The
mist is heavy on the water when we set out, even though it’s well after 9am by
the time we hit the water. The
spring-fed river is cold, and the day promises to be hot. The water is flowing high and fast as our
canoes knife downstream between rock formations and vegetation.
My guide is a Maine-certified white
water rafting instructor . . . who can’t swim.
My companions are two girls who have
canoed before, and two who haven’t . . . and Spirit Guide Sam, who is smart,
and takes a kayak.
The more experienced girls take the
aft seats in their canoes. One pair gets
along great; the other pair keep getting themselves turned around because the
forward rower is paddling harder than the guide.
I learn that I paddle like a guide
from the front of the canoe, and my over-correcting gets us turned around a few
times.
“Would you rather guide and be in
control?” my partner offers. “I don’t
mind sitting front.”
“No.
I’d rather trust you. It’s just .
. .” I sigh, “hard.”
He nods. “I know.”
“How about this,” I suggest, “I’ll
tell you what I see up ahead, and you give me commands, like we’re
rafting?” I can be good at taking orders
. . . when I want to be.
Lunch is tuna and hummus wraps—my
new favorite camping/floating meal. I
found single serve packs of low-sodium, low-oil tuna for about 70 calories a
pack. I use small flour tortillas, so
each pack is good for two. Slap a big
spoonful of hummus in there, and you’ve got a savory protein-filled meal that travels
great. There’s also white cheddar cheese
and Wasabi Soy Triscuits (BEST TRISCUITS EVER), plus jerky and andouille from
the shop, all washed down with a Contact High from 4 Hands Brewing.
We portage the canoes over a
low-water bridge, and keep on paddling.
We approach a gravel bar in the
center of the river, and decide to skirt around it. A moment of confusion, and the boat from our
left decides to go right instead . . . right into a felled tree. We also go right . . . and slam right into
them. We are tilting . . . tilting . . .
and I am ejected in the shallow waters.
The boat becomes inundated and starts to float away as I realize my
guide is no longer aboard either. No
time to search for him; I grab one of the middle rungs and with all my strength
haul the canoe onto the center shallows.
At last my guide resurfaces, torso and
arms scratched and bruised from the impact.
No lasting injuries, just a little shaken up. After taking a moment to compose ourselves,
we dump the water from our canoe and catch up with the others. The only thing lost is a stainless steel
coolie cup, which we find bobbing a little ways downstream, no worse for the
wear.
There are a few more near-misses that day;
it’s Saturday, and the river is teeming with people, but my canoe at least
manages not to crash into anything else.
It’s a beautiful stretch of nature, but we rush the second half of the
trip in order to escape the drunks shouting “Nice tits!” at us as we pass.
After a full day on the water, a
satisfying meal is needed. We decided
ahead of time to do a potluck dinner, and I’ve brought along an
experiment. It’s not a camping entrée
per se, but I think it could work over a hot, steady fire. And with this set-up, hot and steady is just
what I’m certain to get:
(My guide got this at an antique store for $14.)
We use both the stove and the campfire
for potatoes, corn, veggie skewers, and my creation: individual meatloaves.
It’s all the usual meatloaf
ingredients—ground beef, onion, worcestershire, breadcrumbs, fresh thyme, chicken
stock, tomato paste, eggs—divided up into six miniature loaves. I topped them with ketchup, then
double-wrapped them in foil. You can
also do a ketchup-mustard-brown sugar glaze on top. They’re supposed to be baked at 350° for 40
to 45 minutes, or until the center is 155° to 160°.
This is the part where you
appreciate bringing a butcher out into the woods with you.
I use a meat thermometer—they weigh
nothing take up very little space in your backpack—to check the temp every ten
minutes or so. They take about the
recommended cook time, and come out nice and juicy on the inside. I am very proud of this, having never even
made the recipe using an oven.
Once cooked, the “individual” packs
wind up being about 6.5 ounces, which is a lot of meat for one person in one
sitting, if you’re planning on eating other things (which I am). Next time I think I’ll divide the recipe into
eight loaves and see how it works out.
First dessert is grilled pineapple
skewers. I brought along some cinnamon
sugar for a breakfast experiment, and we sprinkle it on top of a few skewers in
order to create a glaze. The girl who
brought them said that cinnamon sugar saved the day. Score!
Next dessert comes much later in the
night. Experiment number two: waffle cone s’mores. Layer milk chocolate chips, peanut butter
chips, and mini marshmallows inside a waffle cone, double wrap in foil, and
toss on the coals for a little while.
When it catches on fire, turn it, and set it back on the coals until it
catches on fire a second time, then it’s done.
Perfectly melty gooey s’mores in an easy-to-eat package. One girl said she doesn’t even like s’mores,
but she loved these. Another win!
My canoe guide is fidgeting.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“There were thorns on that tree we
ran into. I got most of them out with my
knife, but I think there’s still some in my hands.”
I grab my headlamp and a manicure
kit that one of my aunts gave me for Christmas during my formative years,
before they figured out that I wasn’t going to be a girly-girl. Girly or not, I’ve gotten a lot of use out of
the clippers, tweezers, and cuticle scissors over the years. Cuticle scissors are needle-thin and sharp,
and perfect for removing splinters.
After performing amateur surgery on
his big bear paws, I order him to clean his hands. I know that everyone raves about Wet Ones for
camp showers, but I’ve found that butt wipes work great at getting sunscreen,
bug spray, sweat, and dirt off your body.
Just the generic Target brand, or baby wipes if you have sensitive
skin. If it’s gentle enough for your
jibs, it’s gentle enough for the rest of you.
(One of the locals pays us a visit.)
We
can see every star out here, so we pull our chairs away from the lantern and
the fire to stare up at the sky.
Gazing up at the Milky Way, snippets
of a song—unbidden—pop into my head:
The meadowlark and the chim-choo-ree and the sparrow . . .
Down
into the bones of the birches
And
the spires of the churches . . .
The
oak and the axe, and the old smokestacks and the bale and the barrow . . .
We’ve
seen those mountain kneeling, felten and grey
We
thought our very heart would up and melt away . . .
And
the stirring of wind chimes . . .
Helps
me find my way back in
From
the place where I have been . . .
I’ve
seen your bravery and I will follow you there . . .
Let
us go, though we know it’s a hopeless endeavor . . .
Though
there is nothing would help me come to grips with a sky that is gaping and
yawning . . .
Squint
skyward and listen . . .
And
the meteoroid’s a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering
to thee
. . .
The final experiment takes place
next morning: campfire donuts. Alongside a pound of bacon that my guide
monitors. I’m the only one who thought
to bring tongs, so we pass them back and forth between us, flipping the bacon
strips, the donut holes, and the donuts themselves.
The donuts are canned buttermilk
biscuits. I use the lid from a bottle of
olive oil to cut out the centers. I fill
my cast iron skillet with about half an inch of vegetable oil and fry them
up. They cook fast; some are a little
overdone, but taste great regardless.
Once cooked, I let them rest and cool on paper towels for a little bit,
then toss them in a paper bag with the cinnamon sugar I mentioned earlier.
The
verdict: one million points! I want to make these things for breakfast
every Sunday morning now. I wonder what
other flavors I could make on my next adventure. . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment