Tuesday:

In at 2pm. Brian here last night, but wasn't at home when we drove in. Doug put a picture of Osama on his door. The trailer got off loaded and all the food put in the fridge while I found a beat up shovel and emptied out the fire pit. Getting the fire started this year was going to be a problem because of the rain. Doug and I were about half way across the bridge when it started, but being a veteran of the last week of September, we brought along rain gear. I also brought along a burnz-o-matic torch, so getting the fire going wasn't as bad as it could have been. Brian comes in around 7pm. He'd been over to Pike Lake to check out the environs. Doug and I went across the street to see what we could kick up and I got one bird. Northern Lights. Brian's venison for dinner, Don had stakes. A year ago today, Sally got hit.

Wednesday:

Jamie and Doug going south two trackin‘, and to look for a few more lakes. Don, Brian, & I fished the river that runs near Don's property. Then all to Roxbury creek. Roxbury creek was the spot we ended up the weekend fishing last year, and was the topic of many conversations leading up to this trip. Don's brother had found it, and gave us some directions on how to get to the place. Turns out we were right last year when we drove by the barricaded two track. We were all walking down towards the south end of the lake, with Don ahead of us by 50' or so, when he comes to a dead stop, jerks his head to the left, yell's, and bolts back towards us. He only ran maybe 10' when he came to a stop again, and started laughing. He had spotted a nice sized black bear, not 30' from him, and they both had the same reaction. The bear went one way and Don the other. As soon as Don saw there wasn't going to be a conflict over the trails' right-of-way, he started laughing. It could have been a lot worse, it could have been me in front. It would have been embarrassing.

The lake has been planted every year with a strain of Brook trout and has a size limit of 12". We all caught three or four that were a little small but Brian and I scored one each. It's amazing how much fun a guy can have even though the weather just isn't co-operating. Last week, I told God I didn't give a rip if it rained or not, and it turn's out he's got a wicked sense of humor, it's pouring! (and it continued to rain almost the entire trip.)

We returned to the cabin later in the afternoon, and Don headed for his 'fridge to make something for dinner. He had brought up some smoked sausage, ham and a few other items. He cut those all up and put them into a pot with a couple bags of white beans and maybe four gallons of water. That he put on the stove and suggested we head for our favorite dinner gettin' lake, and pick up a few more trout, then he unpacked some more of his things. As it is every time we end up at that lake, something extraordinary happens, and this time was no different.

Jamie, Doug, Brian and I were all standing on the beach, minding our own business, getting really soaked, when the lakes unofficial Marshall walks up. Well, her dog showed up first, which was a little unsettling because Harley is as big as the bike he's named after. At no time did he make any threatening gestures, but when a big black rottweiler comes leaning up against your leg, he gets your attention. Naturally, I started scratching him behind his ears, and he almost pushed me over. He didn't detect any problems with me and moved on down to Brian, and then over to the vehicle where Jamie and Doug were sitting. Jamie hadn't been paying much attention to what was going on, until Harley puts his huge black nose into Jamie’s face. Yea, he was as surprised as Brian and I were. From out of the black gloomy rain we hear, "If you don't move too fast, he probably won't eat you", and that's when we met Kelly. Kelly and Harley live in a cottage that was built by her father back in the thirties, and since she's there almost all season, she's taken to keeping an eye on the lake. We were fishing from a public access point, and this is where she runs into the most trouble. Besides the usual rowdy carousing that occurs at places like these everywhere, she also watches the fishermen. Gasoline motors aren’t allowed to be operated on the lake, and when she hears one, she’s all over it. She makes sure that the party on the beach doesn’t end up in a boat, and if the law needs to be called, she’s the one to talk to. Minor infractions are usually handled by Harley I assume. We talked at length about the history of her house, and how, when and why the other homes came to be there. We were talking about the vegetation growing on the bottom of the lake when I realized it was still pouring. The three of us were wearing full suited rain gear, and she’s standing there in a pair of jeans and an Air Force jacket that belonged to her brother. Between the young lady I met last year in the bear checking station, and the lady standing next to me now; I thought how lucky the U.P. was to have them.

Thursday:

When we got up Thursday morning, we were witnesses to an infrequent condition that occurs this time of year in the Upper Peninsula. There was a giant orb trying to force its rays through the limbs of the pines behind the cabin. Everyone brought out some of their sodden cloths and hung them from the branches. It looked to be a great day for fishing so we returned to Roxburry pond because of the great luck we’d had on Tuesday.

Because of the barricaded trail, the guys had to carry the boat, motor, battery, and all their fishing gear to the pond, a quarter mile down the road. Don went in the boat with B.B. while the rest of us sat on the shore and tried from there. While I was fishing, I watched Don and B.B. troll, watched the giant billowy clouds scud across the sky, and an eagle soar between them. What I didn’t do while I was fishing was catch anything. None of us did. All that work of getting the boat to the lake, and finally getting some sun, and then catch zilch. I hummed "You don’t always get what ya waaont…." as we walked back to the trucks.

"Looking for a buffalo slathered up enough to shave," is a comment that was mentioned on the ride back, but I’m going to enforce the "What goes on across the bridge, stays across the bridge" rule and leave it at that.

That afternoon we all headed across the road to the local trap range and commenced with a couple rounds of the "Eckerman shoot". For those not familiar with the "shoot" the rules are a little different from normal trap ranges. In most places, the shooter stands along a line with the launcher located either in front, or off to each side. In this game the launchers are located in a line around you, and the birds come directly at you. We’re not talking about 180 degrees here either. This one’s 360. Most of us were able to defend our positions, but I did have one bird that clipped my ear as it came from behind. This game is not recommended for novices but it’s really fun when you get the hang of it.

Dan came in at 10 w/beer and wood. Both commodities needed greatly by campsites everywhere, and we were especially in need. There was talk in camp of making a "911" to a place in downtown Strongs and it was then that Dan showed up. Since I’m the one who has been designated "Designated Driver", I met Dan with a heartfelt "Good to see you!" and helped him offload the wood. It seemed strange to see Dan come in without "Bo", but it was great to see him again. Dan has got the driest sense of humor as anyone I’ve ever met. He can look you straight in the eye and give you a comment that’ll get you laughing hard enough to break ribs, and he just stands there staring. We were getting the rest of the beer off the truck when the guys next door started howling into the rain.

All that day, there had been a bunch of guys pulling into and out of the cabin next to Don’s. I believe this place may be older than the Zipp homestead or it was designed by the design team of "Rustic b Us". Anyway, it was currently occupied by the father and his son’s and son’s-in-law’s and those boys were out for a good time. Each time throughout the day, those guys would come in with another load of firewood, they’d start to hollerin’ and carrying on. By the time we met them later that night, they were really tuned in. They’re all up for the Muskie and pike fishing that they do in Lake Superior, and tonight was their major blow out. They already had one Muskie in the cooler and hoped to get a lot more. We were invited into the cabin for a drink and some venison tenderloin if we wanted. Wanted isn’t exactly the word I’d use for how I felt about the aroma I was sniffing, but I did pass on the Bourbon. I found out that the fish in the cooler was caught two days before and it was from 40 to 63" long and weighed between 12 and 60 pounds. Must have been something in the freezer to cause it to gain weight, ‘cause every time I heard the story, it got longer and heavier. It turned out to be the only night those guys celebrated. The next day they left early with their boats and it was all business. We saw them the rest of the weekend and they never said another word.

Friday

Friday started the same way Thursday ended, in a deluge of rain. I have been to several locations in my worldly travels, but I must admit, never to a rain forest. If in the future, I do end up in a rain forest, I will always think about Eckerman. The thing is it never stopped. It would slow down at times to drizzle, but by and large it just POURED. Not only on this day did it rain, the wind blew too, so the fishing was pretty much shut down.

Bubba and Jeremiah came in late that afternoon and joined the huddled masses around the fire, and not long after that Kent and Brian came in. Brian brought along his dog Hunter and the empty spaces around the fire began to fill up.

A little while after that Kelly, with a friend of hers stopped and joined us by the fire. They were on their way to Paradise and they saw us all standing around the fire, and wanted to meet the rest of the group. It looked a little odd with two women standing around the fire with 6 or 7 of us, but 10 minutes later they seemed to fit right into the group. The ladies were obviously on their way to a party, and didn’t need to get as soaked as we were, and they were soon on their way. Mike Anzell came in about 11pm and the party got stepped up a notch.

This was the first time Mike had come to this event, and we were a little surprised to see him. Each year we’d all hear about how much he wanted to come up, but when the time came, he’d always back out. Mike’s not known for his navigational abilities so we’d figured by 10pm he was either lost or wasn’t coming. He came into the cabin like he’d just stepped out for a minute, and we were all very pleasantly surprised. As expected, he did get a little "turned around" and had to stop at a bar for help. He stopped not far from the cabin and asked if anyone there knew where the "Bare Assed bar" was. EVERYONE knew where the bar was, ‘cause they were all sitting in the "Bare Butt bar" listening to him. It was still pouring when I finally went to bed around 1am.

I woke up Saturday morning with only the sound of drops falling from the trees. It had finally quit raining. We gathered around the fire with our map books out and decided where to go that day.

On the day before, Karl and Jamie had gone on an exploration looking for whatever that needs to be seen. It turns out that Lake Peck & Rye needed to be seen. When the guys got back the day before they said they found a lake that "took two and a half hours to get to and 15 minutes to get back from." 15 minutes from the camp we pulled into a small tree lined lake. There wasn’t a building on it, and as serene and beautiful as any lake in the area. We all got out of the vehicles and took a walk down to see what we had in store for the day. There was a small boardwalk leading from solid ground out to the water, but besides that, it was all muskeg. We’d jump from one vegetated patch to another until we were all spread out along the shore. B.B. had brought along his johnboat but he didn’t particularly want to carry it down to the water, so he opted to drive down instead.

Everything was moving along nicely ‘till he got to the boggy area, and that’s where the bottom dropped out, literally. At first he was just a little stuck in the muck, but after just a little rocking, his truck was up to the axles. We were all going to lend a hand to help him out, but he wasn’t particularly worried about it. He’d been bragging about how he could get his truck out of anywhere, and he wanted to show us he could. Sure enough, after some fancy maneuvering and a whole lotta verbal abuse, it walked itself right out of that hole. I wished I’d had a camera to verify what a god-awful hole he’d gotten out of. After a couple hours of fishing, we tallied just 4 perch, and they weren’t worth keeping.

Later, after lunch, we headed back over to Highbanks to see if we could come up with some fish for dinner that night. When we pulled in there were a couple of locals there who were in the process of harvesting. Fishing is too light a word for what those guys were doing. We all admired the fish lying on the beach and then spread out along the shore and see if we could have as much luck as those guys did. We sat there using the usual "Highbanks rig" and we weren’t even getting hits, and those guys were hauling them in. After watching a while we noticed that they were using trout row, and besides that, they would put all the fish in the back of their truck every time the number reached ten. These guys weren’t wearing Indian regalia but we assumed they were, because they weren’t paying any attention to the states fishing laws.

That night, for the annual "Last Saturday in September" banquet, Don prepared pork chops, and fried potatoes, Jamie deep-fried a couple of his chickens and a rice dish. We cooked up what fish we’d caught that week and feasted on it all. The party that night wasn’t nearly as raucous as it was the preceding three years. Instead it was a quiet evening of reminiscing of the days and of trips past.

Sunday it was back to raining again, and it was just as well. I don’t mind leaving so much, these yearly excursions, if it’s lousy weather. Leaving the U.P. in nice weather is almost painful. We moved the picture of Osama from B.B.’s trailer to a tree near us and we proceeded to blow numerous holes in it. When we all felt better, we all loaded up and headed back to the real world.