Give Me an A........

Grandma A was the grand dame of grandmothers..... she was perfection.  The right combination of nurturing and hard-nosed realism.

She amazed me.

One of her talents was her ability to guess the perfect gift for each and every grandchild, even ones that lived an extreme distance from her.  It never failed- whether Christmas day, your birthday or Easter you would open your present and look at it and think.... "How?  How did she know that was what I wanted... I didn't tell anyone that was what I wanted."  She just had a psychic connection in the inner workings of a young child's head.  There was one year she gave us all sheets..... mine were Dumbo.  I loved those sheets which is probably why many, many years later I still have the top sheet.  The sheets became known as  "Grandma A sheets" and whenever the choice was given as to what would grace the bed... that was mine.  It was like sleeping in a great big Grandma hug.

She also had great taste in outfits.  Each spring brought with it a "Easter" outfit would arrive via the postman just in time for the Winter fair.  The room would hum with anticipation while my mother unwrapped the box.  My siblings and I crowding around her, clambering over each other trying to get the first peek at what we would be proudly wearing to the fair.   Getting new clothes, store bought clothes, was not something that happened often in our house when I was young.  In fact there seemed to be a cycle-  start of summer wardrobe shopping, back to school shopping, Christmas and the prized Easter outfit.  So when you received clothes, you were excited to have something new.

There was one particular outfit that I remember fondly.  It was a blue and white dress.  It had a eyelet lace feel to it.  Why does this particular outfit stick out more than the rest?  Because it was a..... DRESS!  I did not wear dresses, but this one I loved.   It had capped sleeves with an elastic neckline which allowed it to be worn off the shoulder or scoop necked.

I loved that dress.  I begged and pleaded with my mother to let me wear it to the fair.  She said no!  My parents are firm believers in dressing for function vs fashion.  A dress of lightweight material and minimal arm coverage, just would not have cut the mustard in their book; especially at a time of year when the weather lulls you into thinking winter is over, only to turn around and lambaste the unsuspecting with a blizzard and -40 degree Celsius windchill.  I could not be deterred.  Everyday I asked.  Every day I was turned down.  Eventually my mother conceded as long as I promised to wear leotards and ski pants under the dress.

UGGGGGHHH!

Leotards, I was sure, were invented by a masochist;  staticky, clingy and susceptible to the effects of gravity; the crotch forever meandering down to your knees and needing hiking-up.  I also hated wearing bulky constricting ski pants.   But I did both so I could wear "the dress".

How did Grandma A know that I would love this particular dress so much??????  It will forever remain a mystery.

Making others happy by finding what they wanted was something that provided my Grandmother with joy.  She often would go without if it meant she could give someone something to cherish.  That was her..... generous to a fault.

As I mentioned Grandmother A lived far away so I did not get to see her very often.  This was pre Skype and long distance plans, so our main form of contact was letters.  As soon as I could print I started writing to her.   She was a good sport about it....  see all my early letters were addressed to Grandma Add.  I thought that was how her first name was spelled.  Not once did she correct me.  It was my older sister who pointed out my faux pas.   Last year I realized that not only did I have her first name wrong was also spelled her last name wrong for all her life..... seriously where did that extra "e" come from?  I still have a large bundle of letters from my Grandma.  The letters are stashed all around the house and whenever I come across one I smile.    How I miss opening the mailbox to find her familiar script staring back at me.

Given the physical distance between us, I was grateful when an opportunity arose that allowed me live with my Grandma for two summers during my late teen years.  What I remember about that time was the stories.  My Grandmother was a quintessential story teller.   One story would lead to the next and before you know it hours had passed... I sat enthralled. Eventually Grandma would comment that we were wasting the day away and she would get up from the table to do something productive.  I would follow, but inside I was anxiously waiting for the next round of story time.

My Grandma's stories are what I miss the most.  Even though I made her tell them to me over and over, time has made the details fuzzy and I question if I am remembering them correctly.  I would love, love, love to have a moment to sit with her to hear them one more time.  This time I will pay attention.  This time I would write them down.  I would not take for granted the time we had together.

How I marvelled at the life she led, her bravery and the beauty of her soul.   She experienced hard times but had the type of spirit that didn't dwell on what didn't go right.... she cherished her blessings as they came and chose to focus on what went right vs wrong.

Grandma A was a young widow.  My Grandfather was killed in a train accident when she was pregnant with her third child.  There she was, two little toddlers, one on the way and now a widow and homeless; as my grandparents were renting a farm house and without help she could not run the farm and pay the rent.  Grandma moved into a small one room house in town with the children.   One of her older sisters was also widowed with children around the same time. Together they formed an alliance  and helped each other through the difficult days that were a head.

Grandma often talked about the toothaches she had when she was pregnant with Uncle W.  She could do nothing about it while pregnant.  She resolved that once she had the baby, she would have any tooth that dared to ache yanked out.  Sure enough a day or two after giving birth her teeth started hurting.  She went to the dentist and had them pulled.  She did not mention that she had just given birth.  She lost so much blood between the birth and the tooth pulling that she passed out cold for at least two days.  Luckily her sister had come to visit her and discovered the children crying in the living room.  She looked after them until my Grandma woke up.  That was Grandma A.... stubborn.  She was going to get rid of the pain no matter what the cost!

On a lark Grandma A and her widowed sister went to a tea leaf reader... looking for some mystical hope to help them cope with the daily struggles they faced.  The reader told one sister she would meet and marry someone with the initial "R" and Grandma A that she would marry and move to a land of fruit and sea air.  They laughed it off..... "I don't know anyone with a R in his name!"..... "Yes, I will move to the ocean.... bah ha, ha."  Well the predictions for both came true within the year.  

Grandma A remarried and moved to a land of fruit and ocean air.  She had two more children. The family moved to where the work was.  My Grandma would list of all the placed they lived over the years and talk about who they met when.  These are the details that are the fuzziest.  One thing that I do know is the family had animals wherever they were.   Grandma A loved animals and always had cats and dogs around her house.  The one animal that was hers and only hers was a chihuahua named Rena.  I remember Rena as ornery.  She did not love children but she did love my Grandma.  She went everywhere with Grandma, often tucked up under Grandma's arm.  I used to think that Rena was so ornery she would live forever, but she didn't.

What I admired about Grandma A was her ability to be a calming presence for animals until they passed over the Rainbow Bridge.... a trait that I wished I inherited.  She was the go-to person for many, when it came to keeping an animal company until the euthanasia process was complete.   My uncle would always ask my Grandma to stand in for him when there was a cow that was past the point of hope and had to be euthanized.  He recognized she give the cow what he couldn't, a peaceful passing.

Although she was able to calmly confront death and the after affects, as an outsider, it appeared she had difficulty confronting others.   I recall witnessing times when she looked frustrated by a situation or the actions of others.  But to the best of my knowledge she didn't express that frustration.  She would step back and let the situation play itself out..... it would end how it was meant to end.  My opinionated self could not fathom not speaking up.....  voicing what I felt or thought..... but her technique seemed to work for her and probably saved many a heated argument and hurt feelings.

And that how I remember my Grandma A..... a soft place to land.... generous.... resilient... realistic..... stubborn to a fault.... a natural troubadour

Thank-you for being you Grandma Add.... you added heaping piles of love and mystery to my life and are missed everyday.

Hugga Mugga... Maxwell House

Note this post was written last year as part of one of the Challenges that I made out for myself in 2015.  I am reposting as I was able to snag some photo's when I was last home.

This seemed like an appropriate title for a tribute post about my Grandpa Max, given all the Maxwell House memorabilia that was purchased for him in the 80's.  I have been racking my brain trying to think of my earliest memory of my grandfather and the one that keeps coming to the forefront is of lambs.

The memory of lambs is entwined with my memory of Grandpa, like strands of wool binding together to form a strong yarn.  My Grandpa was a second generation farmer and one of his specialties was sheep.  The sheep had their own pen and a hut to take shelter from the freezing winter winds and the sweltering summer sun.  Grandpa loved his sheep, especially the lambs.  You could always tell when a new one arrived as he would meet us out in the yard,  his eyes sparkling and snapping with excitement.  He could not wait to show us the new arrivals on the farm.  I remember the soft texture and warmth of the lamb wool on my hand and the feel of the Geri-rigged heat lamp on my cheek. Such a stark contrast to the cold the enveloped us in the hut.  I loved watching the lambs as much as he did.  The wobbliness of their bodies as they took their first tentative steps, listening to their soft bleat and tracking the waggle of their tails as they ran after their mom.

Grandpa Max showed his love of the lambs the same way he showed his love of his grandchildren.... with his eyes.  One might surmise that he was allergic  to the words "I love you" as he rarely spoke them.  In fact I don't think I ever heard him say it...... but I guess he didn't have to, it was something that all the grandchildren just knew.

How?

The title on the back of this picture is Max with a wig- 1971

By his smile and laughter as he corralled us into figure 4 leg locks and handed out whisker rubs;  something that all of us dreaded but secretly hoped would happen.  By his impromptu visits at which time he said the hallowed words-  "Does anyone want to go see wrastling?".  By his patience when we made judgment errors with our choices in life.  And by being a rock for us as we grew and matured.  I lived for our weekend visits and a chance to run free range on the farm.

There was a cool factor about Grandpa.  There is one story that my dad tells which sums up Grandpa's cool factor.  My dad had just started University and was hanging in the dorms with his new friends.  They were enjoying some brown bottle "pop" which was risque as none were old enough to drink.  In walks my Grandfather.

BUSTED!!!!!!!

The room got quiet and the occupants were all looking at the floor, the ceiling,  the wall...  trying to avoid eye contact with the adult in the room.  My Grandfather stalked into the room, sat down in an empty spot and said-  "Is there one for me?"  Who cares what the government had to say about it.  In his mind if you were old enough to leave home, you were old enough to drink!

Should you think his cool factor diminished with age, think again.  In his 60's my Grandfather purchased a mini-monster truck.  It was a Ford and it had a raised carriage and no running boards.  It was utterly and completely awesome.  That truck, jump started my Ford love affair.  I remember Grandpa Max offering to give me a ride to a band performance... hell ya!  The only problem-  I could not step up into the truck with my band skirt on.  I tried running and launching myself through the open door, but only my torso made it in.   I slid down the seat to the ground.  I tried pulling myself in, but my wimpy arms could not do it.  Finally my Grandpa reached across the bench seat gave me his hand and yanked me in.  I was the envy of all the other band geeks.... "Wow, who's truck is that?"..... "My Grandpa's!"

Strength is the other thing that sticks out in my memory.  My Grandpa was an extremely strong man. At Christmas,  my Grandparents always had a bowl of mixed nuts in the living room.  Grandpa Max could crush the nuts with his hand.... who needed a nut cracker.... not him!  In my mind he could rival Baron Von Raske and his signature "Claw" move.

His strength was not limited to his hands.  The man had thighs of steel.   Many a time, a grandchild would be innocently walking by his recliner chair only to have his leg snake out and draw them into a leg lock.  Squirming was pointless.  The only hope was that a sibling or cousin could assist in prying his vice grip legs open enough, just enough for you to slide to freedom.  If you weren't lucky enough to break free, it was guaranteed your face would be welted and red from the "dreaded" whisker rub.

Now the whisker rub could not have been that dreaded or we would not have spent hours plotting and planning how we could "steal" his Copenhagen snuff box from his shirt pocket.  We all knew the risks going in, but it didn't matter.  The surge of power and invincibility that came from obtaining that elusive snuff box as worth the risk.  Besides, with all the grandchildren working toward this common goal; odds were someone would get the box... the sacrifice of an occasional cheek was something the team was willing make.  Sometimes the reward for our efforts was a trip into town to get an ice sandwich or go to the blacksmith shop.  There was always an adventure when you were with Grandpa Max.

Mid-birthday whacks....

Grandpa Max was a man who liked his traditions.  Every year on my birthday it was guaranteed three things would happen.  I would get a birthday spanking, followed by the bumps.  The number of bumps and spanks corresponded with my age.  A quick enterprise when you are say- 4 yrs old not so quick when you are 16.  One would think the attack on the derriere would be finished after all that.... nope.  It was not a complete birthday celebration without the pinch to grow and inch.

The man must have known what he was doing as I ended up surpassing both my parents in height.  Might not have happened if I had forgone a pinch or two.

The other staple tradition was the picture with "the boys".  My brother and two of my cousins were all born within a week of each other.  That first Christmas after the birth of the trio,  a photo was taken of my Grandpa sitting in his recliner holding all three boys.   That picture was recreated almost every year, with the last picture being taken the Christmas before his death.

How I loved my childhood.  A time when Grandpa Max was my moon, my stars and my sun.

Time and knowledge put chinks in his armour.  It turned out Grandpa Max was not the God I idolized, but a regular man.  It was difficult coming to grips with this realization, but it was something that needed to happen.   At the time I felt betrayed that he was not perfect. That he said mean things to those that I loved when he was drinking.  His meanness was never directed at me, but the sorrow and frustration in others was hard to bare witness to.    It created a picture in my mind of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  How could this man who was so loving and caring to me and the rest of his grandchildren be so arbitrary with the rest of his family?

I give him credit.  If it wasn't for this dramatic difference in how he was perceived, I would probably not have the close relationship that I have with my Dad now.  I recall my Dad talking with a sibling on the phone during one of Grandpa’s illnesses.  They were rehashing the difficult times that they had as a child and were focusing on all Grandpa's faults.

I was furious!  How dare they rag on my God, my idol!  I was so mad I threw caution to the wind and started yelling at my dad after he hung up the phone.  Up until that time I would not have even dared raise my voice to my dad, let alone express an opinion, but fury made me reckless. It was a break through for both my dad and I, our A HA moment.  It was a day where the seeds of our current relationship were sowed.  Without my Grandpa, I don't think that would have ever happened.

These are the things that I wanted to say at his funeral but would not have able to get out without ugly crying in front the crowd.... there was still ugly crying but only the choir and minister got to see it.... everyone got to hear it though!

I love you Grandpa Max.  Thank-you for making my life magical, for ensuring the height gods would smile down upon me and for the life lessons that I carry with me to this day.   You are still the coolest of the cool!

And The Letter is G.....

I was there when the Occupational Therapist did the MOCA on my Dad to get a baseline after his stroke.  If you have never had the privilege of seeing the MOCA in action there is one sub-test where the assessor gives you a time limit and a letter.  The patients role is to think of as many words that start with that letter, in the time frame provided.  The words can not be names and can not be variations of the same word.  The letter they gave my Dad was "F"......

Yup! He lost some valuable time trying not to say "Fuck".  Can't blame him, as that was the first word that popped into my head as well.  I guess we are two peas in a pod.  Incidentally this is a great way to pass hours and hours of driving by yourself.  Take the first or last letter of a word on a sign that you pass and go to town thinking of as many words as you can.  When you can't think of any more words, start again.  On second thought this is a better game to play when you are driving on desolate highways in the middle of winter.... as there is much of Minnesota that I missed when playing the game.

Anyhoo, my challenge for today is a variation of the MOCA... I have to think as many words that start with G as I can.  My time limit a full day.

This gabble of "G" words brought to you by Gimli the "Graceful Golden"
who gulps grass greedily

Here is goes:

Go
Grand
General
Give
Give-up
Gramophone
Grandma
Grandpa
Group
Gift
Grateful
Garbage
Gallop
Graft
Grapefruit
Grape
Golden
Group
Gallant
Gimp-  before you go all PC on me, gimp is a braid like trim made of silk
Gall
Graph
Groupie
Goop
Gross
Gamble
Game
Giddy
Grapple
Grievance
Galoshes
Ghost
Great
Grappling hook
Garage
Gear
Gun
Good
Grab
Google
Gallivant
Grenade
Gatling Gun (double G-  Thanks Moorhouse)
Gangrene
Green
Get
Gone

Okay that was about 1.5 minutes... now I am staring longingly at the dictionary and trying to will the pages open to reveal more "G" words....

I can do this.....
Guts
Geode
Gem
Gum
Garter
Gal
Girlfriend
Glamorous
Glamour
Glimmer
Got
Gitch
Gizmo
Gaily
Girl
Grandeur
Gratuity
Gratuitous
Grange

Break time.....
Gavel
Ginger
Good-bye
Glory
Guppy
Glitch
Grain
Gin
Great
Geri-can
Greek
Gondola
Granola
Grave
Grieve
Gorgeous
Gorge
Gravel
Grit
Grifter
Genuine
Genie
Gentle
Gourd
Government

Okay I am calling it!  If I keep this up all day I will go glum... so don't goad me to continue.  Although I am disappointed I forgot about one of my favourite words... gimcrackery..... dang!

I Can Not Be Trusted.......

I need to be constantly supervised for the good of myself and the world.  I escaped from under the iron paw of my Blog Supervisor, long enough to make a fluid adjustment and take the picture.......

What are you doing?   Get back to blogging..... PRONTO!

The Jar of Possibilities- The Distant Cousin of the Sorting Hat

The dwindling challenge list....

Entry from Dec 16, 2015

I am nearing the end of the year long challenge and will soon part company with the Jar of Possibilities.  At the start of the year the jar runneth over with paper.  So much so, I had to store some of the challenges in a Ziploc bag until there was room to add more.  Now there are a few straggly pieces of paper at the bottom.

I have mixed emotions about the challenge ending.  The "finisher" part of me is anxious to catch up, as there are a number of challenges that I have not done.  The lazy part of me of is coming up with prosaic statements such as-  "Isn't part of the challenge accepting things that you can't change?"  "Isn't the more valuable lesson learning how to accept circumstances as they are vs berating yourself for "failing" or fighting to change the situation??????"

As you have probably guessed "The Finisher" could not be convinced.   I have my list and am trying to complete as many outstanding challenges as I can before Dec 31st.   In fact just writing this entry  accomplishes one more of my challenges..... "blog about the experience so far" (originally drawn in Sept).

All in all I am kinda proud of myself.   Yes, I have been lax over the last three months but prior to that I was accomplishing on average 26 challenges a month.  Not bad statistics if you ask me.  I am also impressed by some of the challenges that I thought up-  such as write 5 letters to yourself and give them to a friend to mail out at their whim..... inventive.... Right?

This morning I accomplished a challenge that has been hoovering in the uncompleted pile.  I awoke early to listen to the noises of the morning.

I am on vacation and was up at 5:15 am... that is dedication.

What did I learn from rising early?  

First-  in order to hear morning sounds you need to remove earplugs.

Second-  This challenge might have been more interesting in the summer when the birds are out and about.  In the winter the main morning sound is the whistle of the air billowing out of the hot air register with a side of occasional traffic noises.  Now the sound of the whistle changed in intensity; starting at gusty and gradually subsiding to a dull "fffffissssshhh".  There was an occasional surprise gust from the register but other then that, morning sounds were kinda lack lustre..... not even the dog was snoring.  The cat of course decided to help out and let out intermittent meows from various locations in the house, which made this experiment interesting for about one full minute-   "Great he's outside the bedroom door.... hmmm that sounds like a basement yowl..... okay back to the main floor."  Yup 5:15 am for hot air, traffic and cat calls!

I refused to let "I should have slept in" be the only lesson coming out of this challenge.   I lay in bed and thought about the value of this experience.  Was there a life lesson that could help me in the future?

Yes!

The most valuable lesson gleaned from this experiment is- I suck at listening with my ears.  I found myself  easily distracted by the swirling delight of light patterns on the backs of my eye lids.  Eventually I would realize I was paying more attention to the light show vs morning noises and I would attempt to refocus.  Sadly I spent more time refocusing than listening.

This realization of how poor my true listening skills are, surprised me, as I thought listening was one of my better qualities.

I gave it some thought-  hell I was up for the day, I might as well analyze the situation.  Here is my conclusion:

I listen with my eyes first and ears second.   I need a visual context, to focus on auditory input.   There is some pretty solid research to back up my theory.....  about 80% of communication is non-verbal.  So the next time you are talking to me and you want to make sure I truly hear what you are saying, I suggest you do something avangarde to hold my attention- such as use sock puppets or maybe put on a laser show.

All in all some interesting learning occurred..... and on holiday to boot!

So look at that- I have just accomplished three challenges:
1.  Get up early and listen to the morning sounds.
2.  Blog about the challenge experience so far.
3.  Entertain yourself with free things to do..... (watching the light patterns as they dance across my eyelids)

Lets see if I can knock more challenges off the list.....

Miniver!

I have a miniver.... now I just need a minion!

What you say?  This is the word I found when ticking of the "find a word you don't know and use it" challenge.  Miniver- is fur or a combination of furs formerly used for lining and trimming garments.

Use it in a sentence you say..... well that is cheeky of you... but I am up for the challenge.

"Oh my miniver!!!!!!  It has ripped!  Sacra bleu!"

Whew!  All these challenges accomplished and it is not even 9 am.

I best be heading off to accomplish my next two challenges:
1.  Make up a reason to celebrate today.
2. Have something bubbly to celebrate.

That might be closely followed by drunken calls to the parents to- #3.  Tell the parents you love them... without saying "I love you" and maybe some #4, 5, 6 and 7.... Writing a letter to my 64 year old self, writing 5 letters to myself for random posting, writing a love letter to myself and last but not least writing a letter that I can open on Dec 31, 2015.

I will let you know how it all turns out.

Challenge update:

• Celebration Reason #678-  I scored a free shipping box and all Christmas presents have left my house.  
• I bought some champagne-  a cheap bottle to celebrate my return to blogging (I finished the whole bottle.... bonus no hangover) and a more expensive bottle to celebrate the end of the challenge.
• I did call at my mother and accomplished the "I love youless", love you via use of smoochy noises and air hugs.  
• The letters were not even contemplated because I followed the parental calls with multiple "Hey.... guess what!"  calls to my brother and blogging.  



Yes, I like a little cake to go with my icing!

• Even with all the drinking I did manage to knock-  "Throw yourself an unbirthday party" complete with a homemade double layer German Chocolate cake.  I nailed the icing in one attempt..... broiling can be so finicky!!!

I was going to eat some of the cake yesterday but decided that my stomach might not be able to handle a double assault of booze and cake.  So today started with a big heaping pile o' Breakfast cake!!!!!!  God I love being an adult...... shhh don't tell the children as they think they have the fun factor cornered...... Soooooooo NOT!

Rando picture moment

If everyone wishes maybe it will snow!!!

Meh....Bleck and Elastic Hearts

It has been a while since I have written anything in the Blog.... since the end of August to be exact.  The reason this lull in writing?

It seems the universe has conspired to grind my blogging to a halt this fall......

First off I was stricken with a homesickness so devastating all I could fathom writing was things like this.....

I wallow, you wallow... we all wallow!

"I feel my life is currently itchy scratchy and something that I want to escape from.  I know that next week this feeling will have pass.... it always does.  But for now I am going to wallow....wallow like the Queen of Wallow."

Not very joyful is it?

Who wouldn't miss a brother like this...
of course he misses me more!

It never fails.  I head off to the prairies and come back broken by my desire to be in two places at once.  I love where I live.  I love the life I have made for myself on the Great Lakes but there is something about the beauty of the prairies that makes my heart ache and my eyes well up with tears.  All it takes is the sight of tractor, or acres and acres of wheat waving gently in the breeze and it's game over for me.

The prairies hold my family, my childhood, everything that I was and hoped to be.  The Great Lakes hold everything that I have become and my dreams for the future.  My love for both places causes conflict and infinite sorrow because I can't experience both simultaneously.  I have often thought that it would be marvellous if the "black hole" from Looney Tunes was real.  I could throw it against a wall, step through and be at home on the prairies or home here.  Mere seconds vs hours and hours would separate my two worlds.

Alas, the fantasy will never be a reality.

Water rocks- as they are called by my nephew

This year I returned from my prairie trip to be thrust into work, work, work.  It has been a marathon Fall, what with co-writing a proposal for a big project, collaborating with outside agencies to expand service options, orientating new staff (three within three months) and trying to keep up with the daily demands of my caseload.  I pretty much have been living at work.  The "free" time I've had has been spent sleeping, avoiding illness and amusing the dogs.  The dogs getting the raw end of the stick on this one; as I will choose sleeping over amusing any day.

I long to don my Ghilles

While all this was happening one of my coping mechanisms was temporarily suspended.   Physio decreed "No dance for me"  in October.  My fall in Killarney Park did more that sprain my ankle.  It displaced a bone in my foot and my tibia.  Both bones have been repositioned, but the damage caused a nerve to adhere.  Until the nerve is free there will be no dancing.  It seems the absence of dance  has decreased my funny and increased my grumpy factor.  Walking the dogs has even been challenging due to the pain in my ankle.   Thank-goodness for puppy frolics in the park; without which my and the dogs sanity would have been in jeopardy.

In November I was starting to warm up to the idea of blogging again, but this desire came to a grinding halt at the end of the month.... a younger cousin past away.  I had not been in contact with him for a long time, but it was still shocking news.   I cannot fathom what his immediate family is going through.  His death has left me speechless and filled with sorrow.... sorrow for his family and sorrow for a world that is missing out on his presence and what he still had to offer.    I find myself thinking of him often over the last few weeks-  his sense of humour, his passion for his children, his drive to make it on his own and his warmth of personality- so like our Grandma A.   I guess that is all I can do-  remember and honour.  So here's to R!   Thank-you for bringing laughter and richness to my youth.

With all this going on I figured I needed to devote some time to healing and dealing.   My decompression month has started  and  I find the frequency of my spontaneous tears and swearing is slowly decreasing.  I think that means I am on the mend.

I am ready to blog again.

Pity Party for One......

I debated if I was going to post this entry or leave it in the archive.... as you can see I decided to post it. What tipped the scales.... the honesty of it all.  This is me!  This is my life.  It is not all good times and laughs.    If you don't want to ruin the fantasy of what you think my life might be like, I suggest you quit reading here.  If you can handle the truth, read on.  Who knows maybe this will strike a cord with you as well.

Have you ever had one of those days.  The kind that that is ordinary.... a general run of the mill type of day.  The type of day that lulls you into a false sense of security and then bam something happens.... a comment, a missed bus, an email and it all unravels.  What was once mundane is magically transformed into a festering oozing pile of crap.  You try to fight it.  You use your coping strategies-  a walk, some meditation... some good quality time on a swing-set. But it is no good.  You got
pulled into the under tow and you are drowning on your own tears and snot.

You say..... NO!  Not again!!!

You rage against the world.  You want to scream, you can't stop crying and although you are looking for something to cling onto- a tiny hope,  some semblance of balance.... but no matter where you turn to there is nothing.  You try phoning family and friends but everyone either doesn't answer your call or say they have to go before you can ask for help.

You want to tell the world and everyone in it to FUCK THE HELL OFF but down deep you know all
you want is to be hugged and told everything is going to be okay..... that this too shall pass.  '

Then you think- "Well I am here anyway.... I might as well just succumb to it".

Ride it out.

Who cares..... you are well stocked with Kleenex and hot beverage options.  Let it all hang out.  So that is what you do.  You sit down and bawl and bawl and bawl.   At points you feel like someone is choking the life out of you, at other times you feel like you are being ripped asunder.  You can't decide which is worse.  You just want it to end, but it doesn't.  You have cried for so long you start questioning when dehydration will set in.... but hell that is what the hot beverages are for.... replenishing the leaking fluids.

You know you have to talk about it... about anything.  To hold it in only makes your mind whorl and spin creating a cyclone of destructive thoughts.   The heaviness of your thoughts start crushing you.  You make the executive decision to blog it out.  You look at the screen and you think- "Is this my life.  How did it come to this.  When did this happen?"

In your youth there was always a friend that would pick-up the phone and talk, regardless of the hour..... now you have the blue screen of the computer to pour your heart out to.  You guess it is better than nothing.... but you don't have room for these semi-positive thoughts.... you're having a pity party, so dammit start pitying..... PRONTO!!!!

Then just like that the pity party ends.  There was no warning.... the tears dry up and things aren't looking so bleak.  Dare I say you might even feel a tad hopeful......

Cracking' Up in Killarney- O' Solo Mio Style

It all started last Thanksgiving.  My back-packing pals and I decided we had so much fun hiking the Pig Portage in Killarney Park the year before, we were heading back to hike "The Crack".  The plan was to hike 5.3 km in the first day and stay at Sealy Lake.  The next day would be a 10.7 km hike through the Crack up to Heaven Lake.  We would return back to Sealy Lake the next day and hike out on the last day.

As with any well laid plan there was a glitch.  We made it to Sealy Lake and my friend started questioning if she could make it to the Heaven Lake the next day.  I knew that I had it in me to make it to the Heaven Lake, but questioned if I could make it back the next day.

Could we or couldn't we?   That was the question.....

We couldn't- was our answer.

The never ending climbing.....

We hiked back to the main campground the next day and  "Cracked" it day-hiking fashion using the Crack Access entry point (yes, that really is the name of this road ).  Entry via the access road reduces the overall km's one has to walk.  We were all about reducing walking distances on this trip.

The beginning of the access trail lulls you into a false sense of security, it is wide it is fairly even, it is a treat.  Then you pass a creek and you look up and dread fills your soul.  As far as you can see the trail keeps climbing and climbing.  When you emerge at the top you realize the climbing is not done. Nope.... you have at least another 20 minutes of up and down before you are even reach the "Mid"-Crack.  Rugged would be an understatement.... but the views and peacefulness at the top are well worth the pain of getting there.

View of OSA and Killarney Lake from the top of the Crack

We spent the night at the main campground- car camping, minus the luxuries of car camping.  Then we headed home.  Incidentally that was one of the coldest nights of my life.  I had on all my clothes and jackets, a toque, mitts and four Hot Paws activated in my sleeping bag and I still shivered all night.

Enter the Jar of Possibilities.  When I was coming up with my challenges for the Jar I knew that one of the things that I wanted to cross of my bucket list was to hike the Crack with my pack on.  To accomplish this, would prove that I am more resilient than I think I am.

Lake George and Freeland Lake

Challenge issued, challenged planned.  When I drew Challenge #3-  Plan and book a trip for the future-  the Crack was the trip that I planned.  I could not convince my back-packing crew to join me on this adventure, so solo trip it would be.   All I had to do was wait for August to arrive.

Now I am fresh back from my trip.  Battered,  bruised and walking with a slight limp, but I survived.  If I had started typing this post on the night that I came back it would have had a very different tone.  When I left Killarney I did not look back.  I was over the moon thrilled to be getting out of there and be on my way back to the land of the Timmie's Creamy Chocolate Chill.   When recounting my stories to my brother he said "And you do this for fun??????".  Trust me that same thought ran through my head a bazillion times during my hike on the shores of Lake Superior and again on the La Cloche trail.  The only thing that kept the Beast from appearing on this trip, was the knowledge that I was not a canoer.  I ran into a few Mr. Canoehead's on the trip and all I could think was.... you poor, poor sucker.  First you have to carry a canoe up and over this crap and then go back down and carry a pack over it again.

No

Thank

You

Any desire to canoe has been permanently eradicated from my mind.  Not gonna happen.  No sireee.

Trees-  Nature's Clotheslines

But it is now another day and I have experienced the transformative powers of a hot shower and a sleep in my comfy bed.   If someone asked me to hike Killarney today I would probably say yes.  In fact, I have started planning my next solo Killarney trip.

I could not have asked for better weather for my trip.  It was a perfect temperature for hiking and there was a breeze.  Most of the rain happened over night and didn't last long in the morning.  The route I was taking was the same route that we planned in the fall.  On the walk into Sealy Lake I thought "Why did we think this was so hard in the Fall???".

I had plenty of time to set-up camp, bear hang the food and pump water before retiring to an enjoyable evening of reading Harry Potter.   I also found an unlikely bonus of hiking alone.  You can strip down to your sports bra and tra-la-la around,  as there is no one else around.  Clothes dry so much faster when you get rid of the layers.

Sealy Lake-  my playground the first night

By 8:30 pm I started nodding off, only to be awaken by lots of splashing in the lake.  Was that a large hoofed animal that was coming onto the site?  I couldn't bring myself to open up the tent flap to find out.  Then there was what sound like foot fall on the other side of the tent..... Was someone there?  Crap why did I leave the knife in the pack.  In the twilight of night my fears were heightened.  Too heightened to sleep.  It is a good thing that I had the company of Mr. Potter to help pass the time.

I awoke at the first light of dawn and packed-up camp.  I was on the trail by 7:30 ready to attack The Crack.  I knew what the first 3.3 km had in store for me-  an easy trail trot followed by km after km of climbing up hills, up rocks, up more rocks and then finally the top.  At the crest I stopped to admire the view and to have a break from the pack.  The breeze was delightful.  All in all I felt victorious... I had conquered the Crack.  Now on to explore new territory.

Pre- Crack warm-up & up & up & up

What would the rest of the trail be like?

Hard!  Very, very hard.  There continues to be lots of downs followed by up, up, ups.

At one point the trail leads right up to a ledge, that from a distance, looks like it has a sheer drop on the other side.   There is a cairn at the edge indicating the trail continues on the other side.  I tentatively sidled up to the edge and peaked over.

Are you FREAKIN' KIDDING ME!!!!!!

I don't recall any notes on Jeff's Map or in the trail guide that indicated the need to include Bat Man's utility belt as part of your camping gear.  I would have paid good money for that belt or at least the grappling hook.  I will admit I was nervous.  It was a long bumpy way to the bottom.  I was half tempted to roll my pack down the hill so I wouldn't have to contend with its tendency to pull me off balance, but fear that I would break the stove or water filter stopped me from going through with that plan.

It was time to choose a path, say a prayer to the trail gods and start descending.   I was glad I was on my own, as I would have been embarrassed as all hell if anyone had witnessed my lumbering bear walk/Ninjaesque skulking down the narrow ledge to the next level.  This 4-point walking mania continued until I reached the bottom.

I know that I am prone to exaggeration, but this time I don't even think I could come close to embellishing this experience.  Here is my photo graphic evidence.  PS if you are hiking the La Cloche trail this section is directly before you get to the turn off to the Little Superior Lake campsite.  If you don't like heights you might want to rethink your hiking plans.  When I reached the bottom I shuddered, knowing that I would have to climb this the next day.

UGH!

The Top notice the cairn to the left

The middle

The last 15-16 feet-  there is more up there.
It was too steep to fit in the picture

Before I continue there is something that you must know.  My mother has the ability to place "curses" on her children.  The curse is usually disguised as some sage piece of advice, you don't heed it, what she says happens to you.  Don't believe me.... here is an example.  In Grade 3 I received a pair of jeans that had a shiny silver star on the back pocket for Christmas.  How I loved those jeans, they made me feel special.  So special I felt that covering the star somehow diminished the power of the jeans.  I was prepared to suffer, not to let that happen.  My plan-  I would not wear my ski pants at recess. Who cares if it was -35 degrees Celsius with a windchill.  I didn't!   The star must been seen.  Now my mother guessed my plan and said to me that morning- "You better wear your ski-pants at recess".  I looked her in the eye and said I would, all the while fully planning not to.  Well recess came and I boldly exited the school sans ski-pants.  Ohh the thrill of doing something that you're not supposed to.  I was giddy with the power...... and that is when it happened.  I tripped and fell.  As I stood up I looked down and there was a gaping hole in the knee of my jeans.  No more special pants and a lot of inventive story-telling to cover-up my walk on the wild side.

 Mother 1-                   Max- 0.

Will you be climbing on any rocks she asks?
Just a few.....

The night before I left for this trip my mother asked "Will you be doing much hiking over rocks?"  When I responded yes, she said "Well walk carefully so that you don't slip and fall."

Do you see where this is headed.....

Yep.

La Cloche Trail /Mother- 4-       Max-  sore..... I mean 0.

It was not like I was doing cart-wheels or daredevil balancing on one leg.  I tried to be very cognizant as to where I was placing my feet with every step.   But whether my legs were just too tired or I lost concentration for a brief second... it just seemed to happen. I fell and I fell lots.  As the falls continued I realized that downhills are not my friend.  I would far prefer, sucking wind, climbing a hill vs trying to go down them.

The first fall was on a short steep decent.  I had just lifted my left foot to take another step when my right slipped out from under me.  I saw the jagged edge of the tree trunk heading for my torso and I instinctively rolled my body to the right, landing on my back, wedged between the tree truck and the rock.  I felt a momentary pain in my hip and realized I must of hit it on something on my way down.  The pain was quickly replaced by the laughter the welled up in me.  Picture it.  I am lying there facing the blue sky, feet dangling not touching the ground with a 58 lbs pack strapped to my back, sandwiched between a rock and hard place.  I could not get the picture of a topsy turvy turtle out of my head, especially as I struggled to get back to an upright position.

I dusted myself off and continued on.  The next two falls resulted from my feet sliding out from under me and end with me on my ass... thank goodness for bubble butt padding.

The last fall of the day was the substantial one, it could have been a game changer.  I was half-way down a hill and my right foot started sliding while my left foot stayed planted.  The pack weight shifted and I went down at an odd angle.  I felt a pop as I heard a snap.  I couldn't feel my left foot.

Crap, Crap, Crappity,  Crap........ did I just break my fibula?

No.  I refused to accept that I had a broken  bone.  It was not happening.  I tried but could not move my left foot.  I tried again and saw some movement of my boot.  That was around the time the searing pain set in.  It burned...  it let me know that yes in deed,  I did have an ankle and that ankle was not happy with me.  I slowly stood up on my right leg and tested putting weight on the left foot.  It hurt, but the leg didn't crumple under me, so worse case scenario it was a sprain.  I was just thankful it wasn't a break.

See the next closest peak... I was there a few hours before

I ended up taking on some interesting roles on the trail.  The first role was messenger.  I was stopped by two dudes who asked me to deliver a message to their friend who was hiking down from Silver Lake.  They were supposed to meet him but were unable to make it to the lake, but wanted to let him know that they were okay.

See the yellow blaze... yellow blazes= home

The next role was benefactor.  It seems that Heaven Lake is aptly named because hikers who make it here are too exhausted to take another step.  I know when I rounded the corner and saw the yellow blaze I started weeping, at least that's what I would have done if I was not so dehydrated  (and to think I drank over 3 liters of water while on the trail).  

Later on that day when I went to hang the food pack I saw someone laying on their pack guzzling down water.  It was the other solo woman back-packer that I had met earlier in the day.  She had taken a wrong turn and walked 3.1 km in the wrong direction.  This meant she had 27.1 km to walk that day and from my site she still had 20 km to go.

She looked at me and said "I am just sooooo fuckin' tired.... can I camp here tonight!"  I agreed and then we were two.

About an hour later a group of 5 teens showed up.   I was in my tent reading Harry Potter.  I thought they were just replenishing their water but later on I found out that they too were to tired to walk to their stop which was 1.9 km further up the trail.  They asked if they could camp on the site-  I of course agreed.... they had about 30 minutes of daylight left and a storm was coming in fast.  They just got their tents up when the rain started pouring down.

And then we were seven.

Heaven Lake

I was hoping that sharing Heaven Lake would buy me some good karma for the walk over slippery rocks the next day.

As it turns out it was lucky that I agreed to let them stay on the site.  Without those tents I would not have been able to find mine.

Yes-  I lost my tent.

I had to pee in the middle of the night so I meandered over to a quiet locale to pee (you had to walk about .2 of a km to the privy on this site and that was not going to happen).  I was just finishing up when the batteries in my flashlight died.... too much reading by flashlight.

What the hell!

Okay don't panic, you can do this.  Sure it is pitch black and you can hardly see and you are having trouble putting weight on your foot but you can do this.  Slow and steady.  Use Lefty to feel the ground and direct you.

I could vaguely make out the ledge that dropped down to the campfire area... I quickly backed away from that.   I knew there as a rock section before my tent and then some grass followed by rock again.  I could feel the difference under my feet and saw the vague outline of the tent, I bent down to undo the fly and that is when a small voice said......"Is this your tent?".

I thought I should check first.   Nope not my tent.  It was one of the other hiker's tent.  I reoriented my body squaring off and then headed back across the rock toward where my tent should be.

I found it.... I found it....... 30 second dance party (arms only as my ankle and legs were hurting too much to participate).

I took this as a good omen

Everyone was up by 6:30 the next day.... I probably instigated that...oops it is hard to be quiet when you are stuffing things into a stuff sack.  I was packed and ready to head out by 7:15.  That is when the trail gods decided to send us all a sign that it was going to be a fantastic day on the trail...... a double rainbow.  It was bright and vivid and so close it felt like I could touch it.  Definitely a good sign.  I waved good-bye to the crew and set off to head down the Crack.

Upon my return trip I became a trail guide.  A large group of teens were headed out.  I met up with them will I was standing at the top of a slick rocky section, contemplating how I was going to get down it.  The teens came prancing up- dee do doolly dee dee dee and practically skipped down the slippery rocks.  Well at least the first two did, the third took an epic wipeout.  After that it seemed every second or third teen was down on the same section.  I will admit I was laughing in the inside.  I am not the only one who falls on downhills.

Well the last teen was the weakest link.  It did not take long for her to lag behind the group.  At one point she turned off the trail and started up the side of a hill.  I pointed out she was going the wrong way and directed her back to the trail.  This happened two more times.  One of her friends eventually came back to find her and took her pack.  I did not see them again.... the teenage herd was moving too fast for me.

I don't know when I got it in my mind that I wanted to hike out but once the seed was planted I could not stop thinking about it.  The plan had been to stay at Sealy again and hike out the last 5.3 km the next day.  I had visions of all the things that I could do if I hiked out-

• I could go buy apples. Yum- crispy crunchy apples.
• Mmmmm- Timmie's Creamy Chocolate Chill
• Burger's a Harvey's-  a post Killarney tradition
• Washing in a sink- finally getting rid of the multi-layers of salt, perspiration and grime.
• Clean clothes.
• My bed

All of it sounded delightful.  I made a deal with myself- if I made it to Sealy Lake by 2:00 pm I would hike all the way out making my grand total km for the day a whopping 16 k.  I reached Sealy Lake 2:02 pm.... close enough.  

The last 1.5 km were the hardest.  By that time my toes were blistered and I don't know what burned more- my feet, shoulders, neck or ankle.  I had "Just one more step, just one more step, just one more, one more, one more step" looping in my head.  I made it down the last hill and was euphoric.  I did it, I am steps away from the truck and freedom.  I made it out.  

The first thing I did was dump my boots and sit on the tail-gate letting the breeze whip at the soles of my stinky, stinky feet.  I feel sorry for anyone who was down wind, but I was not prepared to move at that moment.  

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Next stop-  Harvey's for a Bacon Cheese Angus burger, followed by Timmie's drive through for beverages.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!

Three hours later I was home and content.

A just cause picture

Maybe this might be a safer way to camp in the future.

Till next year Killarney-  I bid you ado!

Superior Adventures in Beast Mode.....

August long weekend marked the official start to my back-packing season.  The plan was to take two days to back-pack the portion of the Lake Superior Park Costal trail from Katherine's Cove to Orphan Lake.  10 km of rugged scenic trail.  The group would then convalesce at Orphan Lake for 4 days before returning to civilization.  That was the plan, until my friend decided the terrain for this section of trail might be too rugged for her to navigate with a 55- 60lbs pack strapped to her back.  She was out and so was her son.

And then there was one.

I was faced with a decision.... continue with the trip as planned or proceed with my friend and her son and go in at the Orphan Lake parking area.   I waffled in my resolve for only a second and then my decision was made.  Solo back-packing it would be.

I still intended to hike the 10 km's over two days, as originally planned.  See I had back-packed the first 2.5 km of this section with the dog and knew a little of what I would be in for.  Boulders, slippery rocks, etc.  Breaking the trip into two days would ensure that I was able to move by the time I made it to Orphan Lake.

Well I should have cc'd Mother Nature in on my plan.  On the day we headed up to start our adventure, the weather predictions had changed.  The promised six days of sun and minimal cloud coverage had been replaced by one day of sun and multiple days of rain and rain cloud mix.

Enter dilemma.....

See Lake Superior rocks can be slippery without rain... add rain and they become treacherous... a lesson I learnt last year when my foot slipped and I impaled my shin on a rock (yep, you could see the bone).

Now what do I do?

Hike the whole thing?

Stick with the original plan and hike 1/2 and 1/2, risking further rock encounters?

Hike as far as I could and then stay put until the rain let up and then hike the rest of the way?

So many things to think about on the 2.5 hour drive up.  By the time we pulled into the Katherine's Cove parking lot I still had not made up my mind which option I was going to go with.  I said good-bye to my friends and told them that if I was not there by Monday evening to go and get some help. I waved good-bye and started my trek down the sand beach.

Robertson's Cove 

An example of boulder beaches

I made it to Robertson's cove in less time then I predicted I would need.  I rested here for a while.  It was heavenly to have an excuse to take off the pack.  I longed to set-up camp there, the private sand beach makes this cove a little slice of paradise, but knowing that would make the next day a 7.5km hike in the rain I decided the safe option was to press on.

I wiggled and squirmed my way into the pack straps. Locked and loaded the journey continued....
next stop Coldwater Creek.  From the previous excursion to Robertson's Cove with the dog, I knew that the trail increased in ruggedness the further north you head.  What I did not anticipate was how poorly the trail was marked in some places.  At one point I looked up to see this smooth rock wall looming in front of me.  I commented under my breath-  "Surely to God I don't have to scale that!"  As I rounded the corner I saw the trail leading into the forest.

Whew!

This reaction was short lived.   The trail ended 2 feet in the forest.  There looked like there might be a trail that wound up the side of the rock wall.  I followed it until I reached a chest high rock face.

My lunch time view from the top of the Wall O' Rock

Was this the trail?  Did it go through the bush??????  Did I miss a turn?  This is around the time that "WTF!!!!!" became my go to statement.  I used it with reckless abandon for the rest of the journey.  No censorship required... there were no juvenile ears to here my dazzling combinations of swear and curse words.

This rock barrier provided me with an excuse to take my pack off (truth be known there was no way I could have climbed this section with my pack on.... there were no toe or hand holds, so it required a good ole' heave ho to climb it).   I was loathe to put the pack on,  my worry was I would hike on only to find out that I made a wrong turn at Albuquerque and I would need to back-track down the rock wall.

Solution:  Scouting pack free.   It took a few minutes but I eventually found a blaze that confirmed I was on the trail.  Since the pack was already off I decided this was the perfect spot to have my lunch.

Cairn's and Blue Blazes.... without which I would be lost.

 I prolonged lunch as long as I could but there was no escaping the inevitable.  I needed to put the pack back on.   Now if you have never put on a fully loaded back-pack my one piece of advice is pack placement pre-donning is very important.  It can make the donning process easy or  very, very difficult.  Sadly there was no "boost" area to place my pack and it was too heavy for me to do the one arm hook and toss.   I sat down on the rock and scooted my way back to the straps.  Arms in the straps I leaned forward, but I leaned too far and the weight of the pack tipped me over so that my forehead was touching the ground.  I shifted back to correct the weight distribution and was able to make it into a reasonably upright position and then came the hard part..... standing-up.   Noises came out of me that I had never heard before.  A new respect for Olympic weight-lifters blossomed in that moment.

If I wasn't before, I am now convinced Lake Superior has it out for me.  See I have a "small" obsession with rocks and Lake Superior rocks are absolutely fantastic.  I spend hours combing through piles of cobble beaches to find my "favourites".  Each year I en masse a big collection of rocks that have the potential to make it into my collection.  I then spend days agonizing over which specimen(s) I am willing to schlep out the 4km of uphill trail.   This has been my habit since starting back-packing 8 years ago.  I think Gitche Gumee has had enough of my thievery and has decided if I don't cease and desist it will take out its revenge on my shins and body.

What finally convinced me?

My wipe-out on dry rocks.  I can't say what caused it, all I know is one moment I was standing up the next my face was hurtling toward a rock.  I stuck my left hand out to save my face and the last two fingers on my left hand bent in a way they were never meant to bend.  I screamed..... "FUCK!" (Yup... I went there).  I was sure the fingers were going to break but luckily my shins hit the rocks and took some of the weight off my hand.  I am sure "FUCK" repeated incessantly while I assessed the damage to my hand and legs.   The fingers had gone numb but I could bend them..... not broken but potentially sprained.  The shins were scraped and bleeding, but no gaping holes, so that was a bonus.    There was no recourse but to stand-up and keep walking.

You would think that after that, my sunny disposition would have gone the way of the Doo Doo but nope... that would come later,  much later.

An example of what I could have landed on

I continued on my merry way and made sure that I took extra time crossing over the boulder beaches and areas where I needed to step from stone to stone.  Somewhere in this section of the trail the "foot path" on the rocks narrowed and became a small ledge that was about 5 feet above the water.  I knew  I had to navigate this section with care,  because one slip of the foot or a shift in the pack weight and I would drop down into the waves that were crashing in below me.   Luckily there were small crevices in the rock that I could hold onto while navigating this 30 foot section of trail.  I made it out the other side and continued on.

Tom Hanks in Castaway had "Wilson", I had my pack and my pack's name had finally revealed itself-  Dirty Rotten Bastard or Bastard for short.  Bastard had become an entity of its own.   I would go left it would pull me right.  The shift in weight to the sides, front or back threw- off my centre of gravity and made balance a dicey thing.  I regretted inviting Bastard to join me on this trip.  I felt my general outlook on life would be better if Bastard had remained at home.  But alas, Bastard was needed.  He housed all my essentials.  My love/hate relationship with Bastard would continue for the remainder of the journey.

By this time I was close to the half way mark.  I was getting excited-  then I saw the crevice.  That gaping

No crevice pics.  I was too busy praying.

hole in the rock.  I tried stepping over it- it was too wide.  I headed to the bush to look for a way around.  No go.  There were too many trees down and I could not get over or under them.  Back to the crevice.  I knew that I could jump it without Bastard on my back, but Bastard was to heavy to toss to the other side and I couldn't leave him.... as much as I wanted to.  The only solution that I could see was to jump.   I had reservations.  Could I even make the jump??????? I stood there pondering and then decided Fuck It.... I'm jumping.  Sure, there was at least a 12 foot drop from the top of the crevice to the rocks below,  but what the hell!  I figured best worst case scenario would be my bubble butt, child-bearing hips and pack would create a tri-fecta of perfection which would save me.  I would be wedged in the crevice, Winnie the Pooh style and would have to wait for help, but at least I would be alive.   Worst case scenario....... well no point in going there.  I lumbered up to the crevice at full lumbering speed and jumped.  I landed on the other side, the momentum drove me forward, nothing a few quick steps couldn't handle.

That obstacle down.  It couldn't get worse right?  RIGHT???????

Coldwater River-  This is the longest beach section of the trail.  You would think that by this point, after the rocky ledges and crevice jumping that I would be thrilled to have a long stretch of beach to walk on.  You would be wrong.

Instead, I had a very long "What do I hate more "list going in my head.... boulder beaches, sand beaches, cobble beaches, or any combination there off.  With each step I added another con to the growing list of cons for each and every type of beach I had encountered or knew was coming.  The end result-  I loathe walking on beaches.  Beaches + Bastard = feet burning, sand getting in your boots, extra effort to take steps..... all things that are the exact opposite of delightful.

It was beach walking or staying and given the close proximity of these sites to the Highway and possible encounters with dubious humans, I decided to keep walking.  Fear, such an excellent motivator.

The Voyageur map that I was referencing talked about a bridge that you can use to cross the Coldwater River.  I figured there would be a foot bridge further up the coast.  Nope.  The makers of this trail guide meant hikers had to walk-up to the highway and cross there.

NUTS!

I was in no mood to double back so I forged on.  I stood at the edge of the river, which by this time of year was more liked a large stream and contemplated my options.

• I could walk through the river.  This option had merit but the risk of a double soaker was high and not a popular option as I detest walking in wet boots.   
• I could change my mind and walk back to the bridge... boo, hiss!  
• I could try and levitate over the water
• ..... maybe build a bridge of my own using Lake Superior cobble?  

Although the subsequent options made me chuckle, they were not helpful.  If I didn't want to back track, I would have to suck it up and try and fjord the river.  Luckily I found a shallow section and was able to cross without water flooding into my boots.  A small celebration ensued.

The celebration was short lived.  I was tired and sore and regretting not staying at the Coldwater campsites.  That is when I looked up and saw the second section of rock wall climbing that I would have to do.  This section was shorter than the first and had only a 3 feet drop to the pounding surf but it lacked hand holds.  I threw my weight toward the rock, fearful that one twitch of Bastard would send me backward and lead to death by drowning.  Just imagine my surprise when I ran into a family out on the trail who took not only their toddler but a baby out over that section of the trail. Maybe that is why they were sitting there looking glum.... they knew they had to go back over it and were not looking forward to that circus.

Enter the Baldhead.  All these years of camping at Orphan Lake we have called the Baldhead-  Baldhead Mountain, as it looks rather mountainous from the other side of the river..... but according to the trail guide the proper name is Baldhead Hill.  Let me tell you, it does not feel like a hill when you are climbing it.  At one point I found a rock I could sit on to take off some of the pack weight.  I came dangerously close to falling asleep like this, not once but twice.  I made myself stand up and forge on.  The view from the top of "the hill" was worth the climb.

View from the top of the Baldhead

See, very steep

Making it down the other side of the Baldhead I had a choice stay at the campsite at the base or traverse the looming cobble beach...... cobble bitch is more like it.  What made my decision for me was the closest camp site involved a big hill and rock climbing to get water.

Water access.... sure to slip in.  

Tally ho!!!!!!

As soon as my feet hit the cobble I wanted to cry.   I forced
myself to walk 10 steps at a time until I reached 100.  I figured that meant I was 100 steps closer to ending this torture.  I was having a hard time controlling the vile thoughts in my head.  The preceding 9 km of walking had successfully unleashed my inner Cracken.  If I had encountered a bear at that moment I would have invited it for a throw-down. I was that mad..... that ornery!  I had entered Beast Mode!!!!!!!

Trying to distract my inner beast I started fantasizing about my friend and her son coming down the
beach and offering to carry Bastard back to the campsite.  That did not happen..... Beast was not happy.... Beast was very, very ANGRY!  This is about the time I caught up with the day hikers who were in front of me.  They were standing on the bridge that I needed to cross, blocking the whole thing.  Dad was giving his son a lesson in bridge building......

"See what they did here son is they put slats of wood side by side and they laminated them together.... let's see 1, 2, 3, 4......... 20!  20- 2X4's placed side by side, then they drilled a hole through them all and stuck in a lag screw.  And well see this lag screw........."

This is what I listened too, not so patiently, while I glared at them.  I could have asked them to move, but I didn't trust that nice words would come out of my mouth.   I was barely able to control my desire to  "Choke Slam" and pound the crap out of the lot of them.

Eventually my piercing stare caught Mr. Blah Blah Blah's attention and they moved.  Blah Blah was so apologetic, my Beast Mode was broken and I grunted out "Pack heavy, want to be done!", as way of explanation.  As I broke through the clearly and walked down my last stretch of cobble beach.... Fuck I hate cobble..... I sighed knowing that Bastard and I could file for a trial separation for the next 5 days.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The view from my resting place.

Prologue-  I have a habit of not weighing my pack before hiking.  There are somethings that are better left unknown.  In this case my best estimate was the pack was 58 lbs.  Well I was sorely mistaken.  See I broke my cardinal rule and weighed my pack prior to my next back-packing trip.  It was 58lbs but way, way smaller.  The pack I carried into Superior was loaded to the top tier.  So in essence the pack was topping 60+ lbs.  I am glad I did not know that then..... 58 lbs seems like such a more manageable number.