Macho, macho, whoa..... man!

Blogging note:  A majority of this post was written during the last day of 2015.  I put it "away" to proof-read later and then time and life happened and I didn't get to it.  Better late than never.

It is the final days of the 365 challenge.  I sit here listening to the soundtrack I created for my life and reminisce.  What has been the most defining moment of my life?   Was there a moment, that if it did not happen, would have resulted in a totally different outcome?   A moment that would have resulted in my writing this post in a different locale or in a different house or maybe my not writing something at all?

This challenge took a lot of reflection, comparing and contrasting.  I have finally made a decision as to what I am going to write about......

The defining moment in my life was a comment my parents made when I was 2 or 3 years old.  It was a simple statement of fact, it was not something that was intended to dwell upon, but for me it ended up being life altering.

What could they have said to a toddler that could be so profound?

"You were supposed to be a boy."  (I am sure that is not how they phrased it, but it the version my brain retained.)

See my parents had a plan.  Their first child was a girl. The next one should be a boy.  They would then have had a complete child set and could retire from the baby making game.  But I wasn't a boy... I was a girl, so it was back to the bump and grind of trying to secure a male heir.

My parents never held my lack of maleness against me.... but I did.  Such a simple statement of fact ended up getting warped and was eventually transformed into things that my parents never meant to imply-

• I disappointed them.  
• I could not get anything right.
• Boys are better than girls... why else would they want a boy when they already had two perfectly great children.  

These faulty thought patterns seemed to take on a life of their own.  I wanted to fix it.   After much deliberation I hit upon the perfect solution-  if I was more "boy like" my parents would be happier (keep in mind I was three years old when I came up with this solution so be gentle with your judgment)

That was it!!!!

That would make everything better!!!!!!

Decision made; I threw myself into my new role of "boy".  

• I cultivated my HATRED of the colour pink..... blue was my colour.  

• Kittens were for girls... kittens were now on the hate list.... I was all about the dogs.

• Girls sat and played quietly.  That was not for me... I  developed my climbing skills.  No tree, fence or wall were too high or safe from my clambering form.  I remember getting into trouble for climbing the chair "tree" I had constructed for the sole purpose of exiting via the basement window.  

• Girls were demure.  I awakened  my inner daredevil-  experimenting with electricity, using straight razors like the adults, doing flips off the top bunk, trees, monkey bars.... really anything that one could flip off of... I flipped off of.   

• I rebelled against anything indicative of feminine attire.  My poor mother liked to dress my sister and me in homemade matchy, matchy dresses.  I started refusing to wear dresses.    When I was forced to wear one, I would come up with some excuse to wear jeans underneath-  "My legs are cold!"  "It's going to cramp my monkey bar escapades!  How can I hang upside down?"  It took a few years but my mother eventually gave up forcing dresses on me.

• Girls liked playing with dolls..... bring on the trucks!

By the time I was 5 years old I had fully transformed into a "tom" boy.  Unfortunately all my efforts to reinvent myself were all for nought.

My brother arrived.

I remember feeling like I had failed.  If I had been better at being a "boy" my parents wouldn't have had to have my brother.

It was all over!!!!!!!!

The parents finally got what they wanted... a boy.   They now have a girl and a boy.... that made me what???????   Spare parts?????

The birth of my brother brought a new resolve-  I would prove to my parents that girls were just as good as boys....  Yah right!!!!  I was 4 years old and even then I had perfectionist tendencies so I wasn't aiming for 50/50  I was aiming for 110%.

Over the years I have dropped the competition factor and am a champion for equality for all.   But, it was this need to prove that I was better than any boy that influence the path a travelled to get to this point in my life.

This quest fostered the development of my:

Persistence- One of the surest ways to get me to dig in my heels is to tell me I can't do something.   That type of rhetoric fuels me.  I remember one year purchased a huge 8 foot scotch pine for my Christmas tree.  It took up a 1/4 of a very large room-  at room that became know as the tree room as nothing else would fit in it.  I cut the tree down. I loaded and unloaded it on the truck.  Bound it so it would get through the door and once it was inside I started to put it up.  There was one problem-  It would not stay up.  It kept falling.  I could not centre it, hold it and screw in the bolts of the tree stand.  I was on the phone lamenting to my mother when she said-  "Ask one of your guy friends to come and help.  You need a man to help you!"

NOOOOOOooooooooooo!

Picture it.  I am under the tree bracing the trunk with one foot, the other hooked around the tree stand to stabilize it.  I am hold the tree upright with my left arm while I contort my body so that I could sink the bolts of the base into the tree trunk.  Then I proceeded to anchor the tree to the wall using as system of ropes and nails.  No man needed!
Victory!

Fight-A-Tude
I do not hold stock that women should let others protect them.  Why rely on others when you can do it yourself.  I can pack a punch and scrap with the best of them, especially when others are being unjust to those who cannot defend themselves.    I am smart enough to use my verbal skills first but if it is "Go time", I will do my best to take the other person down.

I remember the Christmas my cousin got a set of red leather boxing gloves.  He challenged me to a match.   I don't think he was expecting the pounding that I laid on him.  I'm sure he was thinking it was going to be a friendly little spar.  He didn't realize that I had a lot riding on the outcome.  This "match" was being witnessed by all the adult males in my life and what a better time to prove that girls can do anything boys can do.   I remember looking around the room at the end and seeing the look of disbelief and dare I say it pride on the faces of my dad and Grandpa.

When I entered University I was always irritated by the well intentioned advice being offered by the boys-  "You went where, at night by yourself!!!!!  You should take one of us with you next time.  It is dangerous for a lone female to walk on campus at 2 am."  I think I proved that I could take care of myself the night the guys decided to tub the girls..... tubbing by the way is where a tub is filled with water and you get unceremoniously dumped in.

A friend had been targeted as the next tubbing victim.  She didn't want to be tubbed so I tackled the guy who was trying to move her, which allowed her to escape.  Now I was the target for a tubbing.  Dude grabbed me from behind and pinned my arms to my side.  He tried to carry me through the door of the lounge, down the hall, but I stopped his progress by bracing my feet on either side of the doorframe.  He tried again and again, I blocked progress every time.  It dawned on him that this approach was not going to work so he turned around to back out the doorway.   He wasn't prepared for me using my legs to push off on the door frame on the other side (who says watching wrestling doesn't provide useful life skills).  He toppled over backward and cushioned my fall.  Sadly, tubbing me switched from being a challenge for one to a challenge for many-  four more guys swooped in, all focused making sure I was dunked in that frickin' tub.    I did not make it easy for them, kicking and clawing all the way down the hall.   I even  managed to get away once.   In the end I got tubbed but the dudes were rewarded for their effort with numerous bruises and muscle strains.   There was no mention of my need for a male escort after that incident.  I guess the guys decided I could protect myself.

A Short Term Farmer-
I think my Dad was excited by my brother's arrival as he finally had someone to pass the legacy of farming down to.  As soon as my brother was tall enough to touch the clutch and see over the steering wheel he was expected to go out to the farm with my dad.  My brother hated it!  He liked to sleep in and play video games.  Sitting in a tractor covered with grease and grime was neither of these things.  I asked to learn how to drive the tractor and was told in no uncertain terms " No."   My dad was perfectly okay with me tagging along to shovel grain..... it saved him having to get into the grain bin and from climbing on top of the grain truck to roll out the tarp but that was the extent he was willing to allow me to participate in the process.

For years, weekend mornings would look like this-  My brother sitting at the kitchen table gloomy staring into his bowl of Cheerios' and me glaring at him irritated that he got to go and I didn't.  I was well into my university years when I took matters into my own hands.  I asked my brother to teach me how to drive the tractor and use the cultivator.  He gladly agreed, as he realized this might be his ticket out of having to go to the farm.  Once my dad realized I could do ground work he gave me lessons in seeding.  The timing could not be better as the family was farming both set of grandparents land, so help was needed.  I farmed with my dad and brother for two years before moving.  It was a great two years.

A Champion of Equality
There was one thing that irked me when I was younger and that was the assumption that because I was a girl my purpose was to cook and clean.   My dad's friends would make comments about when I got older I would get married and have children and be a stay at home mom. I looked at them and boldly said-  "If I ever have children, I will continue to work, my husband can stay at home with the kids."  They got a hoot out of that one.

I remember my Grandpa J commenting- "You'll never get a husband if you can't cook."  My response-  "If all that a guy wants is my cooking... I don't want him!"  I abstained from using cooking skills for a long time... because I am ornery like that!

As I mentioned I farmed with my dad and brother.  My dad was of a similar opinion as my grandfather.  A man does not cook if there was a woman around who could do it.  In fact he drove from the farm house out to the far field to tell me that it was lunch time and that he would take over seeding so I could go in and make us all some lunch.

I was furious.....

He had just been mere steps from the house and could have easily gone in and made lunch for everyone.  He could have drove over to my brother who was closer and told him to go in to make lunch.... but no... I was the best person to make lunch.

I fumed all the way back to the house.  I fumed while I made their stinking sandwiches.... I was too mad to eat.   I was ready to punch something or someone by the time I was done......  a Tornado of fury and indignation.  As I was leaving the house the damn bagels fell out of the bag and landed in the dirt.

I went into Rumpelstiltskin mode, ranting and raving.... there was even some frenetic jumping up and down.  Now I would have to make more FUCKIN' sandwiches!

Or would I....

I experienced a moment of calm and clarity.  I through out the bagel top that could not be salvaged and decided it was time for a little Russian Roulette-  bagel style.  I washed the cold cuts as best as I could under the stream of water from the water jug.... did I mention there was no running water in the house.  I scraped off the mustard that was black with dirt and if less then a 1/4 of the bagel was affected i.e. dingy grey I reused it.  Hmmmm...... nothing more mustard can't cover.  I placed the bagels back in the bag with the clean ones not he bottom and the two "5 second rule" bagels on the top.  When I reached the field my brother and my dad were waiting.

"What took you so long?" they asked

"I had a hard time washing the grease off my hands."  I said.

On the drive over I had decided that I would let fate decide who got the affected bagels.  If they both said- "You pick first... you made them."  I would eat the top bagel.  You can probably guess but there was no chivalry there.   The pecking order they decided to go with was....  Dad-  he won the grittiest bagel; My brother- Mr. Hint o' Grit and then me.

Spectacular!!!  Anger was immediately replaced with euphoria.

My dad made a face and commented on the earthiness of his bagel.  I countered with " Have you seen the inside of the Nissan; of course the bagels got dirty during transport." and that was the end of it.  My brother never noticed or if he did he was wise enough to keep it to himself.

While we were eating I told my brother and dad that I had no intention of being their cook and maid all weekend.  The only fair solution was we each took turns making meals.  They agreed.  Of course, their turns consisted of calling for take-out from town, but the meal preparation duties were equally divided so I did not care.... much.

(If you hear a loud noise after reading this section, don't panic.   It's just my Dad yelling "I KNEW IT!!!".   Until this point I have denied, denied, denied.  Daddy please consider this confession part of your early birthday present)

Resilience
Growing up I often felt like I was not enough.  Overshadowed by my siblings.  I was the "Jan" of the bunch, the middle of the middle,  and it was not such a "Brady" feeling.  There was no happy resolution after 30 minutes of time.  I collected examples of how my siblings mattered more to my parents and used these examples as proof that my assumptions were correct.  How my brother got to have "adventures" with dad;  how my parents had vastly different reactions to my and my older sisters performance in school,  etc, etc, etc.

The thing is, there are no shortage of examples to prove a point, especially when you are specifically looking for them.  I was looking for ways to prove that I was not as loved and guess what?  I found them.  I could have just as easily looked for examples of how I was loved, which there were many, but that was not what I chose to do.

I could have wallowed and spent my life focusing on what I perceived as unfair, but I didn't.   I worked and worked and worked-  on improving my abilities and my knowledge.    I reflected on what went well and what I could have done differently and I adapted......I grew and  I matured.


What if my parents had not told me they were expecting me to be a boy?

What if I had not interpreted their simple statement the way I did or as I grew older I had asked them if my interpretation was correct?

Would I be who I am today???

I don't know.

All I can do is pay homage to my past and move forward knowing that I am enough,  that I have the skills I need and I will thrive no matter what.

Thanks Mom and Dad for your unintended slip of the tongue!  It brought a whole bunch of interesting life lessons my way and helped develop some kick ass foundational skills.  

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.

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!!!

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.