Way back yonder, when I was a lot younger, I used to do a lot of guiding. I guided many different people on day fishing trips and did some overnight base camping on Basswood and other lakes as well. Base camping with people who really know nothing is a heckuva lot of work. It’s like complete canoe trip outfitting but where the guide has to do all the thinking, planning, packing and go with the party to guide them for fishing. At camp, the guide also cooks all the meals, washes dishes, cleans fish, and baby sits people who don’t know quite how to act in the woods. When one is a younger guide, any client can go. With aging, a guide applies more restrictions to the clientele who might like to hire him or her. Suffice it to say, early exposures to overnight guiding lead me to become really picky in later years as to whom I would have to keep from drowning out in the woods.
One trip on Basswood was a particularly interesting event. It was four guys and me. I sent my brother up to set up camp in advance and told him no matter where he set up, “do not set up on the old Mapleleaf Lodge site on the west point just north of Wind Bay.” I should have told Bernie to “just set up on the Mapleleaf site” and lived with it.
That particular site has a nice beach area in a little Gilligan’s Island type of sheltered lagoon minus all the bamboo and the Skipper and Maryann. I thought Maryann was the best looking of the two good looking women stuck on that madcap island. It has flagstone rock steps from the old resort that was forced out in 1964 for the BWCA law and 99% of all the canoe paddlers have no clue as to why those neatly arranged rocks are there. They all believe that the US Forest Service was feeling particularly artistic one day and sent up crew to beautify this spot. There used to be a privately owned and operated resort there in the “wilderness” along with 16 other businesses on Basswood.
It is a beautiful campsite of course and very sheltered from wind. And, the mosquitoes REALLY like it A LOT. I found that out by having shore lunches there while on day-guiding trips. Using the biffy on this spot is a whole, new adventure. So, thanks; younger brother! He said there was nothing else open which was probably true as far more people used to actually visit the BWCA back in the late 80’s than they do today despite whatever the US Forest Serrvice says is the case with BWCA permit use is today.
So, I get my party to Moose Lake after picking them up the day before at the Ely airport. They arrived to Ely in a King Air and had a pilot and a stewardess on that plane. The leader of the group was named Jerry. He owned a car part production company in Wisconsin. He made all the medallions and related parts that you stuck on cars like the medallion on the grill of a Cadillac or a Kia today. He owned the King Air which is a pretty big turbo prop plane. One other guy named Bob was according to Jerry, “ born with a silver spoon in his mouth and the spoon just kept getting bigger”. Not really sure what the meant until Jerry said that Bob’s family shipped 25 boxcars of hops per day, 365 days per year to Budweiser in Missouri or wherever they are. Apparently, that’s a lot of hops. I was wondering how much beer people drink? Then there were the two other guys, Sam and Dave, both of them members of the “leveraged-buyout- elite” that was going on during those times.
Silver Spoon Bob was wearing a brown, 10 gallon, corduroy cowboy hat, cowboy boots and a suede leather sport coat. That is how he dressed for a Boundary Waters Canoe Area wilderness camping trip. Sam had not one, but two portable alarms, plus a battery operated shaver, and various other gadgets. I suggested that one alarm probably wasn’t even needed, but I could tell that he was so wound up coming from the world where everything in business was sliced, diced and sold quickly, that he needed two clocks and a shaver - on a BWCA trip. The other two guys had their gear fresh from Eddy Bauer and were stuffing packsacks with it. Silver Spoon Bob had a little bag of stuff and I gave him a smaller pack. He was curiously devoid of luggage or gear. All the while, they are asking a few questions about fishing mainly and showing me high quality $200 rods and $200 reels bought just for this trip.
The next morning, my mom served breakfast and we take off fully loaded, tow boat with canoes on the racks and what felt like 800 packsacks of crap and gear on the floor of the boat. It's a three night trip - how much stuff does one need?
Silver Spoon Bob is a likeable guy and a goofball, and completely clueless. He gets in the boat, wearing his cowboy boots and hat, and suede leather jacket. He zipped up his assigned, red life jacket securely over the top of that sport coat. He did have blue jeans on because he figured it was a casual event….at the Moose Lake landing…in a boat....heading up to Prairie Portage….then to Basswood….YEP….casual.
We crossed Prairie with the trucks and the excitement began to set in with the four men in my boat. Silver Spoon Bob is looking a little confused, but he’s game for anything. Everybody else has a bit of a chuckle going on among themselves. I’m not sure what the group dynamic was at the time, but I was driving the boat. We had to get to camp.
So, up along the Canadian border we went. Nothing but vast open water ahead, distant shorelines and islands, rocks, and sticks. Not a structure in sight and very few people on the water. We finally get to the campsite. The Maple Leaf base camp.
I beach the tow boat and everybody piles off the front end like a military assault of Navy Seals. OK, an unloading clown car, would fit them better. The base camp which consisted of two cabin tents 10 x 14 cabins tents, my own smaller tent and cots, a cooler, and assorted camping gear paraphernalia. A tarp was up. It was an instant, just-add-water, camp.
Silver Spoon Bob’s mouth was agape. He begins to laugh, “Ha! That’s really FUNNY! OK! Joke’s over. Ya got me! Where are we REALLY staying!” I did not know what to say and began to mumble/sputter about this being home for the next three nights.
That’s when Jerry laughed and told Bob that I was speaking the truth. This is where we are going to live for the next four days.
Bob said to Jerry, “ I thought you said we were going to be staying in a Holiday Inn and do some golf and go fishing! Where the hell are we?”
I was thinking, “Oh, crap…” As Bob wandered around looking into the tents, Jerry quietly told me that had Silver Spoon Bob been told about anything less than a water-access-only Holiday Inn with golf nearby uniquely sitting 100 yards from the Canadian border, he would never have come along. “Aww - great plan.” I thought to myself.
Well, Jerry smoothed it over with Bob by digging in his pack. I was wondering why we had so many packs. He pulled out several different bottles of booze all in different plastic bottles. It was a lot of booze and after a drink, shooting some bull, all four had a good laugh and the adventure resumed. Silver Spoon Bob was on board. I think he might have brought along only one pair of underwear. He wore his sport coat every day.
We caught some fish, I made dinner –surf and turf- fresh steaks, fish, hashbrowns and beans, everybody was happy despite the 250 bazillion mosquitoes who called the Maple Leaf campsite “home”.
The next day, I was up and at ‘em early as I’m usually wound like a spring with trips like these and I made breakfast. I made coffee on the wood fire along with eggs, bacon, & toast. I poured the coffee as these cranked (except Silver Spoon Bob) businessmen needed their coffee. Then, stupidly, I mentioned that "I’m not much of a coffee drinker myself" when Sam said sardonically, “I know…” and flipped the contents of his cup into the woods. Apparently it was weak. OK, so I’m not a barista - sue me.
The day brings more fishing, some portaging into smaller lakes around the edges of Basswood, and back to camp for dinner. As I’m filleting fish, a somewhat intoxicated Jerry comes to me at the beach and decides that he wants to take a canoe out of our perfectly calm lagoon and go fishing by himself. I tried to diplomatically dissuade him of the whole idea, because a northwest wind had picked up and was now ripping out on the open water. This was his chance to shine. Sam and Dave attempted a more-controlled distraction by suggesting sitting around the fire, but apparently, some people become very stubborn when they are drunk.
So, not liking this plan at all, I reluctantly give Jerry a three-minute paddling tutorial in handling a tandem canoe from a solo position and find a rock to weight down the new front of the canoe. In soloing a tandem canoe you paddle Grummans by sitting in the front seat, facing backwards. You still need a bit of counter weight up front and a rock would do it. Jerry loaded up his VERY expensive rods and did not want to put on his life jacket. It was the second week in June and the water is still pretty cold. I tried to get him to wear the life jacket, but he assured me he could do it without wearing the PFD. To appease me, he agreed to put one in the canoe with him. That is like putting a seat belt on after a car crash, but this was a guy not used to taking orders. At that time, a boat cushion was all that was required and Jerry was sitting on one to allow him to comfortably solo paddle that canoe.
Out he went into the bay. Of course, he couldn’t just stay in the bay, he had to head out into the fray to prove his manhood or something. Dave said to me that “it must be hard to fillet fish and keep an eye on the guy alone in the canoe”. I didn’t say much but, I looked up a lot. Sam was very worried and called to Jerry to NOT go into the windy part. Of course, macho Jerry, owner of the King Air complete with full-time pilot on staff, waved off the sounds of trepidation resonating from shore. Then, he proceeded to get himself into a pickle.
Ignorantly charging straight out into the ripping cross wind, resulted in turning his canoe so he was heading southeast, right towards the mouth of Wind Bay. He paddled hard trying to turn the bow back to shore. That rocked the canoe violently but the wind held the canoe like a weather vane with the lighter front end of the canoe not budging from the path the wind had chosen for it. Jerry was no longer the master of his domain. As he saw himself heading apparently (in his mind) to a sudden death, he did the whole, inexperienced, canoe-paddler thing that people do when they panic in canoes. He should have just traveled with the wind until he saw a calmer opening. It’s not like I wouldn’t come and get him, but he’s no different than the 90% who paddle the BWCA. He had to turn the canoe NOW! He began to rapidly paddle backwards and when he couldn’t beat the wind, he reached back far with his paddle for a long, strong, pulling stoke and then he rolled it over in the blink of an eye.
His three buddies on shore groaned a loud, collective “Oh, my God!” and hightailed it over by me who was filleting fish at water’s edge right next to the towboat. Jerry was floating while holding onto the swamped, upside-down canoe and he was trying to put on the life jacket that I insisted he take with him. On the shore, all three guys grabbed the bow of the tow boat and picked it up and began pushing with all their might trying to make it float. Only one problem with their good intentions: The towboat was tied to a skinny cedar tree on shore. They stretched that rope SO tight that if somebody strummed it, the pitch would have shattered a mirror. The boat wasn’t budging and they weren't listening to me saying “Wait, wait, the rope!” because “fight or flight” was in full force and they were going to put up heckuva fight for their pickled, floating, maybe sinking, buddy.
I had no choice. There was too much pressure on the rope and untying was not an option so, with my razor sharp Normark Presentation Fillet knife, I sliced my tow boat’s rope from behind the panicked horsepower of the three men. All three fell forward like a Three Stooges episode and landed face-first in the water with a beaver-tail’s splash and a big, collective “Oooofff!”. I dropped my knife and skipped over the bodies on the ground before me and into the boat. I zipped to the back and dropped the brand new 25 HP Johnson into the water, cranked it up on the first pull, shifted into reverse and ground up my BRAND NEW propeller on a rock below trying to save a wealthy drunk’s butt! My inner-Incredible-Hulk wanted to come out swinging. Those props cost $85 back then! I didn’t dwell on it because in cold water, Jerry could seriously end up in deep trouble fast. I spun the boat around and headed out into the wind. Alongside of the swamped canoe now, I pulled the suddenly-more-sober Jerry over the side as he thanked me profusely for being so “unbelievably quick”. He also complained he lost about $800 worth of rods in that flip. I thought, “You dumbass! - I lost a prop!” but I smiled and said “Oh, sorry to hear that…”
Back at shore, the three wet-from-the waist-up guys thanked me for getting Jerry and keeping a cool head when they all panicked. Sam told me privately that this was good thing because Jerry will be much more “ruley” for the rest of the trip and might listen when the guide says “no”..
The rest of the trip went off without any more hitches, and I would guess that they all had fun. But then I went on to witness the next spectacle that businessmen apparently become quite jaded in doing on the last day.
My brother Bernie arrived to take down the camp with 16 foot Lund and different 25 HP - and two chicks. Of course, Bernie has to arrive with two chicks (so professional) he picked up at Prairie Portage on his way to me, but that’s a different, sub-story. It really ticked me off at the time. I mean, who picks up chicks in the middle of the woods? What are the odds of that happening? Apparently, the odds are quite good. Nonetheless, it looked really goofy and one girl annoyed the crap out of me, but I digress.
Anyway, my clients boarded the Lund and off we blasted. The wind was still screaming and the lake was pretty rough but aside from that it was a spectacularly deep blue with both sky and water showing off for us the extra silvery whitecaps. One would think that a day and journey such as this would elicit stares and observations and feeling of bummed-out-ness or having to leave. Nope. They all nonchalantly whipped out their magazines. Business Week, National Review, GQ, et cetera and folded them in half to make for easy reading in the upright position.
As we were leaving God’s country, the waves pummeled us with slow-down-the-boat-and-watch-so-they-don’t-come-over-the-back-whitecaps on Basswood. My guys looked like we were on a commuter flight to Chicago, Illinois. It was surreal. As their upright bodies swayed and rocked with the pounding the bow was taking, every now and then, one of them would look up briefly at Canada just over the border and then re-bury his nose into that paragraph on that page. For a minute there, I was waiting for the stewardess to show up with that narrow beverage cart.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We’re experiencing a bit of turbulence and we expect it to be over just around the corner past Green Island and at the top of Inlet Bay. Please remain seated and buckled in until the seatbelt light turns off. Thank you for base camping with Northwind Lodge Canoe Trip Outfitting.
I was definitely happy to get home.
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