Gary R Akin
Did you ever just have “that feeling” that what you were about to do was a mistake? You know that feeling. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know this might not work out too well. You go ahead anyway because at that time you just couldn’t see how things could turn out too badly,… could they?
I remember once when I made last minute plans to do a 16 mile whitewater float on my inner tube down a remote stretch of river. It cut through pure wilderness gouging its way through Calamity Canyon and ending with a thrilling drop over Satan’s Chute. My trip would gloriously conclude in front of the tourists who were always present with cameras to capture the raw power of the torrent I intended to conquer. I was certain my conquest would be captured on film and I would go down in history! Well, that part would prove correct.
I had already driven over two hours to get to my starting point on the river. As I grabbed my inner tube from the back of the truck to head down to the water I noticed the patch on the tube…. Oh yeah, the patch. It was about the size of a quarter, but one of the edges had started to peel up slightly. Just then something caused me to pause. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. But I was suddenly, hmmm, uncomfortable.
I remembered I had put a small puncture hole in the tube the last time I had used it retrieving that stupid duck last November. I’d had to strip down to my scivvies and paddle out through the skim ice with a piece of driftwood to where it had dropped after I made that amazing passing shot. As I busted through the thin ice, a jagged edge cut a tiny hole in the tube. The water was bitterly cold that day as my thermometer(my butt) was notifying me, submerged there in the center of the tube. Another part of my anatomy simply shrank from sight and I didn’t see it again for several days. Leaving a trail of bubbles in my wake (from the punctured tube!) let me tell you, my arms were a whirling dervish that day! But I did repair the tube as soon as I got home and warmed up. I couldn’t find any rubber cement, but I did find an old container of Elmer’s School Glue which I used after I’d finally gotten the damn cap removed after I found my vice-grips under the lawn mower.
But back to my river run. My starting point was a placid pool in the river just above the first section of whitewater which funneled into Calamity Canyon with its sheer cliff walls on both sides of the river where it narrowed and started gathering its momentum. I waded out a bit with my tube and settled into its center. I was only thirty yards from my truck and I glanced at the patch submerged just below the waterline. I observed a small bubble escaping from the peeled up edge and rising quickly to the surface an inch or two above. A second later another bubble appeared and did the same. It was then, just for a moment, I felt hmmm, uncomfortable. Aw hell, what am I worried about? That patch is holding fine and its barely leaking. It’s only a 16 mile river run, I’ll be done in two or three hours, tops. What could go wrong? I immediately dismissed that feeling and with light hearted optimism allowed myself to be sucked into the canyon.
You may have seen the pictures taken of me that day. For over two hours I clung to the branch of that tree that got hung up on the crest of Satan’s Chute. Sort of like the Beetle Bailey cartoon after the jeep had gone over the cliff. I understand one of the tourists made quite a bit of money after selling one of their particularly good shots to the Associated Press of me and the rescue helicopter. I still feel I should be entitled to a percentage of that. What the hell did he do? Push a button on a camera. I was the one hanging up there for two hours waiting for the damn chopper to arrive!
Which brings me to my story about Jack. Jack is one of those guys that any “true” outdoorsman, like myself, has to deal with. I would come back to work from one of my recent adventures in the wild and Jack would want all the details. I think Jack is an adventurer “wannabe”. He listens to all the stories. He can tell you what’s happening on ANY television show. Whether its the swamp people in Louisiana, the gold miners in Alaska, or the crab fisherman in the Bering Sea, Jack can tell you what’s going on. But,… ask him what he’s done lately and what I hear is pretty sad and pathetic.
To his, um…. credit I guess, he has gone down to the Southern Tier and returned with a deer. But I’ve been down there, years ago, and after about two hours in the woods and listening to what sounded like the battle of Gettysburg, I think I could have walked about fifty yards in any direction and found a dead deer to bring home! I wouldn’t even have to waste money buying a gun or ammo. Just go in the woods for a couple of hours, wait for everyone else to run out of bullets and just walk through the carnage and pick one out to bring home to show everyone what a man you are!
I on the other hand like to hunt deer. At least this way I have a ready answer when people (like Jack) ask me how I’d done this past season. Too many people are only interested in just killing deer I patiently explain to Jack, AGAIN! I need a bit of adventure. You see Jack, the feeling of achievement is so much greater when I’ve taken a deer in a wilderness setting, far from civilization, battling the elements,….
“I’ve heard this before”, Jack rudely interrupts, “Did you get anything?”
The one thing about Jack that is really fucking annoying is that he is always rudely interrupting. “No Jack, I did Not Kill Anything Again.” But Rich and I had one helluva hunt on Misery Ridge! The conditions were brutal. We were thirty to forty miles “in”, buck sign was abundant. But it was windy and COLD! Unfortunately we didn’t get any snow to aid us in tracking. We were going through our firewood and propane at a furious pace. But I managed to impress Jack with our resourcefulness, the stories of moose seen, and pictures of bucks that other more fortunate hunters managed to take in the area that week.
“Wow!”, Jack replied with total admiration. “Just once I’d like to try a hunt like that.”
“You know what Jack”, I answered before I had time to think, ” Rich and I are heading into Long Lake next weekend, why don’t you join us?”
“Man I’d love to!” Jack exclaimed. “I’ll start packing tonight!”
Suddenly a wave of nausea rises in me. I experienced that “feeling”… you know this one. Its the one that wakes you up from a nap on the couch, like you’re falling in the dark…. I definitely wasn’t feeling too hmmmm…… comfortable. This time I couldn’t dismiss it. I had to push it away, but I managed. Come on relax I told myself, what can go wrong?
Well for a week I had to put up with Jack’s constant questions about what to expect, what to pack, what to eat, what to….. PLEASE Jack! We’re only going in for two fucking days!
Jack: “I don’t want to get lost.”
Gary: “You can’t get lost. The lake runs north/south. We’re hunting east, there’s a mountain there. Just walk west or downhill and it’ll bring you back to the lake.” “Hell if you’re that friggin’ worried just bring a roll of that fluorescent orange surveyor’s tape to mark your way back to camp!”
Jack: “What kind of wild animals are back in there?”
Gary: “The kind we want to kill!” “and maybe a few bears and coyotes.”
Jack: “Will my cell phone work back in there?”
Gary: “No! Shut the fuck up Jack.”
Finally Friday arrived. I told Jack to bring his gear to work with him so we could transfer it to my truck and leave directly in my vehicle. I’d already heard the horror stories of how other people’s plans had been ruined waiting on Jack to show up on time. During our lunch break we loaded his supplies. We left on time and reached the boat launch and met Rich who had just arrived also. I introduced Jack to Rich. “Rich, this is the guy I told you about, Jack Hoffman.” Rich eyed Jack skeptically, then gave me a snarl, “Jack Off Man!”. “He sounds like a character from one of those Avengers movies!”. “You can keep an eye on him, and he sleeps on your side of the lean-to!”. We were in a hurry to get back “in” and to set up camp at one of the state lean-to’s. As we boated up the lake I explained to Jack, “Do you see the island we just passed?” “There’s another island half a mile ahead, see it?” “Yes”, he answered. “There’s our campsite, right between the two islands. When you come down off the mountain there, you cannot miss the lake, and our campsite is right between the islands. Do you understand Jack?” “Yes.”
I glanced back at Rich. He was looking skyward, shaking his head and rolling his eyeballs!
Surprisingly, everything went perfectly that first evening. We got our camp set up in no time. We hung the tarp in front of the lean-to in order to seal the front and keep the wind out. We got a fire going and had a quick supper of burgers and baked potatoes wrapped in foil and cooked in the coals. I got the coffee pot “set” for the morning, we enjoyed a few cold beverages and took in one of those perfect Adirondack evenings when every star seemed to shine with double its normal intensity. We even managed a few hands of cards. Naturally, the new guy drew a full house and took me and Rich for 10 bucks. Just before turning in for the evening we started arranging our gear for the morning hunt so we wouldn’t be rushing in the morning.
Suddenly. “Are you shitting me!” Jack wailed. “I forgot my fuckin’ bullets!” A frantic search through all his duffels revealed no bullets. “Jack, relax.” I tried to reassure him. What caliber of rifle do you have. “.308”, he answered. “Well, Rich shoots a .270 and I shoot a 30.06 so we can’t lend you bullets, but I brought my backup gun, a Marlin .35, you can hunt with that for two days. Its sighted dead on. No worries, now get some sleep”.
In the morning, after coffee, Rich quietly confided to me, “Brother loan me a $10″. I only brought my debit card”. “It’s gonna drive me crazy until I pay Jack Off!”. Rich decided to hunt the south side of Kempshall Mtn, I was going on top, and Jack stated that he wasn’t going to wander too far the first day as he learned the area. He was going to stay low somewhere behind camp. I told him to keep his eyes open around 11 a.m. I’d be coming down off the top on my return for lunch and I might chase something by him. Rich and I left early since we had quite a walk in front of us. Jack seemed okay. We left as he finished getting the last of his stuff together.
I had a nice morning hunt. I was really scouting, looking for buck sign because I knew I’d be back in for 5 days next week when my vacation started. I didn’t see any deer and around 10:30 I started working my way slowly back toward camp. I felt a slight breeze on the back of my neck which wouldn’t help me much, pushing my scent ahead of me, but if I jumped a deer it really favored Jack who was ahead of me. When I was about 400 yards from camp and approaching the last ledge that dropped down to the lake, I suddenly jumped 4 or 5 deer. With white tails pointing skyward and a few quick bounds they were over the ledge and out of sight. I could have sworn I saw antlers on one just before they disappeared!
About fifteen or twenty seconds later I heard the unmistakable “POW” of my Marlin! Holy Shit! Did Jack nail a buck on his first morning?! I waited a few minutes to let things settle down in case Jack needed a follow up shot. I didn’t hear anything so I started to creep forward toward the ledge the deer had bounded over. When I reached the edge I cautiously peered over and down below. I was surprised to see what looked like one of those tubes used by a maple sugar producer running though the woods. Except this was orange. It looked like it came from the direction of the lake and terminated down on the flat below, right in the middle the thickest little brier and evergreen patch imaginable. Before descending, I gave a hailing whistle so Jack would know it was me coming down and not another deer. I got a whistle in response and it sounded like it came from the thicket! Upon reaching the bottom I called Jack and from within the brambles I heard approaching snaps, cracks, and muttered profanity. Jack finally emerged picking sticks out of his hair, and any exposed flesh on his hands and face covered with dark red scrapes and lacerations. “Did you shoot Jack?”, I asked. “Yup.” “Did you get him?”, I continued. “What do you mean him?”… “That buck I just chased down over the ridge.” “Those were deer?”, he cried, “I thought I was being attacked by a pack of coyotes. I couldn’t see shit in there!”. “So what did you shoot at?”, I asked. “I fired a shot straight up in the air to scare them off!” “They were all around me!”, Jack cried. That’s when I noticed the “sugar mapling tube” was in fact a straight line of surveyor’s tape leading back toward camp! “So why did you pick this spot to sit if you couldn’t see anything?”, I continued. “Uh Duh, That’s where the tape ended!”. With that, I just started back to camp to get something to eat. I glanced back once to see Jack patiently rolling the tape back onto the roll as he followed. Upon reaching camp, I couldn’t help noticing the other end of the tape was tied to the lean-to.
Rich got back soon after. After telling him the story of the jumped deer and the coyote attack he asked Jack how much tape he’d brought. “300 feet”, Jack responded. Over lunch we discussed our plans for the afternoon hunt. Rich was going to go a bit further south and explore the edge of a beaver swamp he’d wanted to check out. I decided to go a bit further north and hunt the “edge” where some cedar met the hardwoods. Jack just stated that he didn’t know where he was going yet, but he was NOT going into the thicket again.
Jack grabbed my .35 Marlin and started for the woods, carefully unwinding the surveyor’s tape as he went. “I’m gonna get set up early”, he stated as he departed, “I got a feeling those bucks are gonna be chasing does early this afternoon.” I looked over at Rich to see him looking skyward again and rolling his eyeballs.
After cleaning up a bit. Rich and I headed out also. After about a minute, I caught up with Jack who was settling in and getting comfortable. I noticed the tape tied to the tree he rested against. “Whew!”, that was quite a hike he said. “How far from camp do you reckon we are?” “About a hundred yards”, I answered. I looked back to the southwest. “Nice spot you picked here Jack”, “You should have a nice view of the sunset, if the lean-to doesn’t block it out.” I headed up the mountain determined to enjoy my afternoon.
And so it went. No we didn’t get a deer, but Jack wasn’t too much of a bother. Rich and I had a pleasant weekend and even enjoyed Jack’s company at camp in the evening. He helped with the chores, cooking, cleaning, etc. He even got the evening campfire going. He neglected to tell us though that he had used our entire only roll of toilet paper to get it started. I was a bit annoyed. But we improvised and utilizing some wadded up surveyor’s tape we made it through. On Jack’s last day, he hunted only 75 feet behind camp.
All too quickly it was time to leave. We loaded the boat, Jack and Rich got in and I pushed it out into the lake from the beach. I climbed aboard and my weight caused the boat to settle a bit in the front. Immediately a geyser of water erupted from the floor of the boat. WHAT THE FUCK?! “There’s a friggin’ bullet hole in the bottom of the boat!”, I yelled to Rich. Jack went into a panic, trying to throw water out with his bare hands. Staying calm, I hollered to Rich to plug the damn hole! “What’ll I use?”, he asked. “It’s a bullet hole. Use one of your bullets!”, I instructed. “No good. Still leaking, my .270 is too small.”, Rich answered. Water continued to fill the boat and Jack’s arms windmilled in a panic. “Here, try one of my 30.06 rounds.” I told Rich as I tossed him one of mine. “Still too small!”, cried Rich. “Jack!”, I hollered, “Give Rich one of those .35 bullets, hurry”. Rich took the bullet from Jack and jammed it into the hole. It fit perfectly, sealing the leak. It took just a second for us to realize…. That shot he’d fired straight up to “scare off the coyotes” had come back down and put a hole in the bottom of my boat! The Fucking Asshole had shot my boat!
Jack and I hadn’t spoken for some time. But this spring after I’d had my boat repaired he overheard me talking about some of the nice lake trout I was taking down by Schuyler Island. And….. he couldn’t help himself. “Geez Gary, I’ve always wanted to learn how to catch lake trout.” “Maybe next time you could take me along, just once to show me how its done.”
Suddenly, I started feeling this acid burn well up inside me. I started getting this weird foreboding feeling….. I didn’t feel…. comfortable. A panic set it. What the fuck was this? This wasn’t anxiety. This was a real… HARD CORE, NO BULLSHIT, STRAIGHT FROM THE MOVIE, “FINAL DESTINATION” WARNING OF IMPENDING DOOM!
“Sorry Jack, I’m pretty sure I promised to go out this weekend with…. Craig Daniels!”
( So I lied…! ) I have no idea how much its gonna cost me to get Craig to say he went fishing. It will be worth it! He’s an asshole, but Craig never shot a hole in my boat with my own gun!
Adirondack Camp Journal 