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The Wannaskan Almanac for Thor’s Day, July 12, 2018 By Wannaskawriter


My wife and I just returned from a road trip to Wisconsin. Don’t hold that against me. We were just visiting family.

I have to admit that Wisconsin, at least the part we were in, is relatively beautiful. That being said, there are also a good many more people across the landscape there even if you can’t see them, versus our less inhabited part of NW Minnesota, a fact overlooked by those people who tend to compare the two states and prefer Wisconsin (for reasons that defy rational explanation), but I get it, sort of.

These are people who can’t live without that constant interplay of other people on a daily basis, which, sort of, underlines the difference between me and all my other wives, who tended to like those exact same things. It’s not like I’m a hermit, been there, done that. For instance, “The Last Alaskans” shows that have been on TV as of late, are but versions of me in a previous life.

One guy lamented the loss of his ability to fly a plane into the bush because he had to accept he had gotten too old and made mistakes--while flying--when he shouldn’t have. It’s exactly why I didn’t learn to fly at all, except as a passenger, because knowing myself as I do, if I’d been a pilot, I would’ve clipped the wrong tree once too often, saw the face of a mountain just a little too late, been a little too low to the ground to pull up in time more than once.

Being a bush pilot would’ve been my demise, for sure. I was a lot safer on the ground. So far, I’ve survived my occasional errors, (Knock on wood.) and lived to tell the tale. (Don’t get me started.) I just know I wouldn’t have been so lucky in the air.

Just tonight, the wife and I were talking about her boys liking to hunt deer up here, and what they might or might not do, after I die. 


She thought they might just hunt nearer where they live: Saint Cloud, Albertville, and NW Wisconsin instead of driving all the way to the middle of nowhere in Roseau County. And I get that. It’s a long way up here. It’s a road trip of between seven and five hours for any one of them, but it brings to mind, a story my cousin Gene, told me just a couple weeks ago, about when he decided to stop hunting in the beautiful wooded country of Aurora, Minnesota, on the Iron Range.

He said he used to travel a good distance away from Aurora, and that he’d hike into his deer range, on foot, a mile or so off the road, and that he’d scout out a particular area and find where the deer were moving. He said he put a deer stand up in a tree. That he used ropes and had made himself an excellent hidey spot that he could sit in comfortably all day long, high among the boughs.

So come opening morning, he had left the house ‘way before dawn when it was still dark, and he had walked into the bush there and climbed into his tree stand and had settled down where he knew he ought to be--and as daylight came on, he could begin to make out spots of florescent orange all around him, those of other hunters sitting in their deer stands.

He climbed down, totally depressed, and walked back to his truck. He never hunted near Aurora again. He came home to Wannaska to hunt.

I think the boys will run into similar circumstances as the cities of  Saint Cloud, Albertville, and those in NW Wisconsin expand. They work and live there now, but so do thousands of other people, other hunters, other campers, and tourists, and very soon the competition for land usage will be intense.

I think, for as long as they enjoy hunting together, or alone, one of them will hunt here. It’s all about being on the land, doing what they’ve done all their lives. It’s not about bagging the biggest buck, but moreso about making memories that they can savor long into their old age. It’s about ‘writing forever stories’ that are repeated.

I hate, even now, the sounds of traffic on the county road that runs past our place a half mile away. During deer season, especially opening weekend, it sounds like we’re hunting in a city park. It’s so annoying! But most of the time, it’s quiet, with only the wind through the trees--and an occasional ‘shot’ in the distance. 


Hunting ‘way up here, in the middle of nowhere, where there aren’t a lot of people, is about telling me or gramma today, that they ate the last vension tenderloin for breakfast they had yesterday morning, and how good it tasted in Saint Cloud, Albertville, or NW Wisconsin.

It’s worth the drive. Any time of year.
You want socialization? Go camping. Go to a resort.
You wanna get away from it all?
Drive north to the woods.
Don’t fly.
 

Comments

  1. Geesus man! Where's yur pictures? Every mother's sons and daughters of them udder writers display wunnerful pictures to illustrate dere work. Ye can't rest on yur laurels, as they say, if youse wanna stand head and shoulders wit' 'em. Next week, is Roseau County Fair week. Knock 'em outa da park!

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  2. Who da heck is the 14 July Comment from? It appears to be you to you. Dunnot worry yer prety li'l noggin 'bout them pics. Yer stories and writin' 'ere good enuf w'out 'em. I'll be a makin' 'nother entry real soon. JP Savage

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  3. Jeepers! I know what ya mean about cheesehead country, and "not holding it against you." For heavens sake, I was born smacke in the middle of that boring state and was more or less forced to live there until I was 29 years old. Imagine dat!

    As far as "more people," you must have heard the one about the question: What are the odds of finding a good person in Wisconsin? Answer: The odds are good but the goods are odd" or somethin' liken to that. Originally that one was about the odds of finding a prospective husband in nothern Minnesota.

    Regarding your comments on flying, that really comes home to me. As you know, I started flying when I was 11 and my feet could reach the rudders, plus being propped up on a stuffed pillow. My bird of a father taught me to fly "by the seat of my pants," relying on how the plane felt and sounded, rather than on its instruments. He had a small aviation business, as you may recall, and I remember more than one of his pilots who crashed with their eyes glued to those instruments -- we know because we saw it on "check rides." On another view, your description of the dangers of flying when one doesn't have the knack, are awesome -- enough to make me eternally grateful that you never took up aviation as a career or hobby.

    Then there's the section on locations for deer hunting. You say, " It’s not about bagging the biggest buck, but moreso about making memories that they can savor long into their old age. It’s about ‘writing forever stories’ that are repeated." As a vegetarian and animal rights advocate (don't get ME started), I have to say it might be kinder and possibly even more fun to find activities that don't involve killing wild animals. Yes, I know there a lot of those bambis around, but then, there's a lot more humans around than is optimal. Stories are great, but when they involve killing, and esp. wounding, a fellow sentient being, well, I just don't get that. I find the rationale of bear hunters far more outrageous!. If one must kill things, stay with mosquitoes.

    Now that I've had my rant, I'll definitely agree with you about the graceful silence we are mostly blessed with where we both live. At this very moment, the only sounds are the winds through the pines, and a couple of hummingbirds duking it out at the feeder. I have three pieces of travel coming up -- two to Wisconsin, donyuknow -- and one to Morris MN. I could do without all three, but friends and relatives call!

    That's enough for now. Keep writing and entertaining your fans.
    JP Savage

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