THE LAND NORTH of SUPERIOR

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All the excitement of Christmas and New Years is in the past.  The shinny new lures, in their cardboard boxes sit beside the computer screen, waiting for soft water.  A calendar tacked to the wall already displays the opening dates of the year 2003.  On it are penciled in the dates of visits, by friends making plans by phone or the Internet, to come to share this land north of Superior.

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Each year we face the task of juggling too few holiday weeks with possibly too many engagements.  The fall hunting season brings several flushed promises to do some pickeral or spec fishing in June.  The unwrapped Christmas goodies inspire a few more inquires as to the best times to catch a particular species.  Some of these ‘offers�?I designate to the trash bin without thought.  A number of acquaintances want to be taken trophy hunting, not really my favourite pastime.  But if asked to go for a few hours, days or even weeks to go enjoy the best outdoors experience in the world, then I’m your man.  There is one catch.

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April 30^th is circled on my calendar in red.  This is the magic date at work, probably the only four-letter word Mummo approves of, the deadline for holiday applications.  There are the ‘given�?weeks I take every year that go in first.  The week after pickeral opening, we’re starting to call it bear week, has been marked on my calendar for the last seven or eight years.  The opening two weeks of moose have seen me in whatever weather camped in 15B, one year a foot of snow forced an early withdrawal, enjoying the last hurrah of camping for the year.  I now have four weeks left.  To some this would represent a real dilemma; wife, kids and relatives can chew up four weeks in a hurry.

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Again I luck out, or is it great planning?  The boys are making lives of their own and have the commitments of the young. They work long hours to pay for the cars, houses and furniture that everyone needs during the course of a life.  They do manage to visit a few times in the summer and we make sure to keep them up to date as to where we are camped.  The ‘we�?I refer to is my dear wife.  She is ready to go camping anytime, except the fall, which is too cold she claims.  She is however one of the pioneers of lady outdoors people (? I have never been good at being politically correct at a time when politicians can’t be honest) and I can remember some of the first years when she was often the only lady out fishing.  The last twenty years has seen an annual increase in the number of ladys enjoying the outdoors, and yes even hunting, so that today little villages spring up at popular access points.  These gatherings come complete with kids and grand parents; with brothers and sisters, even visitors out for an evening fish fry.  Our family weekends, sometimes twice a year, can be up to 30 adults and kids or more. 

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As for friends, they know where we are.  Usually there is room for impromptu over nighters, as long as you don’t mind getting woke up in the morning with a couple of four legged dynamos licking your face.  Somehow nobody ever goes away hungry from visiting.  More often than not the day passes, and the best of intentions aside, the ride out happens only after an open fire cookout.  Then there are the ‘camping friends�?we see year after year and really feel left out if, for some unknown reason, there is a no-show.  Shared campfires, community cookups, kids and dogs racing about all make for a memorable time.

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The final really good reasons for camping are Missy and Major.  The two of them keep an eye on all preparations at home.  Helping out in their own way and continually under foot as the departure time nears.  Finally in the truck, two black statues, stare out the windshield.  They almost quiver with excitement, and once off the paved highway, an energy reducing pit stop is mandatory.  The dogs, knowing there will be no leashes, bound up and down the road.  Ten minutes, some water from a ditch or a pop bottle, and they jump willingly back into the truck for the rest of the journey.  The arrival at our chosen spot is chaos as dogs race, help unpack and set up the trailer, and check every smell and sighting out.  They let me know if visitors come, whether wild or two legged, and insist on helping with all cookouts.  At home after camping it takes them a couple days to recover but they are always ready to go again at a moments notice.

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