THE LAND NORTH OF SUPERIOR

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There are so many things to do and enjoy in the outdoors.  Fishing, hunting, camping and photography are near the top of my own list.  Each of these pursuits needs preparation before you leave home.  When you travel the land north of Superior you never know what the day will bring.

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Don had left home that morning in full dark.  Early November in northern Ontario is a time of shrinking days and disappearing mercury. Some years winter is already here.  His 4X4 had complained when he had cranked her over but then caught, he had watched the oil pressure gauge stay static for the longest time.  Even when the pressure had struggled to normal it had taken some seconds for the lifters to stop their clatter.  His rifle in the gun case beside him, a packsack with emergency items and food on the floor and his bull tag safely in his pocket he was all set.  He had told Eva, his wife of a dozen years, that he would likely be back well after sunset.  It was a 2 hour drive to the spot he liked to hunt.<o:p></o:p>

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As he turned off the highway and headed north he noticed there was considerably more snow than in town. The snow lay in patches, dead grasses and leafless shrubs still stood high.  The road itself was used by the timber companies and was plowed after every snowfall to prevent any interruption in the supply of fiber to the local mills.   There was a dusting of new snow on the road and he experienced a moment of exhilaration, virgin tracks behind him and unexplored wonders lay ahead.  Several animals had crossed the road since the light snow had ended.  He hadn’t stopped to investigate any of them but when his hibeams had picked up the cloven foot prints he had pulled over.  The tracks, coming down the road from the north, ended at the snow bank.  A closer look at them showed they were too small for moose, a deer had been spooked of the road by the sound of his truck.  A quick scan with his mini mag light revealed where the deer had cleared a three foot wide frozen ditch and landed some six feet past and carried on.  He was hunting moose.<o:p></o:p>

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He shifted down to second as he turned off the main haul road, the head lights now revealed a narrow double rut punching through a regenerated pine forest.  The planted trees were all about the same size and stood a proud seven feet or so.  His location was the edge of this plantation, another three miles in, and the going was slow over the deeply scared and weather damaged side road.  What was left from a loop road served as his parking spot?  The day was just breaking deep blue over the hill to the east as he gently closed and locked his truck door.  His boots left oversize oblong shapes of bare road as he walked.  There was a series of hills and deep ravines coming up.  He knew the moose liked the tender willow and alder that lined the road edge and the ravines, which had not been planted.  In full daylight now he stepped off the road and headed to the east.<o:p></o:p>

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Tall grasses and patches of white snow lay in front of him, his boots crunched and swished as he slowly plodded on.  Every so often he stopped completely still and listened.  His stops were irregular as was the time he spent listening.  An old shoulder bone was used to rake the leafless branches around him at times; he even broke a few off.  At the edge of a ravine he stopped cold.  A hundred yards away he saw a glimpse of a young palm bull climb out of the depression and disappear into the evergreens beyond.  His heart pounding suddenly he quickly moved another hundred yards along the slope and then into the gully.  Picking his way with some speed he crossed over and was into the plantation.  His breath was a little ragged as he moved fast.  He expected to cross the bull’s track in another hundred yards as he headed to a small pond.<o:p></o:p>

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He couldn’t find the tracks!  They should have been here!  Where was that bull.  He scanned and turned looking for those tracks.   Now almost running he moved away from the pond.  Forgotten was the shoulder bone in it’s pouch on his back pack.  A noise to his right made him move rapidly in that direction.  No tracks!  His breath now came in deep gusts.  His eyes darted about desperately searching for those tracks.  A shadow made him change direction again, but still no tracks.  The clouds of his exploding breath now billowed ahead of him as he ran to a small knoll.  No moose and no tracks.  Again he was on the move.  Legs now pumping hard to climb another small hill, his face flushed and sweaty.  No MOOSE�?.WHERE WAS HE? A dry rattle to his right and he was off again, now in a full sloppy run.  Down another depression and still one more.  STILL NO MOOSE!<o:p></o:p>

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His heart was hammering as he was forced to stop to regain his breath.  He took his blaze orange hat off to wipe his freely sweating forehead.  He could feel a tremor in his legs.  Tiredly he turned and looked about him.  In the leafless tangle of the willows and alders he could see no moose, no sign and it slowly dawned on him; he could see nothing he recognized.  But that couldn’t be, he knew this area very well.  He had hunted here for four years now.  Again he surveyed his position.  LOST?  HIM?   IMPOSIBLE!  Another look around and a lead weight settled into his stomach.  WHERE was his truck?<o:p></o:p>

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In a desperate lung he took off again.  It had to be that way.  Once again he was forced to stop.  Bent over he sucked lung fulls of air.  THIS wasn’t happening to HIM.  It couldn’t, never had in all his years of being outdoors.  A much shorter stumbling run brought him to a huge flat rock.  His legs now quivering he collapsed into a sitting position on the rock.  He NEEDED a smoke!  A glance at his watch showed him it was noon!   He decided to smoke and have a sandwich.  His tortured lungs didn’t like the acrid smoke and he hacked away.  A couple more drags and he felt better.  Shrugging off his backpack he found his dry socks and used those to wipe his streaming face.  Without his hat the light breeze was very cold on his wet head.<o:p></o:p>

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Three carefully butted out cigarettes were lined up on the rock.  A ball of wax paper was with them.  His breathing now nearly normal he looked about him.  There was nothing to show where he was.  A heavy cloud cover didn’t allow even a glimpse of the sun.  He reached into his hunting jacket breast pocket for his compass�?empty!  As feelings of loneliness and helplessness started to invade him he recalled some advice his Dad had given him.  He pondered this for a bit, another cigarette joined the crushed ones.  He decided that it was worth a try.   He reached into his packsack.  <o:p></o:p>

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“SON�?PLAY THAT 9 OF SPADES IN THE LAST ROW!�?SPAN>   <o:p></o:p>

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The voice seemed to boom behind him.  IT HAD WORKED!   He turned to see an old grizzled hunter leaning over his shoulder.  A gnarled finger pointed to the spread out hand of solitaire.  His Dad had been right…if you want company or ever heaven forbid get LOST…play some solitaire.  Some clown is sure to come by and tell you what card to play next!<o:p></o:p>

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When lost it takes a strong man to settle down and do the right things to ensure his survival.  Here in the land north of Superior many things have been tried when the need is great.<o:p></o:p>

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