without realizing he had been hooked and filleted. Once Gord’s back was turned, Lee looked to Matt and Chuck and mouthed thank you!

-

The foundation of the plan was in place. The party would consist of four canoes, each with two people. Matt would be paired with his brother-in-law Mark. Lee would be with his younger son Ethan. Chuck would join with Randy, a friend, and coworker who was a regular on these adventures, and Gord would be under the supervision of Jayden. Eight paddlers in all. This is a big group for a deep dive into the wilderness, but six of the eight were experienced, including Lee’s two boys. It was a good plan. Now, all that remained was picking the entry point and route. Once done, the detailed planning could begin. They had all winter and the following spring to prepare. As hard-core adventurers, they would do all their own outfitting, including charting the route, producing the dehydrated foods, and conditioning their bodies for the long paddles and portages. There would be no motorized lifts accepted, no portage wheels, or any similar accompaniments. They would count on at least two of their main meals to be fish. If the fish weren’t biting, they would go hungry.  Matt organized his adventures to have the look and feel of a bygone era, a time when roughing it was, in fact, rough. The thrill and beauty of the wilderness are best appreciated when they can be felt. Felt through the snap of a paddle completing a perfect stroke, felt by the chill in your bones as you wash up after a long day, felt by the growl in your stomach when the smell of a frying walleye fills the air, felt by your eyes when the aurora borealis lights up the night sky. Yes, feeling the wilderness is feeling alive. At least for a few short days. A feeling that can carry a man through the rest of the year.