{northwoods}
We did not sing this morning, but simply
let the silence engulf us as we paddled. Side by side our three canoes glided
across the smooth surface of the lake. I listened to my breath going in and
out, the rhythmic sound of the paddles as they sliced the water. I cast my gaze
around me, watching the world pass me by with a slow, easy sigh, the way it had
done for thousands of years.
Everything here was composed of
simplicity. Straight lines formed a rhythmic flow: the line of the canoe
cutting across the still water, toward the horizon line. The trees pointing
skywards, the clouds in rows, the line of the paddle as it broke the surface of
the water. There was nothing elaborate, nothing to draw our attention away from
the simplicity. Lines dominated in this vast wilderness, creating a feeling of
stability, eternity, serenity.
Such was the essence of the North Woods.
“How
many portages does this make?”
I
waded through waist-deep water, lugging my canoe behind me to drag it ashore.
“This
is the fourth one today,” Jessica replied to the anonymous question.
“Good
lord, it’s not even eight in the morning!” Emily said. “I curse whoever
invented portages.”
“God?” Paula suggested.
“Actually,
icebergs are mostly responsible for carving the lakes in this area,” Jessica said.
“That was nearly 12,000 years ago, and since then, the North Woods have been
inhabited by various Native American tribes such as the Chippewah, Cree and
Dakota people.”
“This
place still ices over in the winter, though, doesn’t it?” Paula asked.
Jessica agreed. “The lakes freeze over so
thick that you can take dog sleds over them, or walk to the center to chip
through feet of ice in order to go fishing.”
I
couldn’t believe that lakes this deep and alive could be frozen solid half the
year, every living thing encased in winter, sleeping until spring. What a place
this must be shrouded in ice and snow, and such a different world than the one
I was seeing, here on our hot August afternoon.
“After the Native Americans were here,” Jessica continued, “the land was taken over by French Voyageurs. They used their
thirty foot canoes and the portages between lakes as transportation on their
trapping expeditions, looking for mink and beaver.”
“Ah-ha!” Emily cried. “So they’re French
portages. I should have known.”
On
this particular portage I volunteered to carry the heaviest canoe, and soon I
remembered how much I disliked the beast. I
pressed heavily forward with the canoe balanced on my shoulders, watching as the others trooped ahead
of me with their own packs. I clung tightly to the edge of the gunnels, trying
to balance the canoe’s weight into a comfortable position, but comfortable was a word that didn’t enter my
vocabulary today. The canoe swung abruptly forward and I had to slow down to
adjust my center of balance once again. The portage was slow going. My
shoulders ached. My mouth was dry. The cushions on the thwarts of the canoe did
little to ease the pain of sixty-five pounds. I could feel the sharp edges of
the canoe pressing into my shoulders. I lifted my head a little to peek out
from under the halo of the canoe and I saw a valley of rocks stretching out
before me. Slowly I picked my way through them, trying to find my footing on
unsteady ground. The boots of Emily and Paula disappeared from my view, and I
suddenly felt very alone.
No
more! No more! I
thought. I wanted to yell for help. I wanted to heave the canoe off my
shoulders. I wanted someone to take my burden. But this was selfish: they all
had their own burdens to carry.
The portage grew steeper and my feet grew
heavier. I felt tears prick my eyes. No more! No more! No more!
“A little more.”
I blinked and my teary vision cleared. I
could see Emily’s boots again, now standing in front of me.
“A little more,” she repeated, in case I
hadn’t heard her. “That’s it. Keep going. Not too much further now.”
She had come back for me. She had faded
out of my view, but here she was back again, to help me along. She had
forgotten her own burden and was helping me carry mine.
I moved my feet forward, guided by her
encouragement.
“Oy, look out for that branch now,” she
noted, pushing a large one out of my way. “Need any help? There you go… that’s
right. You’re doing great. That’s ace, man.”
“Ace?” I found myself giggling. “King,
queen, jack?”
“No,” she scoffed. “Just ace.”
I was both distracted and reassured by
her voice. It was amazing how so simple a gesture was so effective. Suddenly
before me I saw the glint of sun on water, and eight girls surrounded me,
taking my canoe, rubbing my shoulders, nodding their approval. The weight was
lifted, the sun pierced my eyes again.
“Thank you,” I said.
Emily shrugged. “S’okay. You would have
done the same for me.”
And I knew I would have.
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