By Elliot Tan
At a frozen campsite far away, lived eight men. These eight men were huddled around a fire, deep in the woods. They had donned a look of hard, emotionless stone, a cowl needed if one was to survive the conditions these men faced. The wear, the pain, the leathering effect that the woods impose on whoever dares to brave it’s conditions, or traverse the gorges of snow and ice, was written deep in the lines of wind burned faces. The dark shadows, playing across their eyes, their red numb noses. The wind froze the saliva as it made its way down whiskery chins.
The wind blew the snow across the frozen lakes, disguising in a matter of hours, what trail there was. Every morning they struggled down the vague path to fill the pots for coffee, oatmeal, and something which resembled boiled bird seed, a staple for the wilderness.
They would sit around the fire, talking, coughing, but mostly digesting. Some would hop off to the growler, their version of an outhouse, while others slowly dragged themselves to the daily chores demanded of them. Chores which kept them alive. Cutting wood, keeping water hot for drink and food. Some hadn’t even woke from their restless sleep. When they did, they would be greeted by a dusting of frost from the tent flap. Frost created by breath, frozen as it was expelled.
February 27th, 1992.
“I awoke this morning groggy and a bit disoriented. Fumbling for my watch, I realized that it was about 4:30 am. Usually anyone who attempted to wake me this early regretted the decision later. But today I am filled with vigor and excitement to no end. I am about to embark on a great journey, to explore, to see for myself the wonders of nature.
However, the morning got off to a rather shaky start. Having thought I was organized well enough the night before was a dreadful mistake. Much to my dismay, it took me twice as long as the others to organize my gear and stow it on da Barge, a large van which is as much a part of Mini as Doug.
Well after the long drive down the Sawbill Trail we finally arrive at the outlet to the Boundary Waters. Doug has stopped the van while others eagerly begin unpacking the gear. After all is packed on sleds, we begin to set out, and I have an uncontrollable zeal for the hike.
It’s about 12:30 or so. We have taken a break for awhile to eat lunch and rest up after our arduous journey. Lunch consists of; a slice of half frozen salami, a hunk of cheese, a granola type square called a flapjack, some chocolate and the water in my canteen. I’m so exhausted by the journey thus far that the food seems hardly edible.
We’ve crossed 3 lakes and two portages. I am the last to come into the group from off the trail. I’m feeling a bit out of place, but I’m sure my attitude will improve once I get my wind and start moving again.
500 some rods, I’m almost done. Just another quarter mile they said, I should be at the camp soon. I tried XC skiing it, but to no avail, I just ended up ruining my skiis. In an hour or so it will be dark. I must have gone a quarter mile by now. I just realized that I haven’t seen anyone for what must be two hours. It’s starting to snow. I had better get moving before I get caught up in something I can’t handle.
6:30 pm. Oh God, it’s so dark. I can barely see what I’m writing. I can’t even tell if my pencil is on the paper anymore. My clothes are dreadfully wet. I didn’t even change out of my ski boots. My body is shivering, but I no longer can feel it. It’s so dark, so damned dark, so cold, I can’t see through the snow. If I wait too much longer I’ll die. Will they ever find me? Oh God, I don’t want to die alone, I’m so alone, please don’t let me die.”
His scream, his terror carried, and startled every creature in the woods. The boy lay in anguish shivering. He stood. He made his turgid way up the trail, not even noticing, or ignoring, the gear that fell off his supply sled. Every so often his desperate howl was heard. To him his cries seemed to only be heard by the forest, but to his friends, they were all too horrifyingly audible, as they came to rescue him from his imagination.
February 28th, 1992.
“The sun is out this morning. Other than a little cold, I’m feelin’ pretty good, good being relative. I guess I went a little scooters last night. Brian and Veto came running and brought me back down to Earth. Around the same time Doug came barreling down the trail. With their help, I clawed my way back to the camp.
We are to go on to our new campsite today. Doug promises it’s only another quarter mile to our destination. I hope he is right, I don’t think I can handle another night like last. I feel so useless, helpless, like a child. I can’t feel this way, I will not allow myself to feel this way. I am fully capable to care for myself, I’ll be damned if I let a few feet of snow stand in my way.
11:30 A.M. Well the new campsite was only a mile from the old one. It’s still bright, and I feel strong as an ox.”
The group trudged on, the wind licked at their ears. Sun teased them with fleeting moments of warmth. Then over the last mound of frozen earth, lake, portage, camp, home.
Febuary 28th, late afternoon.
“Steve and I immediately chose a spot for our quinzhee, a makeshift igloo. Then realizing that our gear was still strapped to the sled, we began the duty of unpacking. Josh and Steve set out to find the growler, while the rest of us began the task of setting up camp.
I must say that I am quite impressed with Steves’ progress on the quinzhee. Every spare moment he is shoveling. By the end of the day, the snow pile will be monolithic.
We sat down to dinner, which Terry and Youngun expertly prepared. My body is less than receptive tonight. I can’t tell why, but my appetite eluded me. Normally a feast like this one would impress my tastebuds so, but the gentle aroma of tomatoes and spices disgusts me tonight. I tried to bring the spoon to my mouth, yet I scarcely had any success.”
The fire crackled in the night, and lit their faces with a red glow. One by one they drifted off to sleeping bags and tents. They waited for sleep, the only refuge from the cold, other than work. Finally it came, the gentle hand of unconsciousness, and guided them into a restful world of dreams, sleep and warmth.”
February 29th.
“Today we mostly will stay in camp, excluding those times when people go out for wood. I’m feeling relatively good. Breakfast, whatever it is, looks scrumptious. The woods are vibrant with life, I am full of life. I have come to terms with my place here in the woods. This is a valuable awakening, to come to terms with one’s surroundings, one’s place in life.
We spend most of our time working on quinzhees and keeping the camp running. I believe this is what is called, in-camp day. Steve has spent much effort on the quinzhee. Every now and then I go down and dig him out. I am really quite impressed with his ambition in this task. I believe that either tonight or tomorrow we will be sleeping quite comfortably in our quinzhee. Note: bring more pants next time. Also, taller boots, make that 2 pair.
Mission accomplished! The quinzhee is completed. Steve and I will be snoozing at a comfortable 30 degrees.
We take turns each night cooking, and unfortunately, cleaning. Tomorrow, Steve and I will have our turn at the stove. Fatty foods. We need fatty foods. The more you eat the warmer you stay at night. It is cold, and time for sleep.”
March lst.
“Morning, cold, hungry, out of the way! Lemme at that growler! Twenty minutes later, and half a roll of TP, I come down for breakfast, coffee and talk. I realize that today is the dreaded snowshoe hike, then later XC skiing. The skiing I imagine will be easier for me, but the snowshoeing, oh boy.
Ugh! I fell through the slush on the bleedin’ lake! I’m soaked up to my thighs. Doug sent me back to camp to get dry, if I didn’t I’d probably end up frozen within a half hour. So I changed, cut some wood, cleaned up and tried to organize the camp as best I could. I’m feeling so useless, every time I try, I screw myself, or the group, up. I guess I’ll try to make up the difference when we ski tonight.”
March 2nd.
“It’s bright and early, we’re heading out for a whole day orienteering hike. I believe I am ready for this one. I’ve got my snowshoes strapped on tight, a light pack, and enough determination to move the mountains. 10:00 maybe 11:00.
I’m thoroughly astounded! I’ve kept up with the group up to this point. With any luck I’ll be able to muster enough energy to hang on their coat tails at least. 12:ish.
We found the lake we set out for, unbelievable! I have accomplished something. I didn’t think I could do it. What a glorious feeling. I am still with them! We mastered this task even after Matt lost Doug’s prize compass. As an alternative we used my basic REI compass, taking just general readings.
Late afternoon, sometime. We reached the top of Kelso Mt. Here we are stopping for lunch at an old firewatch tower. I don’t believe I have ever pushed myself this hard for this long. I think I am about to pass out, twice. It’s all downhill from here.”
From the trail one could see the cliffs, the ridges glazed with translucent ice. At sundown the frozen peaks have a hauntingly incandescent quality to them, so much so that it entrances the soul. The beauty of the wilderness, astounding, healing, loving.
Tumbling out of the wilderness, they arrived at their frosted home. They ate, talked, laughed. The laughter echoed throughout the natural wonderland.
Morning came, early as usual. The campers got up and immediately began to pack up all the gear. The group became a seething cauldron of excitement, anticipating their return home.
March 3, 1992.
“As soon as the annual hat hair contest was decided, we begin our long push home. At the very least I know how far we have to go before we come upon da Barge. I’m making it a point to go all out. I must not lag behind. Having pushed myself to the extremes yesterday, I am confident that I can do it again.
Well what do you know, a coupla’ lakes an still goin’ strong. I hope it lasts.
12:ish. The portage of death, 500 rods, is over. We rest. I want to quit so badly, but Matt won’t let me, I thank him for that. We don’t stop for long though; it is imperative that we push until we arrive at the Sawbill Trail.
We have arrived! And not too terribly long after the rest of the group. I have never been so ecstatic in my life. The feelings, the emotions, raged from my body without hesitation, to such a point that I am forced to collapse in front of da Barge.
I begin to unstrap my gear and change into some dry clothes. The gear is loaded onto da Barge without hesitation. Once the luggage is on board we mount up, and drive for the cities. Of course we make our stop at the Two Harbors Pizza Hut, gorge ourselves, and spend the remainder of the trip sleeping a deep resounding sleep.”
AFTERWORD
In retrospect, I find that the journey which I described for you here, was of a caliber which I was not prepared to deal with. It caught me quite off guard for the first couple of days. That was a bit disturbing to me, because all my life I have strived for control and personal freedom, and to have that control violently ripped from me, well to say the least, it shocked me. What I didn’t realize though, was that, in the wild, that control, that freedom is magnified so, that you have no boundaries whatsoever. The woods allows your spirit to soar, untethered by the constraints of societal life.
In our culture we don’t have any clearly defined, “rite of passage.” Yet for thousands of years, before the advent of technology, that same rite of passage was a cherished time in a person’s life. For years I have been trying to fill that void in my psyche, but to no avail. But now, now I have found it. In the woods buried under three feet of snow. To survive. That’s it, simply to challenge yourself like never before and survive. This rite is different for each individual. This trip was the most difficult thing I have ever undertaken, while for others it was a walk in the part.
Each person must be free to find their own rite of passage, their own way. Mine was a challenge, a challenge to my mind, my soul, and my body. I cannot tell if this is yours, only you can. And you won’t know unless you try.
I would like to thank the following people who helped shoulder my burden and keep me going when I needed the support most. Thank you. Your kindness will remain in my memory for the rest of my days.
Doug Berg
Josh Rockstad
Steve Popplewell
Matt Richards
Brandon Marcaccini
Brian Nelson
Terry Vincent
With this end, a new beginning.