If you have been on a wilderness trip, when about half-way through, you\u2019ve started to list the foods you want to eat when you get back home, or you\u2019ve exchanged with your mates the names of favorite restaurants, when everything that started out crisp is now soggy, and RyKrisp bends like taffy, you\u2019ll appreciate, to paraphrase Robert Service \u201cmy emotions of amazement and delight\u201d when in the middle of a long difficult portage, I smelled pickles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was in late July 1970, as a Boy Northwester (the Widjiwagan term for counselor-in-training), I was on a twenty-two-day canoe trip in northern Ontario with John, Dan, Peter, Steve and Ross, our trainer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We\u2019d spent about six weeks working in camp in a variety of roles but mostly in the kitchen cleaning dishes and then cleaning more dishes. Now we were about eight or nine days into the trip. We were working hard. We were burning calories. We were often hungry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The territory wasn\u2019t all that well traveled, which had been one of the attractions to the route, but making our own way was a lot of work. I think I mentioned that the portages were often hard to find and hard to follow. Coming to their end was always a good thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Back in those days we still brought some cans and bottles on (and off) trail. They added to the weight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On one portage, I\u2019d helped the canoe carriers three-person the heavy Chestnut and the heavy Old Town and so I was the last to leave the landing. Before sending the canoes on their way, we\u2019d lifted the still full likely 80-pound food-pack onto a boulder, so it was fairly easy to wrestle my way into the straps and set off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The weight of the food-pack caused me to bend forward, a bit hunched-over, and take short steps, be cautious. I always watched where I went, at least where I thought I was going. Again, hunched over, I could not see what was just a couple of steps ahead. On this portage, by being so careful about where I stepped, I\u2019d gotten behind the five others. I couldn\u2019t see or hear them. No worry though, with five ahead of me the trail was obvious. Slow and steady, I\u2019d get there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We\u2019d learned that if we tripped while carrying a heavy pack, we should tuck our arms in to our side and throw the pack around so we\u2019d land on it and not it on us. Sure enough, my care slipped, and I tripped. I landed sort of on my side and sort of on the pack. It momentarily hurt, although I was unhurt. I was a bit mad at myself though. I was embarrassed even though there was no one who\u2019d seen me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I struggled to get out of the straps. The foodpack was too heavy for me flip it on as I would have been able to do with a personal pack. Lifting the foodpack was usually a two person job. So, I tugged and rolled the pack to the top of a boulder adjacent to my trail, using the boulder as my partner. I slid my arms into the straps again, and lifted the weight again onto my back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It wasn\u2019t much later that I first smelled pickles. Pickles? How could that be? We hadn\u2019t brought pickles with us. Maybe there was group ahead of us and they\u2019d dropped their pickles. But the path didn\u2019t show any signs of recent travel, other than us. I walked back and forth, looking down, ignoring as best I could the weight of the pack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If I found one pickle, I would eat it. If I found three, I would share, splitting them up among the group. If I found two\u2026 I wasn\u2019t sure I\u2019d share them. It was going to be a situational thing. Hunger was ever present and pickles sounded good. I knew then that I could be selfish over a pickle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I went on. Pickleless. Maybe pickles grew wild in the woods? I started to check out all branches and vines along the path. Every so often, I caught the scent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Suddenly, I was at the end of the portage. Disappointed, and still pickle-less, I called out. \u201cDid you guys see any pickles on the trail?\u201d They hadn\u2019t. \u201cPickles?\u201d they asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIf I\u2019d seen any, I would have eaten them,\u201d said Pete.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As I turned around to load the canoe, standing with my back to Dan, who stood in the water, he grabbed, the back of the pack to lower it into the waiting canoe. He groaned and held his hand out. It was wet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Realization struck. Dan\u2019s hand was wet with dill sauce that had soaked through the canvas pack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Dill sauce. I\u2019d forgotten that we\u2019d brought a bottle of dill sauce to use with any fish we caught, which so far was none. The cap had come loose and the dill sauce leaked throughout the pack. \u201cYou\u2019re the pickle,\u201d Dan said over my shoulder. We loaded the two canoes and headed down the lake to find the night\u2019s campsite. Every so often I\u2019d get the whiff of pickles.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
If you have been on a wilderness trip, when about half-way through, you\u2019ve started to list the foods you want to eat when you get back home, or you\u2019ve exchanged with your mates the names of favorite restaurants, when everything … Continue reading