FOUR DAYS OF AU SABLE RIVER HEAVEN
DAY 1
It was familiar, an old friend; and, it was a new and strange place. I’ve camped at the Au Sable River Canoe Camp 25 or 30 times. I’ve been here alone, and I’ve been here during a candle lit ceremony when a young man was proposing to his intended. (She said, “Yes!” I wonder if she still does?)
The county here made good use of the time this year when our (expletive deleted, but clearly remembered) governor closed our parks. Six to eight large, old trees have been cut down. The old, wooden, pit toilets have been replaced with a roomy, masonry structure. These are methodically being installed across the state, and probably other states too. We’ve dubbed them as the “Taj Mahal of Potties”.
We‘d arrived about 4:00. Most of our day had been spent driving, unloading boats and gear, carrying boats and gear, loading gear into boats, talking with my old friend Jim at Penrod’s, and talking, playing with Charlie’s dog Dewey, and maybe some more chatting.
The river is peaceful, but not while still this close to town. Shortly after launching in Grayling, the eastward paddle crosses under the bridge for I-75. The roar insults your ears, reminding you of both the blessing - and the curses - of technological progress. Here, in Canoe Camp, sounds of the highway are still a dim background noise. (NOISE, is an unwanted sound, like weeds in a garden are unwanted plants.). And yet, it is good to be here again. I can still see the Boy Scouts, my late wife, my Granddaughter, other geezers - all fellow travelers with whom I’ve shared this place. It solaces and cheers me.
When work crews had dropped the trees, they left behind lots of dry, dead branches. Lots of them. We sat in the evening dusk, feeding the fire and our souls, until it was nearly the time of turning into pumpkins.
DAY 2
My favorite way to get up and go in the morning, is to do just that - get up and go. I like to eat my breakfast, a granola bar of my own making, as I paddle along. I like to be on the water by eight thirty, or a quarter to nine. Rolling along, easy in the saddle, watching scenery as it rolls by, watching ducks n geese n king fishers n hawks n eagles n mink n musk rats n such. But Charlie enjoys a slower morning in camp, so departure was somewhere around 9:30. One day 11:00. It doesn’t make a lot of difference. Leisure is already built into the route. Each day is a only a 4-5 hour paddle, easy on the way.
Bald eagles - a symbol of our America - are sprinkled along our route. Flying regally, landing skillfully - they are in command. Blue herons, keepers of the river, rise into the air as we approach. Flying downstream a few minutes, they rise again, and again, and again - until finally they’ve had enough, and take off to return upstream. BUT, twice in a row, two of them did not retreat! Two, separate, proud, herons stood in place, rising high to top height, and gazed imperiously at us as we slid by. Now, that was a beautiful sight. A few remaining kingfishers scooted around. A few bluejays too - damn them! A member of the magpie family, they have the standard characteristics of being loudmouthed, rude thieves.
About 4:30 or so, we pulled into Whitepine Campground. There are three landing sites here. The first one is the official one. Years ago, my granddaughter played out in front of it. The level, gravel-based bottom is a very nice river feature. Site 3 has steel rods protruding up from the bottom! I landed at the middle site, and hung my hammock there.
Charlie’s dog, Dewey, was our adult supervisor. He was also our entertainment coordinator. He has a flexible frisbee that he plays with. Most of the time he catches it in mid air. If it hits the ground before he can get to it, he catches it on the first bounce, or on the roll. Beats TV!
Menard’s sells little packets of stuff that, when tossed into a campfire, makes some iridescent technicolor flames. Mesmerizing, guys, mesmerizing. Try it out.
DAY 3
Eagles are a highlight again today. And a paddler at Wakely Landing added depth too. Though the original weather forecast for today had sprinkles, but - it is sunny and balmy. GREAT!
Fall colors have punctuated the countryside all along. Every mile or two will hold a cluster of deep, bright reds. Maple trees come out to dance in the fall weather. Their leaves are an electric red that shimmers and dances in the sun-loaded breeze. Some are an arrogant orange. An orange that color-shifts when the leaves wiggle. Every fall, I thank God that I could see it all again.
Our lunch break at Wakely landing found us sharing the site with a fellow and his dog, awaiting his wife’s return from the vehicle shuttle. A few hours later, they waved and called out as they paddled past our campsite at Parmalee Bridge. Charlie had walked the mile from our site to the Red Oak store, and brought back chocolate ice cream. We gobbled that stuff down like it was going out of style. God! It’s good to be a 10 year old boy!
That night, my hammock was between two pine trees, under a large white oak tree. The oak was calving acorns. Three to seven per minute were bouncing off my rainfly.. They sounded like cast iron chestnuts. When some would hit the picnic table next to my hammock, they sounded more like cast iron golf balls!
DAY 4
Further along, the river flattens out. The current gets drowned in the impending reservoir. We’re paddling in a lake now. Reservoir waters cover the flatlands that border the original riverbed. One hundred and fifty year old pine stumps are spread far and wide. The fish like them for hiding places. Only their tenacity has my regard. Otherwise, they’re a pain in the gazARium for paddlers such as us.
We stopped to rest at a commando camp site, and found a red, plastic pail some slob had used for a toilet - and left behind. Some folks just don’t deserve to breathe the free air and drink the water.
We ended the paddling trip at the state park on the north side of Mio pond. It was a DANDY of a trip! Thank you, Charlie, thank you.
