Fear and Foolishness - Part 3

Those fears are the type that had build slowly and I had time to think and wonder about the situation I’d gotten myself into. Other times things happened so fast that I didn’t have time to think about them. I just reacted. Instinct took over, hormones flowed, my heart rate and blood pressure went sky high, and I didn’t know whether to fight or run. Something like that happened to me in the summer of 1965 while I was in Canada on a fishing trip.

I drove up into northern Manitoba by myself and spent six weeks, first at Reed Lake on Canadian Highway 39, and then further north over a newly finished gravel road (Canadian Highway 6) that ended in the mining town of Thompson. Some years later the road was extended even further toward Hudson Bay. I camped 35 miles west of Thompson on a cleared area that had been used by the crew while they were constructing the road. A new bridge spanned the rapids that cascaded from Setting Lake into another big lake. The rapids were named Pisew Falls. The site was beautiful with lakes on both sides of the road., I spent two weeks there, seldom seeing another human being. I had no boat so I fished off the shore, and would catch a Walleye each morning to have for dinner that night.

Pisew Falls, Setting Lake, Manitoba

 One day I went to explore along the lake. Much of the shore was edged by giant boulders jetting out into the water, and it was easy walking, with open views for the first half mile. I came to a place where I had to cut inland to move around a small cove with steep walls. I went through a thicket of brush, turned back toward the lake, and was swinging my leg over a fallen log when I heard a loud screech off to my right. What happened next could not have spanned more than two or three seconds, but time expands for these events because too much happens to adequately fit into a normal time-space continuum.

I saw a wildcat crossing the ground out of the corner of my eye. It was closing fast. In an instant I had backed over the log, picked up a sizable stick, and was still backing up when I got a better look at my assailant. It wasn’t a wildcat after all, but an big owl. I remember a thought flicking through my mind - that the ground was an odd place to find an owl, but it was screeching bloody murder and still coming at me so I continued my retreat.


I raised my weapon ready for defense. I was also contemplating the possibility of abandoning the field of battle and plunging into the lake when I got my first real look at my adversary. It was a chicken…a damn chicken. I knew there was nothing to fear, and now realize that it was probably a ptarmigan, but at that particular time I was not much into bird identification. I was a sweating bag of nerves, and the bird seemed prepared to fight to the death. It was now circling, crouched close to the ground with its wings held out, making it look bigger and more menacing. I still had the stick in my hand and half heartedly through it in the direction of the bird, and then withdrew. I climbed a small knoll behind and sat on top in the cool breeze. I could hear the bird below screeching and thrashing about in victory for several more minutes. Sometimes experience doesn’t help.
THE END

Fear and Foulishness - Part 2

There are times when people are injured or killed because they aren’t experienced enough to know they are in danger. There are other times when a person becomes paralyzed with fear while another, in the same situation, may recognize there is no real danger. I’ve been in both situations.

A friend, Dan Wilson, and I were near the top of a mountain once and started across a boulder scree. Most of the rocks were small, only eight or ten inches on a side, stacked on top of each other, and the scree ran down the mountain several hundred feet. The rocks weren’t big enough to give solid footing and some would shift under foot and slide a bit. The scree was maybe a hundred feet across, and we were on a fairly steep incline. Under the circumstances, it was a bit scary to look down that steep slope. I started to wonder if we had made a mistake. Would one of the next steps result in a slippage and cause a cascading slide? Most of it seemed solid and we were, by then, over half way across - the point-of-no-return - so there was no sense in turning back. I picked every step carefully, testing each rock, and happily made it to the other side, but I still don’t know how perilous the situation was.

Another time I was on a snow machine heading up a river north of Eureka. Wilson was following on his machine, and I began passing open water near the shores. The river was wide and we were running right down the middle, but those open holes started to bother me. I could see water rushing in them and knew if I stopped my machine and turned off the engine I would hear the water flowing. I wasn’t about to stop. A moving snowmobile can pass over thin ice and be gone, but stopping is not a good idea.

I was following another snowmobile track so I felt somewhat secure as long as it did not abruptly end in a hole, but then the track suddenly made a tight 180 degree turn and went back the way we were coming. I was now riding point and entering uncharted territory. I got spooked. I went no more than another quarter mile and pulled onto a small island in the middle of the river. I told Dan I wasn’t going any further. He seemed to be a bit peeved, but did not offer to take the lead, so I guess he was no more sure of the ice than I was. Again, I don’t know if we were in any danger. Maybe someone familiar with the river might not have thought anything about it, but again, maybe those tracks that turned around had been made by a more experienced traveler or maybe the spook got them too.
GO TO: Part 3

Fear and Foolishness

In my youth I was neither fearless nor cowardly, but would describe myself as cautious. I remember Mom was deathly scared of snakes and swimming. I did not much care for snakes myself. I found something revolting about the thought of handling them because I always thought they were slimy until I touched a big Boa in a college class and found its skin to be cool and dry. I learned to swim when I was six or seven. I liked to climb trees and never feared heights.

There was, however, one specific thing that terrorized me. It was a dream. When I was five or six I had a nightmare from which I woke distressed and crying. I had the dream several times and always woke up terrified. They asked me what it was about, but I was never able to describe it. The rhythm and beat of that dream is still with me, but there was little then or now that I could tell you about it. There was no form, no monster, no scene. There was a sense of something expanding and contracting - pulsating. Some sound that rose, than sank in intensity; a menace that was near but could not be seen. If I were superstitious or a believer in the supernatural, I would think that a door briefly opened, and for short time I looked upon pure evil. I had other nightmares after that, but they paled in comparison.

Every time I went to a monster movie, I would swear that I would never go to another, but the next time one came into town, I would find myself sitting with my brother and several other neighborhood kids watching the latest offering. Most of the movies featured either, Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi or Lon Chaney. I probably saw every horror film made during the 1940’s and 50’s : Frankenstein, the Mummy, the Werewolf, Dracula. I spent much of each show with my hands covering my eyes, peeking through splayed fingers.

I know of only one other dream I had and it ended with me waking up laughing. I dreamed that I walked into my bedroom. The closet was just to the left as you entered the room. In the dream the closet door had a window in the top half, and I saw Frankenstein sitting in the closet with his back to me. I ran away so fast that a cloud of dust, leaves, other debris rose in my place obscuring everything. I had injected that dust cloud into my dream after having seen a similar scene in a ghost movie in which Jack Benny and Rochester starred. It seemed very funny.

GO TO: Part 2

Fishing in the Far North of Canada, 1964 - Part 2

We set up the trailer, launched the boat and mounted the outboard. The next morning, with scattered white puffy clouds against a beautiful blue sky, we set out boating north across the mouth of a bay that was formed by a long peninsula jutting east into the open lake. There was a slight breeze and small waves as we passed the end of the peninsula and headed on across the channel that lay between it and a long island that ran parallel to the peninsula.

We passed the end of the island and were surprised by a strong wind blowing big waves at us from the north west. In what seemed like an instant the conditions changed from mild to menacing. We were suddenly tacking head long into 4 foot waves. Our boat, with low gunnels and only14 feet long, was too small for such seas. I was piloting the boat; Dad was in the front seat and our large tackle box sat on the floor between him and the middle seat.

The urge to turn the boat around and head back was compelling. I didn’t yet have a whole lot of experience in boats, and I very much wanted to throw the tiller sharply to the left and start a quick turn, but it seemed the boat would probably broach in the trough and swamp as the next wave hit us broadside. It was best to just head into the waves and attempt a landing on one of the many islands that lay ahead.

We continued into those waves for forty-five minutes. I aimed for one island, couldn't make it, and then went for the next. We were catching a lot of spray and the bottom of the boat was starting to fill. Dad was catapulted skyward by a large wave. He landed hard on the aluminum seat, bending it in and leaving a three inch impression of his backside. I missed the first few islands, but was finally able to beach the boat. There was a shallow rocky bottom to the approach so I pulled up the engine and rowed to shore.

We were soaked and the boat had about four to six inches of water in it. We gathered wood, built a fire to dry off, and waited for the wind to abate. A hour or so later we set sail heading back south. We found ourselves in an archipelago of small islands, and tried to maintain a southern bearing while weaving our way past one island and around another. It seemed like there might be hundreds of them, and they all looked alike. We were soon hopelessly confused, but the lake was placid - not even a ripple, so we didn’t much care; we were alive, and only a little lost.

After an hour of wandering we came upon and guy who was standing in his boat while fishing with a long fly pole. He told us how to get back to camp. We didn’t get any fishing done that fist day, but we did strap the boat back on top of the car and rent a bigger one for the rest of the stay.

Fishing in the Far North of Canada, 1964 - Part 1

Our old friend, Lamar Hammer, had been on a fishing trip up into northern Manitoba and returned full of big fish stories and praise for the area. His enthusiasm for a subject could border on infectious, and anything dealing with fishing usually grew to epidemic proportion. So, after hearing Lamar’s often repeated tales of Reed Lake, giant Northern Pike and five pound Walleye, Dad was mesmerized by a fish-eyed contagion that could only be cured by a trip to the infecting area. Brother Don was in his second year of marriage, so Dad enlisted me as a willing participant. Reed lake was at the end of the road with northing much in the way of civilization as we knew it - no lodges, no restaurants, no stores.

Lamar brought over his maps and information showing that the only thing on Reed Lake was a Provincial Camp ground, which included both a boat dock and an outhouse - all other amenities had to be brought in. We didn’t own a tent so Dad went down to the local rental agency and rented a small camping trailer, a 14 foot boat and small outboard motor.

We drove up there in the fall of 1964 and spent what was mostly an enjoyable week of nice weather, good fishing and great adventure. Lamar’s map showed us that Reed lake was big - twenty miles long on an east-west axis, and ten miles wide. The camp was mid-way along the southern shore. The western half of the lake was dotted with many islands, and the eastern end was open water. Lamar instructed us to stay on the eastern half and to fish the river flowing into the western end of the lake.

We drove north into Minnesota, then west across the rolling plains of North Dakota and then on north into Canada. We followed Canadian Highway 10 to a point halfway between the villages The Pas and the end of the road at Flin Flon. From there we headed east on Hwy 39, a gravel road, more that 60 miles long, to the camp at Reed Lake. It was the longest gravel road I’d been on, and it seemed to go on for ever. It was rough enough that the back bumper on the trailer shook loose and broke off on the way back over it.

GO TO: Part 2

Another Time on the ALCAN - 5. Shelby, MT & West Yellowstone

Wednesday, September 30 - 430 Miles Today. We had planned to stay in Edmonton for a second night, but The Glowing Embers was not that appealing, and one day at the Mall was enough. We were on the road before 10AM and drove duel-lane highways most of the day, passing through Calgary about 2PM - moderate traffic and good signage made for a fast and easy transit. We thought of camping near Fort Macleod but found the country to be flat prairie. There was not much to attract us and as it was only 4PM we decided to move on to Lethbridge or even forge on to the border. Lethbridge proved to be problematic: 5PM traffic…missed a turn…got into a tight spot in a parking lot while turning around …finally got straight and kept going toward the border. Stopped for propane and gas a few miles before the border then stopped again at a Duty Free shop at the border. The Canadian money left in Mary’s pocket was burning a hole, so we loaded up with a variety of sundry articles (bottle of gin, beef jerky, nuts, a big Cadbury chocolate bar, etc) and then went through customs. That was the high-lite of our day.

Drove another forty miles before stopping at the Lewis & Clark RV Campground outside Shelby, Montana. An older, grouchy guy checked us in. Lots of rules in this campground and the Internet was accessed by a specific code that allowed a specific amount of time - and only one of us could get on. Night had fallen by then so the old man showed me the site, but it was still hard to get into it - parking a trailer in the dark is a lot more difficult. Couldn’t get cable TV and discovered the next morning that I’d attached the cable to the wrong outlet. The lesson here is to stop before nightfall - makes life easier.


Thursday, October 1 - 287 Miles Today. Left Shelby before 10PM. Drove I-15 through Great Falls and stopped at a truck stop for gas and ate at a buffet - nothing special, and we noticed they had no meat dishes other than tasteless deep-fried fish - not even chicken.

We took a shortcut, Hwy 69, at Boulder where I-15 veers to the west. Came to I-90, and headed east to Bozeman, then south to the Bozeman KOA Park - very nice. There was a hot-spring next door of which the fee was $7.50. The place had seven pools. We went in about 7PM and there were only a few kids there but a number of college students started coming in shortly thereafter. When we left I noticed the bigger outside pool was circled by students sitting around the edge with their feet dipping into the water, and wondered if that was a regular happening?

GO TO: Part 6

Another Time on the ALCAN - 4. Whitecourt & Edmonton

Monday, September 28 - 289 Miles Today. The checkout time at most RV parks is usually 11AM - more rarely at noon. We usually get our money’s worth by leaving at near the posted limit, but made an exception by leaving just after 10AM from the Mile “0” RV Park in Dawson Creek.

I can’t help but think of Dawson Creek as being the start of the civilized grid. The signs begin here. We headed toward Edmonton passing fenced fields, tracing power lines pole to pole, and feeling the sensation of being reconnected. The town of Grande Prairie is the largest. It has an attractive college with beautifully designed campus buildings (smooth curves, no sharp corners), a Costco, etc - all the attributes of a modern town. It is unrecognizable from forty years ago. We left Grande Prairie on a dual highway with traffic getting ever heavier the further south we went.

The radio predicted winds of up to 50 MPH so we decided to stop in Whitecourt instead of driving onto Edmonton. Stayed at Sagitawh RV Park on the outskirts. Made a fire, roasted hotdogs and checked the email. Moonshine made friends with the donkey resident of the Park. There were also two pigs, a goat, a couple sheep, a llama, chickens and geese - all living peacefully in the same area.
Tuesday, September 29 - 104 Miles Today. Dual highway till just outside of Edmonton. We stopped at the Glowing Embers RV Park at the very western edge Edmonton as it was only a few miles from the West Edmonton Mall. We had been stopping there since 1987, right after it opened as the largest in the world. Mary thought she might want to go shopping, and we have always gone to the Water Park. It has a pool that generates waves and numerous waterslides. Mary had a lot of fun in the wave pool the last time we went, but could not get inspired this time. She slid down one of the more gentle slides, I did a couple of the extremes. We decided the Mall no longer has the magnetic attraction for us that it once possessed.

GO TO: Part 5

Another Time on the ALCAN - 2, Whitehorse & Liard Hot Springs

Thursday, September 24 - 218 Miles Today. The highway was nice and smooth between Haines Junction and Whitehorse - sped along at a constant 55MPH - no bumps. We arrived in Whitehorse about 3:00pm today, our third on the road. The town lies on the Yukon River, well below the passing highway to the south. There are gas stations, garages, restaurants, hotels, and RV parks scattered along the ALCAN as it parallels the river and city. We descended into town on the main exit, planning to exchange some currency, hoping to grab a bite to eat and checking our email at the Visitor‘s Center - no luck on that one. Stayed at the Caribou RV Resort a few miles south of town. Wi-Fi at the Caribou gave out a weak signal and was slow, but we eventally prevailed.

Friday, September 25 - 394 Miles Today - our maximum mileage considering Moonshine gets cranky and commences a constant flow of whinny barking after the onset of early evening. Watson Lake was to be our destination, but the "SignPost Village" was having a tough time economically. We have noticed this trend all along the Alcan. Many roadhouses and gas stations are closed, either early in the season or permanently. The financial mess going on in the world has reached the Far North. Even the restaurant we planned to dine at was closed - so we moved on to Laird Hot Springs, another ninety miles. The land is undergoing the fall color change and yellows dominate - sometimes providing a green and yellow checkerboard design. We passed a herd of Buffalo that grazes along the highway between Watson Lake and Laird. They are dispersed in groups of 20 to 30 along the highway. We passed three or four groups and a couple of lone bulls. Moonshine sat quietly during this passage as she studied the strange, large headed beasts.
Mary is like a cat that cannot find a corner in a round barn in which to pee, so we circled the campground at Laird two times before picking the most perfect site. The campground had more campers than we had expected, but there were plenty of sites available near the end of the loop. It seems that most campers take the first available, so the sites fill in that order.
We parked and walked Moonshine over to the boardwalk, a half mile total, and were returning to get our bathing gear when we met Armand, the camp host. He was a jovial guy, in his sixties, friendly and talkative. It was close to the end of the season so he was giving everyone a deal, half price - $10 for the night. He said he didn’t like to go to Watson Lake any more, area is too depressed, and when he did, he got his supplies and booze and took off back to Laird without lingering.
Moonshine stayed n the trailer while Mary and I walked out the boardwalk to the spring. By then it was very dark so each of us carried a flashlight. Mary had been looking forward to the springs, but she found them too hot to get into, and the sulfur smell was stronger than we remembered, so she stayed on the boardwalk while I took a fifteen minute dip. We had left our cloths at the far end of the facility. No one was near, and the night was pitch black, so I decided I would quickly slip off my wet swimsuit, dry off quickly, and then, quickly, put on the dry sweat pants I had brought. I was no sooner nude when a trail of flashlights appeared from the boardwalk at the other end. I was dancing around trying to get my shorts on. Mary was trying to hide my naked body from the sight of the eight or ten new arrivals, mostly children, while I, with a foot stuck in the wrong leg, was dancing a jig on the other. I finally managed to slip the shorts on backward and hurriedly don the sweatpants.

To complete the comedy, Mary tripped and fell in the boardwalk. She was carrying the big lantern, but not paying attention to where she was aiming it, so the beam would flash up to the tree tops and then slice downward across our path lighting the vegetation at the side, but never lighting the boardwalk - so Mary didn't see the raised board she tripped over.
GO TO: Part 3

Another Time on The ALCAN - 1. Gakona Lodge & Kluane Lake

Tuesday, September 22 - The first snow blanketed the Chugach Mountains as we rolled out of Anchorage at 2:30pm. There wasn’t much chance of making the 328 miles to Tok Junction by evening - our planned destination. We drove through light rain and then a heavy snow fall as we passed the Matanuska Glacier about 85 miles out. Nothing stuck, the ground was too warm.

Glennallen was our default stopping place, but we didn’t find anything we liked and moved on, finally stopping at the Gakona Lodge, an old historic roadhouse that served horseback travelers more than a hundred years ago. We were able to park in front for free, and we got the bonus of WI-FI. I got our small generator out and started it up. We warmed up some lasagna and played on the Internet the rest of the night.

Wednesday, September 23 - On the road by 9:30am. Some travelers are up and gone shortly after daybreak, but that has never been our practice - 9:30am is timely for us. Ran through another heavy snowstorm before reaching Tok, but the early falling flakes soon melted. Stopped in Tok for gas and a few groceries. Crossed the border 90 miles later. The Canadian Immigration seized Mary’s pepper spray. We neglected to mention the two bear spray canisters carried in our back packs or they would, no doubt, have taken them too. The hundred and forty miles from the Canadian border to Kluane Lake is the worse. You cannot drive more than a mile on good, smooth pavement, before you come to a red flagged "frost heave" where the road is buckled and distorted - very jarring if you cross it at more than thirty MPH, and it can scramble the contents in the travel trailer. Camped at Burwash Landing on Kluane Lake (thirty miles long). Parked the trailer so the rear window looked out onto the lake.
GO TO: Part 2