As I was sitting on a large rock by the shore of what was a picture-perfect clear-as-glass lake, it seemed as though I was living in a dream far from the reality of day-to-day life. Sure, there are lakes right at home that can be calm and peaceful. But this lake in particular is located at the end of the world after a long and arduous trek of several thousand miles from central Pennsylvania.
I had loved this place ever since my first trip, and my wife, too, had fallen in love with it. Quiet and calm, except when it’s not. Then it can be rip-roaring, windy, wet, uncomfortable, and down-right treacherous. On this night it was calm. And that was welcome after a day of boat travel, fighting waves, hunting monster lake trout, and more boat travel back to camp.
We were done. Our tummies were full of steak and potatoes, and we were trying to relax before nodding off. I was sure it was time to hit the hay, whatever time that was, as nights don’t bring darkness this far north. Likely, it was approaching midnight. We needed to be up at 6 or so and prepared for another day on the water in search of monster lake trout.
Yet, the night was beautiful, the lake was calm, and our world was at peace. I seemed to be hypnotized, and I wanted to hang on to every image, smell and bit of calm this place could muster. I could have postponed sleep for a bit longer, but my wife just needed to sleep.
Here this far north, the sun doesn’t go down at the high point of summer. At most it becomes dusk-like for an hour or so as the sun dips toward the horizon, then the sun rises up into the sky again.
Sometimes, if I’m patient enough, a wolf will meander nearby without thinking twice about strange shadows called humans. These magnificent animals are larger here and colored in various shades of gray, black and brown, and occasionally a majestic Arctic white. By nature they are passively curious, but would rather meander away than be too neighborly.
Personally I don’t trust that wolves are docile, although I have never had a run in with one that wasn’t. But, all the same, wolves are one reason I prefer to avoid roaming around alone at night. Two more reasons are moose and bear.
Let me tell you about moose. As is her habit, my wife insists on taking a stroll around camp before she goes to sleep. Understand that when my wife strolls, it’s more of a power walk, and because my walking slows her down, she goes it alone.
On this particular night, my wife meets up face-to-snout, so to speak, with a huge cow moose and her calf.
Put this into perspective. My wife weighs 92 pounds soaking wet and stands 4-foot, 11-inches on her tippy toes when stretching. A cow moose weighs 1,200 to 1,500 pounds and stands 7 ½ feet tall at the shoulder with its neck and head well above that yet.
Moose are especially active at dusk and dawn. They swim quite well and can run 35 miles per hour. That means you can’t out-swim or outrun them.
Moose are usually low-key unless being harassed, it’s mating season or they’re protecting their young. Then, Katy, bar the door.
Get this picture: my petite wife and a towering cow moose. Then my wife glances to her other side, and there’s a calf. She is now standing directly between them. The mama moose has her hair standing up on her rump and her ears laid back. This is not good.
As my wife tells it, she didn’t know what to do. She considered running with the hope that the cow moose would not chase her very far. But then her determination kicked in and she decided that this moose or any other moose wasn’t going to deter her from her exercise walking goal. So my wife continues to walk the same direction she had been proceeding, past the cow moose and her calf. And the moose? She relaxed, gathered her calf, and trotted off into the tundra.
These things do not always end so well.
An example of this is the caretaker at another camp who lived at that camp year-round by himself with his dog. Some winters ago, he headed out to check the thickness of the ice on the lake. He made a mistake and didn’t take his rifle with him. He was not far from camp when he was attacked by a large black bear. The bear tore deep gashes into his arm, back, neck and head. In the midst of the attack, the caretaker’s dog came out of the bush and threw itself on the bear’s back. It bit the bear repeatedly until the bear was so distracted that it got off of the caretaker long enough for the caretaker to stumble his way back to the camp for his rifle.
The caretaker shot once at the bear who took off into the bush. The caretaker found his dog that was itself bitten and clawed with wide gashes of flesh.
More Bill:Anglers, it is not the fish we catch that defines us
The caretaker dressed his own wounds and those of his dog, called for airlift to take him and his dog to a nursing station for treatment. Several days later he and his dog were back in camp.
Now the night was quiet. We closed our eyes for a few hours of sleep. Still I could hear loons in the distance. It was clear that regardless of our intrusion into this magical place that life was continuing to go on all around us.
Our concerns mean nothing this far north, away from our daily lives. As dangerous as nature can be, it also offers solace, rest and healing from the weight and strictures that we carry with us. We drifted off.
Bill Gindlesperger is a central Pennsylvanian, Dickinson College graduate, Pennsylvania System Of Higher Education (PASSHE) Governor, Shippensburg University Trustee, and Chairman of eLynxx Solutions. The firm provides enterprise-level cloud-software for communicating, specifying, approving, procuring, producing, reporting and activities necessary to obtaining direct mail, packaging, promo, marketing and all other printing. He is a board member, campaign advisor, successful entrepreneur, published author and commentator. He can be reached at[email protected].
