THE LAND NORTH OF SUPERIOR

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There are times when a fella needs some meds or a magic tonic to revive himself.  Whether from sports, work or a sudden illness the recovery can be long and painful.  One of the best remedies I’m aware of is to slip quietly off the pavement and experience the wonders of the land north of Superior.

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I don’t have time in the fall, with it’s busy schedules and overlapping of outdoors sports, to get sick.  Pickeral fishing really heats up in the fall prior to ice in.  Small game, migratory bird and bear hunting are in full swing.  The deer and moose seasons up here start before mid October and need considerable prep time.  Camping is coming to an end and there is the winterizing of the camper and removal of all freezable contents �?I’ve not liked a couple of surprises that I found in the spring that I’d overlooked the fall before.  The fall colours also demand visual and photographic attention.  Did I mention that most wives want certain things done around the house and yard before snow flies?  The fall doesn’t have time to wait for you to recover from illness. 

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Needless to say I got sick.  Real sick.  Two days before I was to leave for my annual last fling at camping, the moose hunt; I found that I couldn’t wonder far from the comfort and safety of the bathroom.  In fact it seemed the bathroom was my room.  At first the thought that 24 hours would see a resolution to this unpleasantness kept me motivated.  Lots of fluids and lots of rest would do the trick.  Along came day two and still no relief in sight, then day three.  This was already too long for my liking.  Day four didn’t bring any relief either.  Late on day five things got better.  My range expanded beyond twenty paces from that pale sky blue oval in the washroom.

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It was then that I noticed another problem.  If I moved from the front room to the kitchen �? I needed a rest.  What was going on?  All my git-up-an-go had got up and gone!  Making the morning coffee was almost an unimaginable task.  Getting the second cup required careful conservation of energy before that trek into the kitchen and back.  I always seemed to be drinking cold coffee.  This wasn’t good.  The first weekend of moose had come and gone and it was Tuesday night.  My camper was still in the yard and the thought of hooking it up and then setting up camp, after a two hour drive, left me weak kneed and extremely sleepy.  In fact I drifted off for a two hour nap.  This wasn’t good.

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On Wednesday morning I decided that I would chance a drive out to my Wild Life Management Unit.  I took special precautions and brought plenty of all purpose paper in case unwelcome symptoms returned.  I was feeling guilty about leaving Missy and Major at home as I backed out of the driveway.

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There is no time like the fall to be on a bush road.  The colours of autumn flared and pulsed all around me as I drove into the bush.  Distant hillsides were a riot of oranges, reds, and greens.  All too many black spires, stark against the sky reminded me of the huge forest fire a number of years back.  The power and might of a major conflagration was awesome to behold, both the vast destruction done and the almost instant repairs undertaken by Mother Nature to heal the wounds.  Even the dark sentinels had a beauty hard to define in this visual feast.

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The day went very well.  I didn’t even stop for a roadside snooze!  I must have passed three dozen hunting outfits heading out of the bush and home as I drove in.  A partridge hid on the edge of the road long enough for me to take several pictures and then exploded into flight as I opened the truck door.  I watched it power into the sky and then soar down into the distance in a clearing laced with fallen down burned trees.  The idea of giving chase was just too daunting.  While having a handful of chocolate coated almonds I noticed that my wristwatch was hanging loosely from my shrunken wrist.  I had lost a bunch of weight in the last week it seemed.

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Several of the campsites, still occupied, had the hoped for annual friends still enjoying their trip to the land north of Superior.  News of home, successes and a few disappointments were exchanged as the afternoon was shared at three different camps.  I ate a moose liver sandwich at one, and was treated to a beefsteak tomato sandwich washed down by a beer at another.  As I slowly headed for home in the late daylight I glanced at the huge bag of monster tomatoes beside me �? those alone had made the drive worthwhile.

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A sleek feline shape materialized from the scrub at roadside.  I was treated to a rare sighting of a lynx.  Desperately I hoped for a picture but it was not to be.  It melted into the brush on the other side leaving no trace on the hard packed road.   As I rounded a corner I immediately braked.  I reached for my binocs and for Mr Marlin.  Opening the door as quietly as possible I injected four shells into the rifle.  After just leaning the door out of the way I laid the 3030 on the hood of the truck and pointed the glasses.  There some sixty yards away stood a cow moose.  She was feeding on creek side greens and it looked like her calf was beside her. 

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The calf turned out to be an earth covered root on a blown down tree.  My heart slowly settled down to normal.  I watched her for as long as the light would let me.  Twice I called as she made to move off.  Twice she stopped, turned broadside and looked long at this strange apparition that was talking to her.  When I couldn’t see her against the black shadows I levered the rifle empty and put it into it’s case.

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I had not had an opportunity to take a pic of her with the digital camera I had with me.  But her memory will live with me forever.  With the help of the fine weather, the friends I had met, the animals I had seen and the visual gourmet meal I’d had all day I was feeling much better as I picked my way home through the land north of Superior