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I’m supposing four guys in their late 20s are three lakes ahead of us two. It’s a bright pretty day. Snow is not deep at all. We are halfway to the top of the first portage. Resting.
I’m sitting here waiting for my heartbeat to come back down, thinking, I have no one to blame but myself. I took out the map during duck hunting last October, fingered it with all eyes watching until one of them said, “I’m in, when we going?” To which I further pop’t off, “I’m retired, you say when and it’s a go.”
Then the phone calls started, can we bring two more guys, I said the more the merrier. How many tents axes, fishing rods, the snacks list was most impressive, and the lads finally picked a weekend prior to Christmas. Family holiday parties, wives and girlfriends all had to be consulted, until the day was set, to today, where I sit, with a guy my age. He’s leaning back, sun on his face.
He asks how much further. I said be about two more miles, and this is by far the hardest portage, but the later we get there, the more those kids will have done when we get there.
He says you want another pop and chicken wing? I nodded yes, with an added, “No sense rushing a good rest.”
From his packsack out comes our second helping. He says this taking a break is really helping. I said oh, don’t worry, we’re resting at every portage, wouldn’t want to cheat those youngsters out of all that energy they have to use up.
- The Trout Whisperer With a personal note to everyone who reads the Ely Echo, my sincere thanks, your support for print media in this day and age is greatly appreciated.
