I’ve paid countless visits to the cabin, each time leaving with one of a kind tales (some tall) of fiercely obstinate fish forced into an angler’s submission, tracks of mystery creatures spotted, and majestic trails discovered and explored. My childhood memories are chalk full of things few of my friends were ever able to experience. I’ve played an arms-in-a-bucket game of chicken with my dad and a biting-mad water snake. I’ve hunted basking rattlers at twilight along winding warm roads with him too. I’ve ridden four-wheeler’s to the tip top of the world I’m pretty sure, and the view from up there was nothing short of spectacular. The enormity of my surroundings, coupled with the perspective of my newly assigned place in its ranks, was more humbling to my human senses than anything else. I’ve been so privileged.
So now, with years of memories collected there, I go back to make more with my boys. I do feel a need to add a disclaimer here before I give you a run-down of our trip: I’m raising boys, not girls, and as such, I willfully participate in all endeavors partial to boy children, no matter how gruesome or icky. Now, where do I begin…
Nathan, the boys and I arrived at the cabin Saturday evening. Car confinement made the boys eager to venture the sprawl of land surrounding the cabin. I chose to shake it off with a drink and nestled indoors instead. Getting situated and retrieving four-wheelers from the garage was about all we accomplished before the sleepies set in and we headed for bed. The next morning we’d tackle the wilderness and lose ourselves in its sublimity. Day one: Pancakes and Joe.
For this special occasion, I served Hunter a hot cup of requested joe, as if he needed anything else stunting his already snail-paced growth!
Nathan got his panties in a twist when I complimented his abilities in the kitchen and resigned my duties there as chef forever. Smacking him on the ass to signify my approval went over poorly as well. What gives Nathan?
Then we were off on quads exploring. First, we fished T-bone Lake. It’s a lake my Grandfather constructed and seeded with a thousand or so trout a few years before he passed away. It sits down a ways behind the original cabin. We stayed at my Dad’s place up the road from there. Since its inception, the land quickly adopted Grandpa’s lake and it flourished with new growth, indigenous to the terrain. It’s a beautiful marriage between man and Mother Nature, orchestrated by the only person I know who could pull it off this flawlessly. Thanks Grandpa.
We caught, and then released, several trout we’d lured with grasshoppers on our hooks. I was the bug netter, running in a frenzy to catch enough bait to keep up with demand. I fell and nearly broke my ass trying to catch a flying four-incher. It was lots of fun! Alas, our enjoyment flew out the window when Hunter announced he wished to eat the last trout he’d caught. Remember that disclaimer I mentioned earlier? Well, apply it here.
I kinda remember how to dress a trout, but kinda don’t. My befuddlement equaled bloody mind scarring memories formed for both boys, the kind they’ll likely suppress. On the upside, they’d make piss poor serial killers and that can’t be bad. I, on the other hand, should be feared! And consoled maybe, because that was hard on me too. Look at Ol’ Eats What He Catches…
We are strictly a catch and release family from now on. I will say, however, that there was much to be learned from lifting the curtain on the fish to fish-stick process. It’s a lesson not all people are taught. Afterwards, we plinked at bottles perched atop logs with pellet and air-soft guns, from our front porch. It helped to clear our minds and shed the ickiness that lingered, post fish dressing debacle. Hayden, it turns out, is a crack shot!
Later, when our wicks were burnt at both ends, the moon lit a fire under our asses and lunacy took hold! Observe the Loons…
The next day we collected our poles and nets and piled into the gator to fish the river. The boys waded into the shallow water and flipped over rocks in search of crawdads. Nate and I walked the shoreline, catching bait in bug nets, when we stumbled across a snake! The good kind too, free of rattles and tell-tale warning colors. I attempted to catch it in my bug collecting container. I was careful not to use my hands, as I feared it would bite me. Big mistake. I unintentionally clubbed the snake (repeatedly) in an attempt to head it off and herd it into the receptacle. Ultimately, I gave up after inflicting him great pain and likely confusing the poor thing. He flipped me off and slithered into tall grass. I wondered when I had become so cautious and fearful. Adulthood is a total jip! I kicked myself for acting so cowardly in front of the boys and vowed to do better if the opportunity presented itself again.
I did my best to make sure it would by paying visits to nearly every place I’d caught snakes as a kid; Turtle Lake, the crick by dad’s smaller cabin, roadside and near dead logs. I even foolishly walked through tall grass (and nearly peed my pants anticipating a rattlesnake’s sneak attack). This went on for the next few days until finally Hunter spotted a dandy blue racer and the chase was on! All four of us surrounded the bush it had ducked into and I was elected to go in after it. I searched the base of every skinny stick trunk in the whole bush to no avail… and then I looked up. The snake had weaved itself high into the tip top of the bush. Snakes can apparently climb! I snatched him by the tail and he struck my hand repeatedly in protest. His little fangs only broke the skin once, not so scary after all.
The trip seemed complete. We spent our last day without agenda, no itinerary, just an infatuation with Mother Nature and a desire to take in all we could before returning home. We initiated the leaving sequence, wherein we all concoct schemes that enable us to live there forever. We pick our career paths, ones that allow for remote operation. Hunter and Hayden spitball their ideas for mass-market scaled inventions, with which they’ll make their millions. I thumb through my mind for countless memorable locations to carve out and call our own. With a sense of dread we head back to the cabin to shelve our outdoor accoutrements, and collect our things. The rule is to leave this place better than you’ve found it, so we clean it real good. We take lots of porch breaks because we’re foot-draggers today. Saying goodbye is so hard.
We’ll go back soon, we have to.
