What I Brought Back, Part 2

From the Expedition 2012 Blog.

Day 44- “Nothing exciting ever happens before we are out on the water.  There are rarely even any good thoughts worth writing down.  There seems to only be enough awareness to do what needs to be done to eat, pack up, change into wetloaders, load the boats, and go.  Today was no exception.”

As I read back through my journal from the trip, I found a common theme to the beginning of each entry: mornings were by far the least exciting part of each day.  And yet so much depended on that first mindless blurry-eyed hour.  The leaders for the day woke up early to start a fire and get water boiling.  The tents needed to be taken down and rolled tightly to keep from getting wet during the day.  Wannigans were packed, tumped, and carefully loaded into the boats, and all before the morning’s coffee kicked in.  The morale for the rest of the day could have easily been broken in one moment of careless behavior or dropped responsibility during this fragile time, but it never was.

Even when our wetloaders were frozen too stiff for us to cram our feet into or the constant thrum of black flies outside the tent made us dread the moment we’d have to leave it, no one complained.  There were many looks exchanged in these early hours of, “What are we doing out here?” or, “Are we crazy?” but eventually we were back out in the boats, continuing on another day.

A few journal excerpts may help give an insight into the little struggles and daily routine we faced each morning.



Day 2- “5:00 or 5:30 am wake-up, I’m not even sure which, but the early start paid off.  It was still dark while I was trying to put on my dry-pants, socks, and boots which explains why I ended up wearing one sock on my right foot and two on my left all day.  It’s still early in the trip, so I’ll work on that.  Hot oatmeal and bacon with some coffee to warm us up.”

In the early days of the trip, when we wanted to give ourselves as much time as possible to make our mark and the winter weather cut daylight short, our wakeups were bright and early, without any sign of the brightness.  Our first few paddle strokes often did not even see the warm rays of the sun.  We all emerged from the tents and found our way to the tarp by headlamp, trying to keep the light out of each others’ eyes for fear of starting off on the wrong foot so early.  Warm oatmeal and coffee were the only things on our minds.  Everything else could wait.

Once the last few scoops of oatmeal had been scraped from the bottom of the pot and the bacon pan lay empty, there were some final seconds of warmth around the fire before someone would say something like, “Well…” and we’d all disperse to pack up the campsite and move on with the day.  It was this silent understanding of the need to continue regardless of tough conditions that let us know we were all in it together.



Day 16- “I awoke to the squawk of the geese again and the patter of something on the tent fly.  It sounded too light to be rain.  I lay there for a while, wondering what time it was and how much longer I had in this warm wrap of sleeping bag before Kyle came to wake me up to go cook breakfast… I heard Kyle’s footsteps outside and he asked if I was awake.  I put on warm clothes and my dry shoes as quickly as possible without waking up the other guys in the tent.  Wet socks would have been unbearable.  Once outside, it became apparent that the weather was in fact snow.  I put on my glove liners which helped a little, at least when dealing with the cold metal stove.  The oatmeal and coffee water took forever to boil.”

On several occasions, the weather we woke up to was far different than that the night before.  On this morning, I vividly remember sitting huddled with Kyle under the kitchen tarp, zipped up in as many layers as would fit under our rain coats, wool hats pulled down over our ears, and gloved hands clasped tightly between our knees.  We were camped in a swampy section of land two days before Ottawa and there was no sign of dry wood underneath the slushy mix of snow and rain that coated everything.  With no fire to provide heat, we sat shoulder to shoulder on a wannigan in front of the stove, telling ourselves that the small flame that was very slowly boiling our breakfast water was also giving off heat in our direction.  We taught each other bits of songs and laughed at the geese still drifting by in the river, despite the frigid temperatures; anything to keep our minds off of the numbing feeling in our toes.

Though we laughed at the absurdity of the situation we had put ourselves in at times, never once did we question whether or not it was for a good enough reason.  That much was clear every morning of the trip.  No matter how dark, cold, or impossible the day seemed when we left the tent, we knew it would get better and that by the time we woke up back on Lake Dunmore, all of these mornings would have added up into something undeniably worth everything it took along the way.