I wrote this October 17, 2005. We had a great time in the woods. Hope you enjoy reading it.
We had a very enjoyable weekend on Lake Superior's northshore. Just a couple of miles up from the shore we were in the forest with nary a sight or sound of the outside world, and we spent our weekend exploring the forest.
The nassawaogan built by Duncan, Michel, and Antoine was the best shelter of its kind I've ever slept in. It was very substantial with poles every six to eight inches and roofed near the bottom with cedar bark and insulated with bundles of cattails. The top few feet, near the point, were covered with canvas - which will be replaced with birchbark mats when they are finished. Unlike every other conical structure I've spent time in - the fire drew, and even with damp wood, the smoke from the large firepit, went straight up and right out the fire hole! The reason the fire drew was Antoine had built two rock lined draft tunnels, under the floor, from the fire pit to outside the nassawaogan.
At 20 feet across, there was plenty of room for everyone. What camraderie we had there, as old friends met around the fire and exchanged jokes, reminicses, and insults.
We feasted on venison, though I will say, carrying a deer, by myself, a half mile on my neck and shoulders was more than I'd care to do often. Seemed heavier (or I've gotten older) since the last time I carried one that far. It wasn't even that large a deer.
We stuck each backstrap, whole, on a choke cherry skewer. We twisted the meat so it was better balanced, and hung the skewer from two ropes over the fire. We carmalized the outside (we burnt it) then hung it higher and let it slowly roast. It was so good! No seasoning was added, and the grease ran down our faces as we feasted. A kettle of venison on the boil, with additions of corns and other vegetation, eventually became a delicious rubaboo and was the source for every meal that didn't have straight roast venison on the menu. We hung a haunch to cook as well, but not much got eaten, everyone was so full, and it is the source of my mid-day meal as I type.
We slept well and warm both nights.
Some of us, both Roberts, Eli, Antoine, Shep, and I decided to spend a day in the woods and crossed the river at the spring and followed it upstream to hunt for grouse. Grouse were scarce, way too much predator sign, but we jumped a number of deer and got a fright when a big cat coughed and growled. I turned to Shep and asked him if he'd heard it. His response? "You go first!"
The travel over trackless ridges and draws through the twilight of close growing balsam intersped with sunny woodland meadows graced with virgin white pine made my heart sing. We soon entered into an area we promptly dubbed "The Cedars of Lebanon," as they easily looked old enough and large enough to have been around when the bible was written.
We turned east when we reached a beaver dam and followed a trail through many ridges and swales to a larger river. My pride would not allow me to give way to aching muscles and I did my best to keep up with the younger members of our group as we pounded out the miles. We first came on the river to a small falls, but turned back to scout the ridges until we could find the large falls we'd come to see. Coming to the peak of one ridge, I heard a deer make a high odd whistle and followed him with my firelock. But for regulations (too early), there'd have been more meat hanging on the crossbar back at camp.
Just beyond, we could hear the roar of Eli Falls (for Eli Boudry - who first discovered it). We sighted wolf sign there. Sliding down the steep bluff, and almost breaking our necks, we could see the large falls. What a gorgeous sight! I've no doubt there were some great brook trout, as well as steelhead, in this stream though wish as I might, I couldn't conjour up a line and hook to catch them with (note to self - keep line and hook in shoulder pouch).
After catching our breath and sunning ourselves on the rocks near the river, we hit the back trail and eventually crossed the smaller stream south of the beaver dam, climbed a huge knob, which we named "Old Baldy" and climbing into and out of another swale, we hit the trail north of the nassawaogan. A short hotfoot down the trail and we were "home."
PG
We had a very enjoyable weekend on Lake Superior's northshore. Just a couple of miles up from the shore we were in the forest with nary a sight or sound of the outside world, and we spent our weekend exploring the forest.
The nassawaogan built by Duncan, Michel, and Antoine was the best shelter of its kind I've ever slept in. It was very substantial with poles every six to eight inches and roofed near the bottom with cedar bark and insulated with bundles of cattails. The top few feet, near the point, were covered with canvas - which will be replaced with birchbark mats when they are finished. Unlike every other conical structure I've spent time in - the fire drew, and even with damp wood, the smoke from the large firepit, went straight up and right out the fire hole! The reason the fire drew was Antoine had built two rock lined draft tunnels, under the floor, from the fire pit to outside the nassawaogan.
At 20 feet across, there was plenty of room for everyone. What camraderie we had there, as old friends met around the fire and exchanged jokes, reminicses, and insults.
We feasted on venison, though I will say, carrying a deer, by myself, a half mile on my neck and shoulders was more than I'd care to do often. Seemed heavier (or I've gotten older) since the last time I carried one that far. It wasn't even that large a deer.
We stuck each backstrap, whole, on a choke cherry skewer. We twisted the meat so it was better balanced, and hung the skewer from two ropes over the fire. We carmalized the outside (we burnt it) then hung it higher and let it slowly roast. It was so good! No seasoning was added, and the grease ran down our faces as we feasted. A kettle of venison on the boil, with additions of corns and other vegetation, eventually became a delicious rubaboo and was the source for every meal that didn't have straight roast venison on the menu. We hung a haunch to cook as well, but not much got eaten, everyone was so full, and it is the source of my mid-day meal as I type.
We slept well and warm both nights.
Some of us, both Roberts, Eli, Antoine, Shep, and I decided to spend a day in the woods and crossed the river at the spring and followed it upstream to hunt for grouse. Grouse were scarce, way too much predator sign, but we jumped a number of deer and got a fright when a big cat coughed and growled. I turned to Shep and asked him if he'd heard it. His response? "You go first!"
The travel over trackless ridges and draws through the twilight of close growing balsam intersped with sunny woodland meadows graced with virgin white pine made my heart sing. We soon entered into an area we promptly dubbed "The Cedars of Lebanon," as they easily looked old enough and large enough to have been around when the bible was written.
We turned east when we reached a beaver dam and followed a trail through many ridges and swales to a larger river. My pride would not allow me to give way to aching muscles and I did my best to keep up with the younger members of our group as we pounded out the miles. We first came on the river to a small falls, but turned back to scout the ridges until we could find the large falls we'd come to see. Coming to the peak of one ridge, I heard a deer make a high odd whistle and followed him with my firelock. But for regulations (too early), there'd have been more meat hanging on the crossbar back at camp.
Just beyond, we could hear the roar of Eli Falls (for Eli Boudry - who first discovered it). We sighted wolf sign there. Sliding down the steep bluff, and almost breaking our necks, we could see the large falls. What a gorgeous sight! I've no doubt there were some great brook trout, as well as steelhead, in this stream though wish as I might, I couldn't conjour up a line and hook to catch them with (note to self - keep line and hook in shoulder pouch).
After catching our breath and sunning ourselves on the rocks near the river, we hit the back trail and eventually crossed the smaller stream south of the beaver dam, climbed a huge knob, which we named "Old Baldy" and climbing into and out of another swale, we hit the trail north of the nassawaogan. A short hotfoot down the trail and we were "home."
PG
