Day Two - Having Fun Despite Everything!

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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