THE LAND NORTH OF SUPERIOR

 <o:p></o:p>

            One has to remember that Mother Nature has two sides to her. There is the cute cuddly side with sunshine and bear cubs and wolf pups.  Her other side is not so pleasant, where one must kill to eat, ones mate protected at all costs, where the cloud doesn’t have a silver lining.  In the land north of  Superior be aware of which face she is showing you.

 <o:p></o:p>

            I was spending the week at my favorite walleye river. The day was bright but breezy.  Every so often I would glance at the tall poplars across the river, they were starting to sway as the breeze oriented herself north south, just the worst combination for the lake a half mile away.

 <o:p></o:p>

            My new neighbors, as of last night, had slept through the morning fish.  It was probably my second pot of coffee perking, or the smell and sound of fresh walleye sizzling in butter that woke them.  On being offered fresh brew cups appeared talk went to everyone’s topic of interest - walleyes.  They owned up to living near a well known walleye lake just south of the Wisconsin border, but they came north every year for the smaller though firmer and better tasting walleye of Ontario.

 <o:p></o:p>

            On being asked where the lakes hotspots were, I glanced at my poplars, I hedged a suggestion that the river would be a better place to fish today. Four faces turned to stone. I was thanked for the coffee and told I could keep my secrets - they would find fish on the lake on their own  Twenty minutes later their big Merc outboard fired up and they headed down under the bridge and out towards the lake.

 <o:p></o:p>

            Filling my mug I walked to the bridge. A couple of retired folk, fishing off the bridge were staring out into the lake.  The Americans had roared out of the river mouth and immediately been hit with cross wind and heavy white caps, just a hundred yards out they were already bailing furiously, one of them had a can the other two used their hats.  The driver at the steering wheel kept trying to turn the boat around going into the wind, but each time he cut the wheel they took on more water.  If they went down they were on their own, nobody here had a big enough boat to try rescue them.  Only one of them was wearing a life jacket.

 <o:p></o:p>

            Happily for all they were able to turn their boat around and twenty anxious minutes later they beached their boat by mine. There was six or eight inches of water in that boat.  They disappeared into their camper.

 <o:p></o:p>

            Half an hour later a tap on my camper. On invite one of the Americans, Joe. came in and sat at the table bench.  The last of my coffee along with a generous splash of rye in front of Joe picked it up with two hands, two badly shaking hands.  A short time later much steadier Joe offered this thought “Even if a local tells me that a cow patty is blueberry pie I’ll believe him, I never want to have that feeling I had out on that lake again�?/SPAN>

 <o:p></o:p>

            They stayed a few days .  We swapped stories, ate fish and had a few bourbon. They were a nice bunch of guys.  The rest of them stopped by to say they wished they had listened, in their own time and way.  They have not been back that I know of since.

 <o:p></o:p>

            When I go out in the land north of Superior I keep an eye on the tall poplars. They have yet to tell me a lie.