Solo Sucks
by Phantom Jug (continued from page 3)
Fortunately I had reached my Destination Lake where I planned to base camp, fish and relax. However, not being bright enough to realize that my fishing rod and tackle were at the bottom of Kiwishiwi my leisure time would be severely limited. I spent that afternoon at the campsite duct taping my yoke together with 2 lashing sticks hoping the jeri-rigged yoke would get me home. "What to do next" I pondered. Well, I made some freeze-dried food and read a few chapters of Louis L'Amour with the jug. Later that afternoon some passer by's stopped in front my campsite. "Hows the fishing?" he yelled. I wanted to say "Screw You a** hole" as if he was sent there for the sole purpose to rub in my misfortunes. But I held my tongue and politely said "Couldn't tell ya. Sorry."
On top of my hand and knee pain, boredom was now quickly setting in. No fishing rod and I had finished up my book and the jug. All that was left to do was paddle in pain and wait for more calamity. And, right on cue, calamity butted in as thunder interrupted my thoughts.
Score after 3 days: Wilderness=5 Me=0
I crawled into the tent, put in a fresh plug of Kodiak and confessed to God that I had finally gotten the hint. The next morning, I set out in a downpour back to my truck. I dumped out the remaining 4 gallons of water in the water jug and was determined to make the trail head before dark. Within an hour I was able to put my repaired portage yoke to the test. . . . .It failed. So, I portaged with the canoe resting on my head. Anyway, to bring this story to a close, I made it back to the truck, packed up and headed for home. On the way home I vowed that I would never solo trip again.
Phantom Jug
Visit
his web site for more stories