Post by Jimi on Sept 13, 2007 17:55:25 GMT -5
I wrote this for another website. The photo is actually used as a divider. I am trying to describe, tongue-in-cheek, portaging with a canoe and food pack in the boundary waters for folks who have never been to the park:
The Food Pack
Take what you've got the brawn to haul.
You are the mighty beast of burden for your crew, laddie. The food pack is securely bound upon your back so nary a bear or pine marten however fierce or tenacious could, under any circumstances, separate you from ... the bacon!
Tucked beneath your canoe the portage beckons. A rock floor and bark walls fading to an emerald twilight. The snapping of branches in the shadowed woods sets your heart a-pounding. Knees slowly become drunken boxers throwing haymakers at your chin.
Squinting through sweat stung orbs you peel off glances for hungry red eyes. Air chuffs in and out of your gaping mouth. A conga line of flies form for an impromptu jamboree with your molars. Spitting and foaming you decorate your voyageur beard with the detritus of partygoers who overstayed.
In its yoke you swing the canoe in amazing gymnastic arcs worthy of a Cirque du Soleil performer. Despite their best efforts to scatter you indiscriminately bequeath hapless trees and rocks with aluminum slivers. Whiskeyjacks look on in envy as you navigate near vertical drops. Who knew canoes had parachute qualities? You burst from the woods a grotesque silver-plated crab scuttling for the safety of water.
In the cool depths lie Pike. An untrained eye would mistake them for suspended logs. I believe they consider taking down small campers foolish enough to try treading their waters. Why the mere flick of a tail from such beasts sends two foot waves crashing to shore.
Just exaggerating of course, you don't have to worry about bears and pine martens. But those Pike...
The Food Pack
Take what you've got the brawn to haul.
You are the mighty beast of burden for your crew, laddie. The food pack is securely bound upon your back so nary a bear or pine marten however fierce or tenacious could, under any circumstances, separate you from ... the bacon!
Tucked beneath your canoe the portage beckons. A rock floor and bark walls fading to an emerald twilight. The snapping of branches in the shadowed woods sets your heart a-pounding. Knees slowly become drunken boxers throwing haymakers at your chin.
Squinting through sweat stung orbs you peel off glances for hungry red eyes. Air chuffs in and out of your gaping mouth. A conga line of flies form for an impromptu jamboree with your molars. Spitting and foaming you decorate your voyageur beard with the detritus of partygoers who overstayed.
In its yoke you swing the canoe in amazing gymnastic arcs worthy of a Cirque du Soleil performer. Despite their best efforts to scatter you indiscriminately bequeath hapless trees and rocks with aluminum slivers. Whiskeyjacks look on in envy as you navigate near vertical drops. Who knew canoes had parachute qualities? You burst from the woods a grotesque silver-plated crab scuttling for the safety of water.
In the cool depths lie Pike. An untrained eye would mistake them for suspended logs. I believe they consider taking down small campers foolish enough to try treading their waters. Why the mere flick of a tail from such beasts sends two foot waves crashing to shore.
Just exaggerating of course, you don't have to worry about bears and pine martens. But those Pike...
