I learn online that a 'hood ornament' is the bow seat person in a canoe. The term is sometimes pejorative, especially when the that's a woman and the stern seat person is a man, because some women don't "pull their weight" when they've got a big strong man behind them. I vow to not be a slacker. I learn that the person in back does the majority of the steering because the taper of the stern makes it easier to steer from the back. I watch some short videos and it doesn't look very difficult. I read a brief primer on terms and techniques.
When I arrive at Chuck's camp two weeks after our last rendezvous, I am ready to learn from him. I see that his truck has been modified to carry a long canoe. I'm expecting shiny aluminum, but his canoe is some sort of green plastic. He explains that his canoe is long, wide, heavy and very stable. Oh, and it "steers like a supertanker". It is designed for canoe camping trips and is more than is required for short trips like today's. I notice a bandage on his arm, but we are so busy packing his truck that I wait before asking him about it. He consults a checklist before we leave to ensure we have everything. It includes a lunch and a cooler and some bags he calls dry bags.
Our lands are located close to the transition from primarily farmland to primarily forest and as we drive away from an abundance of human activity and into the state forests and Indian reservations of Northern Wisconsin, he becomes more relaxed. I ask about the bandage. "Sarah cut me." He explains that she's entered stage four of the disease and that she got hold of a knife and tried to stab it in his chest while he was trying to feed her.
"While I was at the clinic getting stitched up, her sister, Catherine, reported the incident to the sheriff and two days later, Sarah was in the psyche ward of the med center. I was mad at first, but it's for the best I suppose. She'll be with professional caregivers until the end now."
I see that he's sad but of course he's also relieved of a very emotionally draining burden. Fortunately, it's hard to remain sad on such a beautiful day and when we start passing over rivers, he starts to hum a Grateful Dead tune. Soon we're both singing it. He's surprised that I know the lyrics, but it was a favorite at this strange pub I enjoyed visiting in London. Finally, we cross over a large river and I see several canoes floating on it. There is a parking and launch area on one side of the road and some people are launching canoes and kayaks and turning downriver while others are arriving from upriver. Chuck slows his lorry and I ask if this is our put-in site.
"Not here. This is our take-out."
We turn onto a gravel road and drive another mile through dark woods. We turn onto an overgrown two-track and go at least another quarter mile, stopping in a small clearing. I look around and there are no parking spaces or rubbish bins or even a river. It does not look like at all like a launch site. I watch as Chuck unloads the canoe from the truck, unable to help with the unwieldy craft. He shows me where I'll be sitting in the canoe and we begin to load and stow our gear from the truck into the canoe.
"What's in the drybags, Chuck?"
"Mainly things we might need. A first aid kit, towels, clothing, overnight stuff in case we have a mishap, a limb saw."
"A limb saw?"
"You never know when we might need to amputate."
I must have looked horrified, because he laughed and said, "Sometimes trees fall across the stream. If I clear a path this time, I won't have to drag the canoe around it next time."
Chuck consults a checklist to make sure we have everything and then tells me to "sit tight". I suddenly grasp that he is about to drive away while I sit with the canoe in the middle of the woods.
"But Chuck, what if a bear tries to eat me."
He chuckles and gives me a big hug. "Try not to look so damn delicious."
"I'm serious."
"There probably isn't a bear within a hundred miles of here."
"Nice try, Sensei. I've been seeing bear crossing signs along the road for the past forty miles." Then I feel something sliding down into my shorts at the waistband in back. I reach behind me and find the grip of a handgun in a leather holster.
"Around here, it's the two-legged predators you might have to watch out for, but almost nobody knows about this place. Just remember your training." I draw the handgun, check that it has a full magazine, the chamber has a round in it and the safety is on. I slip it back in the holster, a bit peeved that this is happening, but then I guess that my Sensei is testing me and I know that accepting the situation is the correct response because really, the only other option is for me to park the truck at the take-out and walk back while Chuck is the stationary bear bait.
"I'll be back in about 20 minutes."
So I wait. At first the woods seem kind of sinister. There are insect noises and bird calls and scurrying sounds in the bush. Eventually I relax, but I try to stay alert. When I suddenly hear a twig snap very close by, I turn to see Chuck about five feet away, holding a broken twig in his hands.
"Let's go, Grasshopper," he says with a playful smirk.
He drags the canoe by its painter down a trail for a surprisingly short distance to a very small creek that is concealed by the brush around it. I can touch the banks on both sides with a paddle and I have to push branches up and over me as we float slowly down it until it meets a bigger stream. The water in this larger stream is moving slowly and it doesn't take me long to learn that when he says "on your right" He means to paddle on the right and if there's a rock or an island ahead of us he means to pass it by going left of it, which you do by paddling on the right. Yes, simple. Soon we reduce it to just "right" or "left" as if wasted words are blasphemy in this sacred solitude.
"What's the name of this river, Chuck?"
"I'm not sure. It's just a tributary of a much larger river, so it might not have a name. It's really only a crick."
"A crick?"
"A creek. A small river. Less useful for transport. I'll see if I can find the name."
We're mostly drifting, paddling only enough to keep the canoe in the flow and properly aimed. The current does the work. The stream meanders a lot and being in the front allows me to be the first to see around each bend. Not far along, I see a blue canoe tied along the bank and I turn to look at Chuck. He motions with his finger to be quiet and then he sets his paddle crossways in his lap and runs the forefinger of one hand in and out a ring he makes with the thumb and forefinger of his other hand. I listen and hear the sound of a woman having sex off in the bushes. We drift on by and I can barely suppress a giggle as she comes.
Their boldness inspires me to remove my halter top.