Julia Barrett's World

I’m an idiot.

My excuse?  I wasn’t thinking clearly.

The lesson?  Never be polite when death is on the line.

“You gotta get angry!  You gotta get mean!” (Dodgeball, Patches O’Houlihan – Rip Torn)

Day three.  Sleep comes in fits and starts.  I toss and turn, my head throbbing, knowing that at any minute, this migraine could become a whopper.

Dawn.  No wind.  No food.  Hubby manages to snag two portions of instant oatmeal for himself before Mrs. Bob manages to pack everything away and padlock the food bag.

“I have a migraine,” I announce, emerging from the tent.  “I’m staying here today.  You all do what you want.”

Mr. Bob, “Oh no…we’re going paddling today.”

Me, “No, I’m not.”

Mr. Bob, “Yes, it will be a beautiful paddle and we can stop for lunch on one of these islands.”

“What?  Stop for an almond?”  Hubby kicks me.  “No.  If I go out on the water, my headache will get worse.  I’ll stay here.  I’ll be fine.  If Hubby wants to stay with me, he and I can paddle around this area.  Or he can go with you.  I don’t care.  I’m staying here.”

Thus begins the discussion/argument of the decade.  Hubby really isn’t paying attention.  He’s too weak and distracted by our predicament.  Finally, stupid is as stupid does.  I agree to a one hour paddle.  One Hour.  Mr. Bob gets all excited.  “I know the perfect one hour paddle,” he says.

Two hours into the paddle, hubby realizes that he has made a terrible mistake.  He wasn’t paying attention when I needed him to pay attention.  And he understands, deep in his soul, that Mr. and Mrs. Bob are fucking insane.  This is a shock, as he has known these people for a very, very long time.  Mr. Bob was his mentor and father-figure during his college years.  Hubby and I prepare to turn around and paddle back to camp, but we realize we’ve reached the half-way point so there is no going back.  We hear Mr. Bob call out, because you know he and Mrs. Bob and Butter are way the fuck ahead of us – “Let’s go over to that beach!”  What he doesn’t say is – that beach clear across that stretch of open water into the wind way the fuck over there.

Hubby, “Ignore him.  Keep paddling.”

Determined now, we keep paddling around the tip of Sioux Pine Island, directly into a stiff head wind, leaving them behind.  We point Old Iron Sides back to camp.  After some unknown period of time, Mr. and Mrs. Bob realize we’ve left them.  I see them struggling to paddle in the wind and the waves along the far shore.

“Keep to the main channel,” I say, paddling my ass off.  “Head directly into the wind.”

“Right,” says hubby, working that great body of his – a body that is getting way too skinny on this trip.

“You may have thought I wasn’t paying attention when you taught me how to sail, but I heard every single word you said.  We have to treat this canoe like a sailboat.  We’re going to have to pass our destination and then tack or we won’t make it around that headland.”  I point.

Hubby, “I don’t know a single other woman who could do this on no food, no sleep and with a migraine headache.  I love you.”

Ah, at last he sees the real me! “I love you too.  Thank you for understanding this situation.  I know you won’t let me die in this god-forsaken wilderness.”  

Hubby, “I swear I won’t let you die here.  You have a better angle on the headland.  Tell me when to turn.”

“Right.”

We look to port, at Mr. and Mrs. struggling in the surf line.  Ha!  Ha!  They approach the headland and are washed into a blind bay, no outlet except to fight their way through the breaking surf and currents crashing around the headland.  We sail right past.  I wait until the perfect moment…”Fifty yards…forty yards…thirty yards…ten…turn it!”

We surf the waves down the narrow channel and glide up on the beach right in front of our tents.  Fist bump!  In your face!  In your face!  In your face!  In your face!

Hubby and I pull the canoe up the beach and secure it.  I crawl into the tent with a bottle of water and smash my throbbing head against the sleeping pad, hoping against hope that pressure will dull the pain.  I fall asleep for an hour or two and then I wake and stare at the shadows on the tent wall.  I don’t waste my time fantasizing about all the many ways I could kill Mr. and Mrs. Bob.  They no longer exist to me.  I care only that my husband and I survive.

I spend several hours listening to the birds and making mental lists of the food and beverages I would have packed for a trip like this.  Man, we would have eaten like kings and queens.  We would have fished and gone swimming, paddled around just for fun…because what the hell else is there to do on a canoe trip besides fish and cook and drink chilled wine and ice cold beer?  Like I said, weight isn’t an issue – you could bring two coolers, drinks, fresh fruits and veggies, meats…As some of you have mentioned, Mr. and Mrs. Bob should run a starvation boot camp or consult for Survivor or maybe go back in time and become Concentration Camp guards.

As the sun gets low in the sky, I emerge from the tent and walk barefoot down to the water.  I sit on a rock to watch the sunset.  I know the rest of them are eating their meager rations and I hear hubby say he’s eating my portion and I smile.  I also hear him say, “We’re out of here at 6 a.m. before the wind kicks up.”

Mr. Bob, “But there are other places I want to show you.  You don’t have to worry, we’ll have you back to the pick up point by 3 p.m.”

Hubby, taking charge now, “No.  We are out of here at 6 a.m. and we head straight back.  We cannot handle another day of paddling into the wind like we’ve been doing, my wife has a migraine and she hasn’t eaten in three days.  You want to paddle off somewhere, be my guest.  My wife can get us back.”  (Yeah, I can.  I spotted my landmarks while we were out paddling around Sioux Pine Island.)

Mr. Bob pouts, but my husband has spoken.  Mrs. Bob comes and sits near me.  I ignore her.  My eyes never leave the western sky.  She tells me about the time Mr. Bob took her, her sister and her niece on a week-long back-packing trip in the Bob Marshal Wilderness in Montana.  I hear how they almost died many times over – because only Mr. Bob had done any backpacking before.  Because the terrain is steep and treacherous.  Because he didn’t really know the way.  Because they ran out of food…big surprise there.  Mr. Bob would have died of hypothermia, but the women saved his life.  She sees nothing wrong with the scenario she’s just described. I don’t reply, I merely listen.  And the life-lesson of   her words is, what?  That I should buck up?  That I’m a soft city-slicker?  Uh…I’m not.  Is this a parable?  Is she telling me a wisdom story designed to lead me to some deep and profound insight?  Some personal revelation that will put me in touch with Carl Jung’s cosmic consciousness?  She goes on to say that she was estranged from her daughter for several years because her daughter warned her that Mr. Bob would get her killed.  Mrs. Bob took umbrage at her concerns.

I remember that when hubby and Mr. Bob organized a backpacking trip into that same wilderness in 2006, hubby learned that Mr. Bob, who was in charge of food, planned to pack in only enough food for each person – eight people – to eat 1800 calories per person per day.  Hubby freaked.  He estimated that they would be burning at least 5000 calories a day.  He and I took over the food planning and upped the caloric intake to 3800 calories per person per day.  Hubby thought this was an aberration, that Mr. Bob was simply too concerned about the weight of the packs and didn’t understand the caloric output a trip like this would require.

Ah, I think, a pattern emerges, and it ain’t pretty, and I ain’t the one who needs to learn the karmic lesson.  This man is very very sick and so is his wife.  What is it that Einstein said?  Insanity:  Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

As Mrs. Bob stops speaking, Mr. Bob climbs down the bank and sits on a rock.  He crosses his legs and makes himself comfortable, as if settling in for the evening, and he says, “Let me tell you about myself…”

I rise and walk past him without a word, retreating to the safety of our tent, where I remain until 5 a.m. the following morning.

Tomorrow – Get me out of this stinkin’ fresh air!

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A lovely shot from our second campsite.

With proper planning, this would have been a great trip!

At 6 a.m. the wind dies.  After a quick breakfast of nothing, because for me, eating strawberry instant oatmeal is worse than eating nothing, we pack up (I grab the food pack) and head out, paddling through an archipelago of islands to look for a site to set up base camp.

Of course the site Mr. and Mrs. Bob prefer is unavailable so, grumbling, they settle for a secondary site.  Hubby and I think the site is great.  It’s on a beautiful island, out of the wind, down a narrow channel that allows for swimming between two islands, and it’s a short paddle from a fabulous sunning rock.

Mrs. Bob’s words?  “Too developed.”  OMG!  The only signs of civilization are a metal grate for a stove and a hidden potty area – both set up by the park service.

I help hubby secure Old Iron Sides and then I scramble up the bank, almost giddy to be out of the wind, and I lay claim to the best campsite for us – up a little rise and away from the cooking area (in case of bears) and more important, away from Mr. and Mrs. Bob.  Mrs. Bob tries hard to squeeze their tent next to ours, but there isn’t enough room!  Genius!  I am a genius!  I’ll tell you, the smallest things make me happy in these situations!

Of course, my elation is short-lived.  I remember….da da dum….lunch.  Mr. and Mrs. Bob have packed exactly six cups of gorp for four lunches for four people.  Six. Cups. Of. Gorp. Nothing. Else.  I hate gorp, well, let me qualify that, I hate their gorp.  I learned years ago that because of my severe migraines, I have to avoid salty foods.  I especially cannot eat any high sodium, processed foods with MSG.  I suffer from incapacitating migraines and they are brought on by heat, sun glinting on the water, tight hats, dark glasses, some red wines and salty foods.

Mr. and Mrs. Bob’s gorp consists of salted peanuts, raisins, M&Ms, a few salted Brazil nuts, a smattering of salted cashews, and a handful of salted almonds.  On top of no breakfast and the high sodium instant stuffing from the night before, no sleep on the cold hard ground, and paddling in the bright sun, we’re talking Pending Migraine Central here!  But still…

Hubby picks me out a dozen almonds, wiping the salt off on his tee shirt.  He’s so sweet! I’m all for hanging out and doing a bit of swimming, but Mr. Bob says – “No…if you want to swim, we have to go to Little Trout Lake.  The sand beaches there are great.”

Me, “I think these beaches are pretty great.”

Mr. Bob, “No, Little Trout has miles and miles of sand beaches.  We’re going to Little Trout.”  Or as Hubby and I refer to it after wards, ExtraTrout.

Since it’s not too far off, Hubby and I shrug.  Thus begins a great adventure!  It was the best day of the trip!

We shove off in Old Iron Sides, following Butter canoe, threading our way through this scenic archipelago, heading toward what Mr. Bob calls a creek leading into Extra Trout.  It’s not a creek.  It’s a placid beaver pond filled with lily pads, grasses, water plants, driftwood…the water is clear and I can see fish everywhere.  It’s basically a fish nursery.  Hubby and I are way behind Mr. and Mrs. and Butter, having a blast weaving our way through the water plants. Old Iron Sides is impossible to control, but at this point, who cares?  We twist and turn, pushing and pulling our way along, giggling like school children – of course calorie deprivation may have something to do with this…

The best part!  The second best highlight of the entire trip!  Hubby and I come around a corner.  Whaddya know?  A beaver dam!  Mr. and Mrs. are trying to lift Butter over the beaver dam because above all, Butter must not be scratched.  We watch and wait, holding our breaths, because we know exactly what’s going to happen.  Bwaaaaa-haaaaa-haaaaa!

Mr. Bob holds the back end of the canoe balanced on the beaver dam, pointing the front of the canoe straight out into the water.  It’s a teeter-totter.  He tells the Mrs. to get in the canoe and walk down to the front.  As we watch, it rocks up and down, back and forth – no stability whatsoever.  Mrs. Bob flips out and does a backwards swan dive…right into the beaver pond.  We double over, screaming with laughter.  Can you blame us?  We can’t help it and the fact is, Mr. Bob is so worried about his canoe, he doesn’t even notice our convulsions or his wife’s struggles.

Mrs. Bob rises up, shrieking from the shock of the cold water.  She’s soaked through three layers of clothing…soaked to the skin.  But do we go back to our campsite?  Oh hell no.  Like good little troopers, we press on.  Of course Hubby and I navigate the beaver dam without incident.  We both stand on the dam, lift the canoe over, bring it around so that it’s against the dam, then we both step right into it and paddle off.  Dry as toast.  Easy as pie.

We make our way out the other side of the beaver pond where we are greeted by…surprise!  Gale force headwinds!  Extra Trout looks exactly like Original Trout only smaller and colder.  Mr. and Mrs. Bob and Butter are a good three-quarters of a mile ahead of us.  We paddle halfheartedly for half a mile or so, and then I look back.  Hubby nods and without a word, we decide to blow this popsicle stand and head back to the campsite.  Even if we were inclined to shout to Mr. and Mrs., they’re too far ahead of us to hear anything.  Suddenly, Mr. and Mrs. and Butter turn and head our way like bats out of hell.  They pass us, yelling, “Mrs. Bob has hypothermia!”

Hubby, “Thank God!”

We head back into the beaver pond and linger, twisting and turning, spinning Old Iron Sides around, laughing our asses off.

When we get back to camp, we do the right thing and warm Mrs. Bob up with hot water (no hot chocolate…remember?).  We wrap her in a blanket, sit her in the sun in the door of her tent, and hang her clothes to dry.  You see, they packed so light that she didn’t bring extra clothes.  Now me?  I have plenty of warm clothes!  No sweat!

Hubby and I take our new best friend, Old Iron Sides, and paddle off to the sunning rock to skinny dip, bathe and shampoo our hair.  Oh, what a fun time we had!  I’m standing, naked, in water up to my waist while Hubby shampoos my hair and OMG here comes a fishing boat!  The guys smile and wave while I shriek and duck under the water.  No sooner do they pass by, just as I’m shampooing Hubby’s hair, water only up to my naked waist, two canoes paddle by – one two-man, one four-man.  They smile and wave and I duck under the water again.  Hey…at least I know now that if we need rescue, someone will probably come by.  All clean, Hubby and I swim to a nearby island, and on a tiny patch of grass, we make love.  Yeah…sweet, I know.  What else are you gonna do when the Mr. and Mrs. neglect to bring food, drink or fishing poles?  We who are about to die, salute you!  Oh, BTW…I took her towel…I took her towel…nah nah nah nah nah!

We return to camp in time for supper.  Kraft macaroni and cheese with two – count ‘em – two cans of tuna.  Again I make her use the tuna water.  But I know what’s coming.  I’ve had a total of about 600 calories in two days, mostly consisting of salt.  I feel a migraine creeping up on me.  Sure ‘nuf, it strikes at midnight.  I have migraine pills with me, but I must ration.  They have to last for the duration.

I lay in the tent, head pounding, listening to the beavers play on the shore – they really are funny, noisy creatures -  a moose walks up to our tent and snorts right by my head.  A bobcat, a mere shadow on the tent wall, passes through the campsite.  I contemplate our situation and I know what I have to do.  There isn’t enough food to sustain us all.  Hubby may have to paddle me out because I may be too sick to help myself.  He’s running on empty and he needs my portion.  If I eat any of the food Mr. and Mrs. Bob brought with us, my migraine will worsen, ensuring that Hubby will have to paddle me out.  We have no way to call for help and our water  shuttle back to the cabin isn’t due to meet us for two more days.

I make a decision.  I will fast, throwing my body into ketosis, i.e., fat-burning.  This will sustain me and allow me to function for two more days, even providing a little euphoria before I slip into a coma.  Hubby can eat my portion.  He might be able to paddle me out, but there is no way in hell I can single-handedly paddle him out.

You might think this is an odd thing to do.  After attempting to reason with Mr. and Mrs. Bob, I’ve come to realize that I am stuck here for the duration.  This is my solution.  I have enough fat reserves to survive for at least two days.  Hubby does not.  Mr. and Mrs. Bob are not going to go get help and I won’t risk Hubby’s life by sending him off on his own.  He has no idea where to go, and with his rotten sense of direction, he won’t know how to guide anyone back to me.

So, I will drink as much as I can to keep myself hydrated.  Hubby will double his calories and we will survive.

Tomorrow – The Stupids.

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Sorry guys, this is long…

That’s me, walking away from the camera, and not because I’m worried about how bad I look in photos.  I’m nursing my anger. It’s my anger that will keep me alive for the next four days.

Day One – Lost in the Boundary Waters with Mr. and Mrs. Bob OCD I Know These Waters Like The Back Of My Hand.

We are dropped off at 6 a.m. The drop off is thirty minutes by motor boat from the cabin.  We off-load the canoes and stow the gear.  As we pull away, the couple who shuttles us begins to laugh so hard they can barely keep their balance in the shallows.  I’m confused.  What’s so funny?  They wave gaily, calling out over and over again – “Good luck!  Have fun!  Bwaaaaahaaaaaaaa!” I’m missing the joke.  Is it on me?

We paddle a half-mile to the portage.  Hubby and I are already falling way behind Mr. and Mrs. Bob and their canoe which cuts through the water like butter, while ours wallows like a claw-foot bathtub.  We reach the portage and unload the canoes.  I don’t mind the portage.  It’s a about the distance of 2-3 city blocks up a narrow rocky trail and down the far side…into the wilderness.  Mrs. Bob and I carry the gear – making three trips each – while the men do the manly job of hoisting the canoes on their shoulders and portaging them.  Of course, nobody mentioned that the high tech canoe Mr. Bob carries weighs about fifty pounds while the Grumman that my hubby carries weighs closer to one hundred and twenty pounds.  I try to help, but my assistance just makes moving the canoe more awkward and dangerous.  Fortunately hubby is one strong macho dude and he gets that canoe safely up over the hill and down to the far side of the portage.

The gear re-stowed, we begin our journey.  For the first three miles or so, we’re in a protected channel and there is little wind, yet Mr. and Mrs. Bob are still a good half-mile ahead of us, slicing through that water like a goddamn butter knife, while we struggle to find the exact heading that will keep Old Iron Sides pointed forward.  The thing lists to starboard (right) in the tiniest wave or the smallest puff of wind.

We hit the land formation known as Windy Point.  I know all about Windy Point.  At Mr. Bob’s insistence, I’ve looked at the map at least two dozen times – mostly because he wants to show me how cool his map is – but I’ve also studied our intended route so I have a basic understanding of where we’re going in a geographic area that, quite frankly, looks pretty much the same in every direction.

***Segue:  I possess an internal compass.  I am very good at finding my way in new places provided that new place is not an underground parking garage, in which case my internal magnetic compass malfunctions.  In addition, I grew up in the forest and I learned to PAY ATTENTION.  I watch for landmarks and I remember how I got somewhere.  How you get there is every bit as important as getting there, maybe more so.

So, we hit Windy Point, where we are blown sideways by gale force winds and knocked around by white caps on waves cresting three to four feet.  Mr. and Mrs. must wait for us to catch up.  We’ve paddled about three or four miles thus far.  Without further ado, Mr. and Mrs. announce – “We’re heading for that far shore.”  And off they go, never missing a beat, heading across three miles of open water in their slick, high-tech, low-riding, light weight canoe that cuts through the water like butter.  Within seconds, they are out of earshot.  Hubby and I make a valiant effort to follow in their wake.  Old Iron Sides wallows like a pig in the trough of the waves, threatening to capsize with every gust of wind.  Whenever the wind catches her and turns us broadside to the waves, we are lost.  Most of our energy is expended merely keeping her head up into the wind.  She’s a sail, and an unwieldy one at that.  Mr. and Mrs. are now mere specks on the horizon, their heads appearing and disappearing in the waves like tiny green floppy hat-covered tennis balls.

At the point of a small island, our last land mass for say…two miles or so, we flail.  The wind blows us sideways, pushing us ever closer to the breakers on the rocks off to our right.  The waves threaten to swamp us and capsize the canoe.  Not only would we lose all our equipment and clothing, the waters are so rough and impassable, chances are we’d be separated and blown for several miles before making landfall.  If we don’t drown, who knows where we’ll end up in this fucking wilderness that contains bears and wolves and cougars.  I stick my paddle into the water and instead of moving backward, it’s shoved forward by underwater currents.  Hubby is trying his best to keep us steady.  I look to the right.  I look ahead across the expanse of open water.  I look to the right again.  Once we pass this island…if we pass this island…we are lost.  We are history.  We are dead meat.  Filled with, not panic, but rage, I turn around and shout downwind.

“Do you remember Deep Survival?”

Hubby, “Yeah.”

“This is Deep Survival.  We’re done.  We can’t make it.  If we try, we’ll die.  This is our last chance to save ourselves.”

Hubby, “I agree.  Let’s run with the wind and turn into the lee of this island.  We shelter there and decide what our next move is.”

All we have to do is let the wind take us, then we pull for all we’re worth into the wind shadow of the thickly wooded island.  We find a small beach in the very center of the lee side.

Hubby, “Remember the first rule?  Stay put and stay together.”

“Right,” I say.

We pull the canoe up the shore and sit side by side on a rock.  We take stock.  The food pack is in Mr. and Mrs. Bob’s canoe.  We have (hahahahaha) the matches, one sleeping bag, one sleeping pad, our own clothes, and two pints of water.

Me, “We can stay here one night if we have to.”

Hubby, “No.  We stay here two hours and if they don’t come looking for us, we head back.  Everything around here looks alike to me.  Can you get us out of here?”

Me, “Yes, I know where we came from.”  I point.  “Down that channel.”  I am dead certain.  “I have to pee.”

I climb up onto the island, pee, and see if I can get across to the other side.  No luck.  The forest is too thick.  I return to hubby’s rock.

Me, “Okay, I’m going to walk along the shore through the shallows and try to get to the windward side of the island.”

Hubby, “Bad idea.  We should stay together.”

Me, “I swear that if the footing gets bad or the water is too deep, I will turn back.  But I want to see if they’re coming back for us or if we should just make a run for it now.”

Hubby, “Okay, but be careful.”

Me, “No matter what happens, do not leave this rock.”

Hubby, “I won’t leave this rock.”

For the next 45 minutes, I pick my way through the shallows.  The rocks are slick, but the water never gets above mid-thigh.  Just as I reach the windward side, who should paddle towards me but Mr. and Mrs. Bob.  I yell and they wave.  As they approach, I tell them where hubby is and then head back.  Again, it takes me 45 minutes to pick my way back.  The group is reunited.  What does Mr. Bob say?  “You guys are lousy paddlers.”

Rage growing.  Trying hard not to beat Mr. Bob about the face with my lousy paddle.

Hubby, “No, we’re not.  This canoe is lousy in these conditions.”

Mr. Bob, “I’ve paddled that canoe for thirty years.  I know what it can do.”

Hubby, “I bet you haven’t paddled this canoe for thirty years.  We can’t make it across that open water.”

Mr. Bob, crestfallen, “but then we can’t get to the campsite I want to get to…waaaaaaa.”

Epiphany – Mr. Bob has an idea in his head.  If his idea does not match reality, he dismisses reality.  He cannot adjust his thought processes to changing conditions.  OMFG. Deep Survival – one of the cardinal sins.

Mr. Bob, “Okay then, we’ll paddle to that island over there.  There’s a nice campsite on that island.

We launch and head toward the nearest island.  Oops!  Somebody’s got that campsite and there is only group allowed per campsite.  I ask.  Believe me…I ask.  Bull shit, I think.  We regroup and discuss our options.

Mr. Bob, “We’ll have to head back to Windy Point.  We passed an empty campsite there.”  Mr. Bob points off in the wrong direction.

Me, “That’s not Windy Point.”  I point towards Windy Point.  “That’s Windy Point.”

Mr. Bob, scoffing, “That’s not Windy Point, it’s there.”  He points in the wrong direction.

Me, “No, it’s back there.”

Mr. Bob, “I know these waters like I know the back of my hand.  I’ve canoed in them all my life.  You’re wrong.”

Me, “I don’t think so.  That’s Windy Point.”

Mr. Bob, “You’re wrong.  It’s that way.”

Hubby, “You know, Mr. Bob, she’s usually right when it comes to directions and finding our way.  It would be very unlike her to get so turned around.”

Mr. Bob, “No!  It’s there!  We’re going there!”

So off we go…there…downwind.  There is no chance of retracing our path in this wind.  We round a headland and paddle with the wind down a long, isolated channel.  No sign of a campsite.  No sign of human existence, nothing.  We beach the canoes so Mr. Bob can take a GPS reading on his brand new GPS.

My question: If you know these waters like the back of your hand, why the hell do you need a new GPS?  Did you bring a damn compass?  No…that would make sense.

Mr. Bob stares at his GPS for 30 minutes.  “This thing is messed up,” he announces.  Of course it couldn’t possibly be operator error.  Hmmmm?

Mr. Bob, “Okay, I know where we are.  The campsite is on the far side of the channel and further in.”

We follow Mr. Bob…right into a swamp.  We are lost.  We cannot return the way we came due to the gale force winds and white caps.  We’ve ventured far from the main channel.  There is not a single sign of civilization.  Hubby and I look at each other.

Hubby, hissing in my ear, “Nobody has been down this channel since the area was first explored in the 1600′s.”

Me, “We are so fucked.”

Mr. and Mrs. Bob, “We’re going to paddle up along the shore and see if we can make it to a campsite we think is right around the corner.”

Hubby, “No…wait, we shouldn’t split up.”

Me, “No…wait, you have all the food.”

Too late.  They’ve vanished in their canoe that cuts through the water like butter.  If they don’t return, we are stuck here, at least until the wind dies down enough to allow us to paddle to some channel where we might be seen and rescued.  I get out and explore the area.  I find an occupied beaver lodge, a huge pile of moose shit, and big blobs of fresh bear scat.  We are majorly fucked.

After an hour, Mr. and Mrs. Bob return.  I’m relieved to see them, but only because they have the food pack.

Mr. Bob, “We’re stuck.  We can’t even get out of here in our canoe.  We’re wind-bound.  Last year, some people were wind-bound for a week.”

Me, “Oh hell no.  I have a plane to catch Saturday.  I am not going to be wind-bound.  If I have to swim to the goddamn main channel, I’ll swim and I’ll wave my red life jacket around until someone rescues me.  I’m going to be on that plane if it kills me.”

Mr. Bob, “You worry too much.”

I have to go stand near the bear shit to cool off.  I’m sending out bear vibes, hoping a bear comes and eats Mr. Bob tonight.

I return to help set up camp.  Mr. Bob has placed our makeshift kitchen in the worst of the gale force winds.  I find a sheltered place near the beaver lodge.  Mrs. Bob and I move the kitchen.  The men set up the camp stove and we boil water for hot drinks, since we are all frozen.  We each have a hot chocolate, after which Mrs. Bob packs up the hot chocolate with the words, “The rest of these are for Mr. Bob.  I only brought enough for him.”  WTF?  She reaches inside the day pack they’ve used to bring the food, a day pack which shocks me by it’s small size and lack of mass.  It’s a canoe trip for god’s sake!  Weight doesn’t matter.  You can bring a whole fucking refrigerator if you want!  Oh…wait…that would be our canoe…

To my horror, Mrs. Bob pulls out a small package of dried instant stuffing and a small can of chicken.  “This is our supper,” she announces.  “Go drain the chicken.”

“No,” I shriek, “keep the chicken water, we need the calories!”  I rifle through the bag.  OMG!  OMG!  OMG!  My math impaired brain makes some quick calculations…Mr. and Mrs. Bob have planned the meals to provide each of us approximately 600-800 calories per day.  We’ll be burning 3000-4000 calories per day.  A body at rest burns 1200 calories per day just for basic metabolic functions.  That’s a calorie deficit of 2200-3200 calories per day.  And if we’re stuck here for more than four days?  We are so going to die.

Hubby ‘o’ mine eats his three-quarter cup of stuffing and then asks, “When’s supper?”  He’s assumed that Mr. and Mrs. Bob, as self-proclaimed gourmands, will have packed fabulous meals for us.

“This is supper,” I say, beginning to channel Jack Nicholson from The Shining.  I look around for an ax.

After doing the supper dishes and watching Mr. and Mrs. Bob pack them neatly into their little compartments in the kitchen pack, I retire to my tent to nurse my rage.  Tossing and turning for hours, I finally leave the tent at 4 a.m. to sit on the shore.  I watch the beaver family, mama and papa and two kits, play barely five feet from me, for three hours and I feel calm.  Screw Mr. and Mrs. Bob.  Hubby and I will survive.  When we leave this campsite, I’m taking the food pack.

Tomorrow:  One Fun Day

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stays in Minnesota.

Mostly that means crashing after weeks of extreme sleep-deprivation with a little sumthin’ sumthin’ thrown in!

The weather isn’t bad, the lakes are beautiful, no mosquito bites so far, went boating on the St. Croix today.  Heading north to the Boundary Waters on Monday morning.

Wolfgang Puck is a god.  I swear it.  Wolfgang Puck is a God.  Ate at his restaurant, 20.21 Minneapolis, in the Walker Arts Center last night.  OMFG!  I could live on his udon noodles with yellow curry sauce for the rest of my fucking life.  I want Wolfgang to move in with me and make me those curry noodles every single day.  That and a tray of his very own dim sum creations.  My mouth is watering at the memory.  Talk about a spiritual awakening to food…Wolfgang – your flavors caressed my soul!  Dear Mr. Puck, please read this blog so you’ll know how much I loved 20.21 Minneapolis.

Got some more edits – these for Daughters of Persephone Book Three Reborn and Book Four Red Demon.  I’m going to take advantage of this brief moment of quiet to work.

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WWII German superspy, the Needle, who gravitates towards murder using his trusty switchblade, discovers vital evidence about the Allies D-Day invasion. He makes for the Scotish coast to escape on a U-Boat when his small boat is shipwrecked before being picked up and the Needle is washed ashore. He is saved by a man destined to never enter the war and his wife and child. The Needle quickly falls in love with the woman and both must decide between their love or country.

Eye of the Needle is a 1981 film directed by Richard Marquand, based on the novel of the same title by Ken Follett, and starring Donald Sutherland. The Storm Island scenes were shot over eight weeks on the Isle of Mull in the Inner Hebrides.

Rebecca, of Dirty Sexy Books, recently ran a post about movies in which she asked – have you ever watched a movie that so intrigued you, it ignited an interest in reading the book it was based on?  I responded – no.  I lied!  I realized that I loved the suspenseful movie, Eye of the Needle, so much that I ran out and bought the book, read it cover to cover, enjoying both the movie and the book equally.  Donald Sutherland and Kate Nelligan were brilliant.  Sutherland plays the vicious WWII German spy, der Nadel, (self-explanatory if you read the book or watch the movie).  Kate Nelligan plays an intelligent, long-suffering married woman.  She’s lonely and isolated, desperate for affection and attention and quite frankly, she needs a compassionate, empathetic shoulder to lean on.  Sutherland wants to be that shoulder, among other body parts.  The passion and the tragedy in the movie and the book tore me up because…well…if you’ve got Netflix, rent the film or buy the book.  In addition, one of the most appealing things about the characters is that they are real – they do not have perfect bodies or use body doubles.

Okay, sexy guys!  I have new sexy guys on TV, and one girl crush.  Let’s leave True Blood out of this, I’m talking network TV and The Travel Channel.  Bear with me now!

Sexy guy number one:  Alex O’Laughlin, the Australian actor who played reluctant vampire Mick St. John in the short-lived series, Moonlight – which I loved and I was totally pissed off when the network pulled the show!  He’s in the new Hawaii Five-O and I cannot wait because he’s starring with my girl crush, my favorite Cylon, former BSG-er Grace Park, better known as the Sharons or the Eights.  Oh God, I adore the Sharons!

See?  Alex.  Yum.

Sexy guy number two – Anthony Bourdain, of No Reservations on the Travel Channel.   From the moment I saw him on Food Network – way back when -  his risque bad boy behavior pushed all my right buttons.  When The Food Network lost him, or canned him, I don’t know which, the channel lost their edge.  He’s got all the right stuff – great face, great voice, great body, great bad boy aura of danger, and food chops to boot.  Again…yummm.

Who’s on your list?

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Here’s Josie, all that’s missing is me!

Hi all, I’m back from ten days of heaven…I mean Montana – big sky, rugged mountains, cute cowboys, good food, harsh weather, heavenly horses!  I spent yesterday afternoon stuck in that dang Seattle airport again – but that All Romance E-book award-winning author, Mia Watts, and I spent two hours texting each other – until the battery on my phone died.

We stayed a couple days at my daughter’s boyfriend’s cattle ranch.  Eat more grass-fed beef!  This coming from a vegetarian who has been desensitizing herself to meat in recent weeks after ages of avoiding it, because I’ve witnessed firsthand the kind  way this family cares for their cattle and their responsible stewardship of the land.  I figure if they come to Napa, they drink our wines…if they host me, I’ll taste their beef.   These are real cowboys who cry if they lose a calf or a horse or a working dog.  Seriously.

Then we moved on to the cattle ranch that was our initial introduction into this wild corner of Montana a number of years ago, Sweetgrass Ranch – heaven on a hoof!  For three days, I rode my standby, Trinket, a blue roan.  She’s great, transitions smoothly from the trot to the lope to the gallop, she’s sure-footed on the steep, rocky trails, but she doesn’t like cattle and after three days, she began coughing.  I got to ride Garrett – a brilliant little horse – stole him from Janice, my Scottish friend!  As she says, he explodes, but he’s so kind, he takes you with him!  She’s right.  Have you ever watched a cat rev his hind-quarters up and then spring forward as he’s stalking something?  That’s Garrett.  You can practically feel him revving his little hindquarters up just before he explodes across a meadow.  Riding him is like blasting off on a rocket!  He’s smooth as silk and so dang cute!  But, Janet, damn her…wanted him back, so my daughter, head wrangler that she is, switched me to Josie, saying, you’ll love her, she’s very forward.

OMG!  There are no words to describe the feel of Josie beneath me!  Sigh and double sigh.  Triple sigh.  She’s tall, powerful and fast.  She did everything I asked of her. While her trot is a bit high, when she lopes and gallops, you might as well be floating on a living cloud.  If someone had been able to take a picture of me, you would have seen a big, shit-eating grin on my face – but of course that would have been impossible as I was past everyone in a flash, gone in a cloud of dust!

Josie and Garrett, Janice and I, became partners in crime, getting into trouble, racing across meadows of wildflowers, leaving the rest of the group far behind.

Me to my daughter:  “I haven’t had this much fun on a horse since I was a kid!”

My daughter to me:  “Yeah, I noticed!  You’re acting like a little kid!”

Me to my daughter:  “Aw, c’mon, can’t I lope some more???  Pleeeeeeease?”

My daughter (rolling  eyes) to me:  “I’m regretting my decision to give you Josie.”

Nah, at the end of the day, my daughter whispered in my ear…”I knew you would love her.  She’s perfect for you.  She’s just like the horse you lost.”

Perfect ending to a perfect week.

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Sake, ponzu sauce, shaved green onions and chili.  Yeah…lots of ‘em help.

Maybe an oyster shooter sounds gross to you, I mean, two months ago I wouldn’t have considered trying one.  Last December, I nearly choked to death on my very first giant raw oyster – but that was precisely because it was a giant raw oyster that still had sand and shell particles clinging to it. Blech.

On my birthday in April, I gave raw oysters a second chance, with Mignonette sauce.  OMG.  OMFG.  I discovered I love them.  These were really good – small, delicate freshy-fresh-fresh oysters and they made me feel so happy!  Last month, my husband, daughter and I went out for oysters and just this past weekend, my eyes all swollen and nasty from crying, I tossed back spicy oyster shooters like they were no big thing.  I can’t say they were the best, but they were alcoholic and the ponzu sauce was tasty.  Hey,you gotta do what you gotta do.

I let my mom and dad take care of me for a couple days.  They came to my book signing to hear me speak about death and dying and to listen to my reading.  Ironic, eh?  I read the funny chapter.

Coming this week:  Stacey Espino and her new book, Saving Grace.

A preview of my four-part science fiction series, Daughters of Persephone.

Katalina Leon may be here too, if we can make the arrangements – to talk about her newest release, Owned By Rome.

Anybody watch True Blood tonight?  The season premier!  I was not in the mood but I’ll watch it On Demand.  I hope this season is as good as it promises!

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Please feel free to take a look around and check out the site, read about my books, upcoming releases, reviews, sign up for my newsletter…Whatever you like.

Here’s an update on our boy.  He’s improved slightly with massive doses of steroids.  We don’t know if this will get him over the hump so he can fight what appears to be more of a viral infection or if the slight improvement is just the steroids talking.  Hubby was man enough to stay up all night with Louie.  I hit the wall yesterday evening and when he got home from work, I was huddled in a corner sobbing and incoherent.  I wish I could be stronger, I mean for Christ’s sake, I’m a hospice nurse, I work with dying people, and I’m really really good at what I do.  You’d think I’d be able to handle this situation.  I suck.  I just suck.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll have better news.  Much love, Julia

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Beauty and the Feast is hot on Fictionwise and All Romance Ebooks.  That scares me.  Yeah, I guess I’ve paid my dues in a sense, but the way we see things in my family, any success whatsoever attracts the evil eye.   Wooooooooo.  It’s like when my husband says – Gee, my car is running great! – and I slap my hand over his mouth and knock on wood – I remind him that speaking of good things is a surefire way to guarantee an immediate blown head gasket!

To make a long story short…thank you for buying my books and please keep buying them.  Maybe one of these days I’ll be PAN Eligible.  I don’t want to talk dollars and cents so if you are wondering what that is, feel free to look it up.

I think my newsletter will be out today or tomorrow – for those of you who don’t receive the newsletter, I have a new contract with Siren for my very first menage – All Four One.  This is a futuristic work of science fiction – the story takes place maybe 150 years from now in the Pacific Northwest.  I do love sci fi.  My husband says that erotic sci fi is a bit of a contradiction in terms but I find it heavenly to write.

Many thanks to Chris from Stumbling Over Chaos for her sci fi recommendation, Babel-17, by Samuel R. Delany, an unknown-to-me author and work published back in 1966.  I told her the story is like a cross between Ringworld, Albert Einstein and The Left Hand of Darkness.  The premise of the book is that language influences thought and perceived reality – not the meaning, but the words themselves.  Deep stuff!  http://www.stumblingoverchaos.com/

Many thanks to Susi over at The Geeky Bookworm who asked me to guest post this past week.  If you want to win one of my books, leave a comment – she’s extended her contest for a couple days due to her school schedule.  http://thegeekybookworm.blogspot.com/

Today is Memorial Day – my dad and all my uncles served in various branches of the Armed Forces so thank you, men and women, who put your lives on the line for us everyday!  You are never forgotten.

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More posts coming but we’re busy making eggs  benedict with waffles and watching the NCAA softball regionals.

I’ll get back to you later with a new post and/or posts.

I’m so embarrassed!  Katiebabs mentioned me on her WTF post today.   I accidentally ratted out a friend.  Aaaack!  Sorry!

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Prescript:  Captured is out in print on Amazon!  OMG!  http://www.amazon.com/Captured-Publishing-Classic-Rachel-Barrett/dp/1606018582/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1274500727&sr=8-2

My baby girl is flying home tonight.

You know how it is.  I love my kids so!  They are my greatest achievement.  I always knew I wanted kids, the husband was optional.  Got a good one despite myself.

Anyway, she’s coming home after having two flights canceled out from under her and since she’s flying from the East Coast, she won’t have eaten for hours -  maybe a pack or two of peanuts.  So…

I put together a cheese plate with Petite Basque, Gorgonzola Dolce, and Brillat Savarin, sliced melon and muscat grapes.  I quick cooked some asparagus, roasted a couple gigantic purple artichokes – still trying to decide if I want to stuff them with crab.

I’ve got fresh bread and I’m baking our favorite chocolate sheet cake – my great gramma’s recipe.  Oh yummo!

I think I’ll chill a bottle of Prosecco.

You all have a wonderful weekend!

Oops!  Here’s the recipe:

Melt two sticks of butter with one cup of water and 4 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder.

Mix together 2 cups flour, 2 cups sugar, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon baking soda.  Set aside.

Beat two eggs, mix with 1/2 cup buttermilk and 1 teaspoon vanilla.

Pour melted chocolate mixture into dry mixture.  Stir in liquid mixture.

Spray a rectangular cake pan with nonstick cooking spray.  Preheat oven to 350′.  Pour in batter.  Bake 35 minutes.  Remove.  Let sit ten minutes and frost.

Frosting:

Mix together 1 stick butter, 6 tablespoons buttermilk, 3 heaping tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder, 1 box powdered sugar and 1 teaspoon vanilla.

Enjoy!

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Stacey’s Review:
Eva is a chef that loves her job. She takes pride in the food she makes and it shows. There are a lot of food and meal preparation descriptions, but rather than bore us, they stimulates our senses…and makes us hungry. At the end of the book, there are recipes and quick facts about the meals Eva makes in the book, which was a nice touch.

Eva is hired to prepare a romantic dinner for two for Gabriel Abbott and a date. When she discusses the meal plan on the phone with him, she falls for his sexy voice, just as he does for hers. Later, when they meet by accident, there is perfect chemistry between them and nothing is ever the same.
One of the biggest hurdles facing them is the fact that Eva is a simple country girl and Gabriel is wealthy and educated. Can their two worlds blend enough for them to have a life together? Can Eva trust Gabe, even though he has a past reputation as a playboy?

This book was great with many layers. Julia Barrett created characters so real that I could read about their daily activities all day and enjoy every minute of it. Not only the main characters, but the complimentary cast of secondary characters as well.
I found around the middle, I began to wonder where this book was going. Then a spiteful ex-girlfriend comes into the picture and creates all kinds of problems for our lovers and plenty of suspense for the reader!

If you enjoy a classic romance with a dose of suspense to keep you anxious, then give Beauty and the Feast a read. The sex was hot and the last scene of the book was just perfect and kept me smiling long after I closed the book. Julia Barrett is a talented author that can pull you out of reality with her writing. I look forward to her next release.

Rated 5 Delightful Divas by Stacey!

http://ddrreviews.blogspot.com/2010/05/beauty-and-feast-by-julia-barrett.html?utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter

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Review:
“I read this book a while back in my exams period and I just discovered that I totally forgot to review it in all the stress. And it totally deserves a review. I got this book from Julia and I’m so thankful she send it to me. It really made my day better and let me forget all the stress of the exams for a few hours.

What makes this book so special? I loved that the characters felt this huge attraction to each other even before they met. I think we all know that situation when you hear the voice of someone and start thinking about what he or she will look like. Or perhaps that is just me because of my job at the directory assistance.

Eva is a wonderful character. She works for a catering firm and is a really independent woman. She seems perfect and prim as in how can she be that perfect but after a bit of time we discover what makes her a real human. She has a seriously dirty mouth from time to time and I had to laugh so often just cuz of the stuff  that came out of her mouth. She loves to cook and it mostly felt like foreplay what she does with the food. I really liked her from the start.

When Gabe hears Eva’s voice for the first time he is smitten and it gets even worse when he tastes her food for the first time. I really thought that food couldn’t be such a turn on but Gabe showed me that I was wrong. He really “likes” her food and OMG how I wished I were the cook. He is one hot man and I completely understand what Eva finds so interesting and sexy about him. He has a way to talk and gesture that just makes you crave him. He’s a millionaire but is still such a nice guy.

Together these two are one nice pair. They are made for each other. They have these easy conversations and funny banters but they know how to turn up the heat, too. I’m always totally blown away how Julia creates this matching couples. I love how her couples are together and how they seem to be so real.”

Thanks, Susi!  You can read the entire review here:  http://thegeekybookworm.blogspot.com/2010/05/review-beauty-and-feast-by-julia-rachel.html

on my review page.

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A Delicious Review from Penelope at Penny Romance

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Beauty and the Feast, by Julia Rachel Barrett

Genre(s): Contemporary, Romance

Eva is a caterer and Napa Valley chef, as well as the only daughter in a family of five children. One evening Eva is hired by Gabriel Abbot to cook dinner for himself and his gal. This dinner sets off a chain of events that leads to Eva cooking more dinners for him and a big attraction between them. When Eva gets in a motorcycle wreck Gabriel is there for her.Beauty and the Feast was a fun read with a wonderful plot. The romance was sizzling and the food descriptions tantalizing. I enjoyed the progression of Gabriel and Eva’s relationship. The characters were a bit original, yet also very relatable. This is a feel good story that will leave you warm and comfy.

Thanks!

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