Preamble - Red Flags
It’s beautiful in Northern Minnesota.
The arboreal forest is so thick you cannot walk through it unless you come across a short game trail. Once in the forest, mere yards from the shore, the water disappears, all sound is absorbed by the trees and the heavy undergrowth. There are no landmarks to guide you, and there is not a single hint of civilization. Without a compass and/or a very good sense of direction, you are lost. There are black bears, moose, deer, wolves, bobcats, cougars, river otters, beavers, porcupines, bald eagles - and those are just the animals we saw or suspected came through our campsites.
It could have been a great trip. And in some weird way, it was, but only because we survived.
Arrival - Our host and guide shall hereafter be known as Mr. Bob. His wife shall be known as Mrs. Bob.
Mr. Bob meets us at a marina in the middle of nowhere and ferries us to his lakeside cabin. There are no roads. The cabin is both rustic and modern, the forest closes in on three sides while the front faces the lake in a view that is beyond compare. Mr. and Mrs. Bob are very fortunate to live is such glorious surroundings, even if it is only during the months of May through September.
Red Flag number one: On a tour of the spotless, spider-web free, boathouse, Mr. Bob shows us his neatly stacked, slick, pristine, high-tech, fiberglass canoes. Two of them. He lovingly caresses the canoe he and Mrs. Bob plan to launch the next day and exhibits their hand-carved wooden paddles. He points out another set of hand-carved wooden paddles - older paddles.
Hubby, reaching for the second set - “So, are these our paddles?”
Mr. Bob, snatching the paddles from hubby’s hand - “No, these are your paddles.” Hands hubby a set of worn, frayed plastic paddles.
Hubby, pointing to second high-tech canoe - “Is this our canoe?”
Mr. Bob, laughing - “No. Your canoe is…” cue dramatic organ music, sudden gust of wind, followed by dark, ominous clouds, lightning and a crack of thunder…“over there…”
Scenes from Vertigo flit through my head.
Hubby and I walk over to the far end of the property to look at the Grumman, our canoe. It lays all by its lonesome across two two by fours.
Hubby, in a whisper - “This thing hasn’t been paddled since the Civil War. I think it’s Old Iron Sides.”
I look at the creature and think…I got a baaaaad feeling about this trip.
Flash of lightning…crash of thunder. Tippi Hedrin…The Birds…the Psycho falling down the stairs scene.
Red Flag number two: Supper is delicious…but…it is served to us in perfectly apportioned plates, the portion sizes fitted precisely to the approximate height and weight of each guest. It is made very clear that there will be no more and no less. We are instructed to pay attention to the color of our cloth napkin because we will know where to sit for any and all future meals by the placement of our color-coded napkin.
Cold wind blows through me, causing me to shiver. I swear I catch a glimpse of Alfred Hitchcock on the lower walkway.
Red Flag number three: After the dishes are done, Mrs. Bob asks - “What do you eat for breakfast?”
Me - “Do you mean for the canoe trip?”
Mrs. Bob - “Yes.”
Me - “What are you packing?”
Mrs. Bob - “Strawberry instant oatmeal.”
Me, in seizure mode - “Huh?”
Mrs. Bob - “Strawberry instant oatmeal.”
Me - “I don’t eat instant oatmeal. It makes me instantly hypoglycemic and then I get a migraine. Can we bring some peanut butter?”
Mrs. Bob - “No. The food is all packed.”
Me, hyperventilating - “But…but…”
Mrs. Bob walks away. In her wake, rain lashes the windows, wind whips the trees, bending them double. Lightning flashes directly above the skylight. I’m flashing on The Hound of the Baskervilles or possibly Murder in the Rue Morgue.
Red Flag number four: Mrs. Bob comes upstairs to our open sleeping loft. She thrusts two towels into my hands. “These are your towels for the duration of your visit. Do not lose them. Do not leave them lying around. Hang them on these racks,” she points to the wall next to our bed, “and no other racks. You may not use any other towels.”
OMG! OMG! OMG! What if I forget my towel when I go downstairs to use the shower? What color is my napkin? Strawberry instant oatmeal??? Old Iron Sides weighs a ton and there’s a big dent in the keel. My paddle is a ratty piece of black plastic. I toss and turn all night, knowing that tomorrow I will die.
Tomorrow - Day One - No good deed goes unpunished.
