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Skip and the Gardner Snake
All my life I have had a fascination with animals. Any kind and nothing I brought home surprised my mother. I even brought home a massasauga rattler but that is another story.
In the spring of the year the snakes have their babies. Common Gardner Snakes are no exception. They are born live but are in a transparent membrane, which they soon find their way out of.
In the spring, soon after the first warm rays of the sun melt the ice on the ponds, the toads start their spring rituals, laying their eggs in the shallows of the swamps and the snakes find some secret spot to give birth to their young.
These little snakes are identical to the adults but only 5 or 6 inches long. Cute little guys.
I had a ritual every spring too. I would go catch a bunch of them. There was no reason to do this except I was a normal boy. I would take a big boiler tub my mother had and throw some grass and a little water in it and toss in the little snakes. I would then go try to find some food for them, which was hard in the early spring as the crickets had not come out yet. I would sometimes catch the big snakes too but found that they would eat the little ones. The biggest I ever say was over three feet long.
We lived in a basement house at the time. It must have been about 1948 as my youngest brother Skip was about three. I was born in 1939 and My mother was still in the hospital after having my brother Gary on December 7th and she was in the hospital after having my brother Skip the day the war was over.
As I said, we lived in a basement house, which was rather common back then. I should say they were not rare. My parents built the basement, with my mother and uncle digging the basement with a stone float and an old car a dragging it, while my father was away, driving truck.
The kitchen was in the northeast corner of the basement and there was a small basement window on the east side. My tub of snakes was outside the house, near the window.
My mother was in the kitchen and Skip was out in the yard playing. In those days it was not considered to be a horrible parent if your kid was not on a leash.
My mother was doing her kitchen work, with the little window open. She heard little Skip say, "Royal's nake, Royal's nake" My mother yelled out and said for him to get away from My snakes. He just kept giggling and saying, "Royal's nake, mine got Royal's nake!"
My mother knew I would be upset if Skip turned my snakes loose so she wiped her hands and trudged to the stairs.
She went up them and outside. She went around the corner, expecting Skip to be in the tub but he was setting a little away from it with the biggest dang Gardner Snake she had ever seen. I guess he had it by the middle and it was a squirming all over the place trying to get away. She said it was 18 or 20 ft long but I suspect it was more like 3 ft.
She screamed bloody murder and my dad came a running, he had been outside somewhere. He almost crapped as he was terrified of snakes. I was dang lucky I was able to keep the babies around.
He was not about to touch the thing and headed for a shovel to kill the thing.
I heard the commotion and came a running, as a little 8 year old will. I saw what was up and thought it was neat! Now I had a big snake but at the same time I saw my dad coming with the shovel and he had murder in his eyes.
I ran to Skip and grabbed the snake from him. I took off a running with it and headed to the swamp, with my dad still a yelling something, I don't know what. I am sure he was not saying, "Come here and let me pet it"
I got to the swamp and just turned it loose. I do not believe in killing snakes and never did.
By the time I got home things had settled down and they were laughing about it.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Detecting Shorty Hooks Place
One of my favorite fishing spots when I was a kid was Pine Lake. This lake was completely private, as it is now, with no public boat launches. I had an aunt that lived on the lake and if I was real good she let me use her rowboat. The lake was great for bass fishing and in the spring I speared carp in the swamp at the west end.
Right next to my Aunts home was a Boat Livery called Shorty Hooks Place. It was a boat livery and he had a few cabins to rent out and a swimming area. It cost a buck or two to swim there and there was no way I could afford that back in the mid fifties.
Shorty was a local character. He was a sawed off little runt and if he got in the cups he would fight anyone or anything. He had been barred from most of the local bars but he managed to find somewhere to get drunk. He was a wirey little sucker, as I remember and he was always good to me. I would sell him night crawlers and crickets in the summer. It was Shorty that bought the crawlers by the pound from me. I thought he was trying to cheat me but he said there were a hundred in a pound. I didn't believe the sucker so I counted them out to check. Right on, one hundred to a pound or within one or two.
If you stood on the shore and looked lake ward there were two docks. The one on the right was the one he had his rentals tied up to and the one on the left was the swimming dock. On the end of the dock there was a diving board, about six feet off the water.
If you stood on the diving dock the weed bed was only about 10 or 12 ft out. In other words, if you made a long shallow dive you would end up in the weeds. The water there was about 20 ft deep. Now I never swam there but I used to fish it a lot from my aunts boat. I hooked the biggest bass I ever saw between those two docks, fought it for a while and it broke my line right at the boat. Since I lost it it was a 39 pound large mouth bass! A mite smaller if I had caught it :D
Between the two docks it was all sand. I don't know if the little bastud had it trucked in back in the twenty's or not. Shorty was a friend of my parents and he had the place from back in the 20's, maybe earlier, I don't know. I was 12 or 13 at the time.
Many years later and long after Shorty had died, the old building was still there. The docks were gone and the building was just used for storage. It is a small building, about 10 by maybe 15 ft. He didn't need much to rent boats and sell bait. Where his house was and the cabins were was just a vacant lot now.
I would drive past his old place occasionally and I would always wonder if there was anything there to find. I had never seen anyone there of course and it was private now. The old shack had been dressed up a bit but I never saw anyone around.
One day I stopped across the street and walked across the street to the old building, all the time thinking someone was gonna confront me for trespassing. There were no signs but what the heck, someone owned it!
I walked down to the lake and looked it over, trying to remember how it was laid out. Heck, it looked good. I had never dove the area and the thought of diving where I lost the big 55 lb bass excited me. You know, the bass I lost. I could tell how much it weighed by its SCALES :D:D:D
A few days later I loaded my Hookah and detector, along with the rest of my diving gear and headed for the lake, fulling expecting someone to kick my trespassing arse out. The site was right on the main highway so I would be seen. I would have been happy to ask permission but had no clue who owned it anyway.
I parked in the vacant lot and started lugging my gear across the road and down the small hill to the water. The day was just perfect, nice and cool and very calm. It seems it was in the fall, which is my favorite time to be detecting with scuba. The water is still warm but the activity on the lake has let up.
I geared up and waded out a ways. As I said, the beach was still all sand but both sides of the sand area was real mucky. It was sandy under the swimming dock but the boat dock was another matter. The water was only about three or four ft at the boat dock but if I stood there I was soon in the sticky muck to my knees. With fins on it was hard to move.
It was rather weedy there but I like to check the boat docks for tools.
I waded over to the sand and dropped to the bottom and started my sweeps. There were coins all over the place. It had not been hunted! At least the deeper water was loaded. I say deeper but there were coins all over the place in four feet of water. A wader could have easily hunted it if they had realized it was once a beach.
One thing about these glory holes I have found. I never hunt the shallow water. If I can not lay on the bottom and hunt, I leave it for others. I don't especially like wading and detecting so I just get the deeper stuff. There was plenty there. Not as much as Dodge Park on Cass Lake but still plenty.
I found lots of silver, along with clad but as usual I kept no records of what found. I made about five trips to Shorty's and do know I found 23 rings. For some reason I do remember the total number of rings on some sites. How many gold or silver I have no clue.
The beach was shallow for the first maybe sixty ft out but then dropped down at a 45 degree angle to the depths. It was all sand until I hit the weed bed then I could go no farther. The weed bed was only about 30 ft across but nobody much swam on the deeper side. I went over it and dropped down to the bottom, right where I hooked that 82 lb bass but it was all mucky.
On one of my dives I found an old pocket watch. I threw it in my pouch but didn't figure it was worth anything. When I got to shore I took it out and pried it open. What a mess. It was just a gob of rust. I pried the guts out and looking at the frame, which was gold plated, I just tossed it on a rock on shore.
The next year I decided to do another dive there. I had pretty much cleaned it out but I was bored it it was easy to get to. I carried my gear down and rigged up. After the dive I was walking out and saw that dang pocket watch body on the rock. It still was gold and shiny. What the heck. I picked up and looked it over. Dang thing was solid gold! Solid gold but thin. I took it home and tossed it in my goody box. I still have it somewhere.
It is just a guess but I had to have found at least fifty silver coins and a lot of clad. I found some old medals and dang I had almost forgotten, I found a police badge, State Police if I remember right. It was in great shape and you could tell by the way the pin was bent that it was pulled off a shirt. The story to that always puzzled me. I found it in the muck on the deep side of the weed bed, in about 20 or 25 ft of water if my memory serves me. I have a picture of that sucker somewhere.
I have not been back there for many years but when I go past I see it is still as I remember it. Across the street, where I parked, is all condo's now. There is no place to even park.
I hope this is of interest to you. This site needs a bit of waking up :D
Right next to my Aunts home was a Boat Livery called Shorty Hooks Place. It was a boat livery and he had a few cabins to rent out and a swimming area. It cost a buck or two to swim there and there was no way I could afford that back in the mid fifties.
Shorty was a local character. He was a sawed off little runt and if he got in the cups he would fight anyone or anything. He had been barred from most of the local bars but he managed to find somewhere to get drunk. He was a wirey little sucker, as I remember and he was always good to me. I would sell him night crawlers and crickets in the summer. It was Shorty that bought the crawlers by the pound from me. I thought he was trying to cheat me but he said there were a hundred in a pound. I didn't believe the sucker so I counted them out to check. Right on, one hundred to a pound or within one or two.
If you stood on the shore and looked lake ward there were two docks. The one on the right was the one he had his rentals tied up to and the one on the left was the swimming dock. On the end of the dock there was a diving board, about six feet off the water.
If you stood on the diving dock the weed bed was only about 10 or 12 ft out. In other words, if you made a long shallow dive you would end up in the weeds. The water there was about 20 ft deep. Now I never swam there but I used to fish it a lot from my aunts boat. I hooked the biggest bass I ever saw between those two docks, fought it for a while and it broke my line right at the boat. Since I lost it it was a 39 pound large mouth bass! A mite smaller if I had caught it :D
Between the two docks it was all sand. I don't know if the little bastud had it trucked in back in the twenty's or not. Shorty was a friend of my parents and he had the place from back in the 20's, maybe earlier, I don't know. I was 12 or 13 at the time.
Many years later and long after Shorty had died, the old building was still there. The docks were gone and the building was just used for storage. It is a small building, about 10 by maybe 15 ft. He didn't need much to rent boats and sell bait. Where his house was and the cabins were was just a vacant lot now.
I would drive past his old place occasionally and I would always wonder if there was anything there to find. I had never seen anyone there of course and it was private now. The old shack had been dressed up a bit but I never saw anyone around.
One day I stopped across the street and walked across the street to the old building, all the time thinking someone was gonna confront me for trespassing. There were no signs but what the heck, someone owned it!
I walked down to the lake and looked it over, trying to remember how it was laid out. Heck, it looked good. I had never dove the area and the thought of diving where I lost the big 55 lb bass excited me. You know, the bass I lost. I could tell how much it weighed by its SCALES :D:D:D
A few days later I loaded my Hookah and detector, along with the rest of my diving gear and headed for the lake, fulling expecting someone to kick my trespassing arse out. The site was right on the main highway so I would be seen. I would have been happy to ask permission but had no clue who owned it anyway.
I parked in the vacant lot and started lugging my gear across the road and down the small hill to the water. The day was just perfect, nice and cool and very calm. It seems it was in the fall, which is my favorite time to be detecting with scuba. The water is still warm but the activity on the lake has let up.
I geared up and waded out a ways. As I said, the beach was still all sand but both sides of the sand area was real mucky. It was sandy under the swimming dock but the boat dock was another matter. The water was only about three or four ft at the boat dock but if I stood there I was soon in the sticky muck to my knees. With fins on it was hard to move.
It was rather weedy there but I like to check the boat docks for tools.
I waded over to the sand and dropped to the bottom and started my sweeps. There were coins all over the place. It had not been hunted! At least the deeper water was loaded. I say deeper but there were coins all over the place in four feet of water. A wader could have easily hunted it if they had realized it was once a beach.
One thing about these glory holes I have found. I never hunt the shallow water. If I can not lay on the bottom and hunt, I leave it for others. I don't especially like wading and detecting so I just get the deeper stuff. There was plenty there. Not as much as Dodge Park on Cass Lake but still plenty.
I found lots of silver, along with clad but as usual I kept no records of what found. I made about five trips to Shorty's and do know I found 23 rings. For some reason I do remember the total number of rings on some sites. How many gold or silver I have no clue.
The beach was shallow for the first maybe sixty ft out but then dropped down at a 45 degree angle to the depths. It was all sand until I hit the weed bed then I could go no farther. The weed bed was only about 30 ft across but nobody much swam on the deeper side. I went over it and dropped down to the bottom, right where I hooked that 82 lb bass but it was all mucky.
On one of my dives I found an old pocket watch. I threw it in my pouch but didn't figure it was worth anything. When I got to shore I took it out and pried it open. What a mess. It was just a gob of rust. I pried the guts out and looking at the frame, which was gold plated, I just tossed it on a rock on shore.
The next year I decided to do another dive there. I had pretty much cleaned it out but I was bored it it was easy to get to. I carried my gear down and rigged up. After the dive I was walking out and saw that dang pocket watch body on the rock. It still was gold and shiny. What the heck. I picked up and looked it over. Dang thing was solid gold! Solid gold but thin. I took it home and tossed it in my goody box. I still have it somewhere.
It is just a guess but I had to have found at least fifty silver coins and a lot of clad. I found some old medals and dang I had almost forgotten, I found a police badge, State Police if I remember right. It was in great shape and you could tell by the way the pin was bent that it was pulled off a shirt. The story to that always puzzled me. I found it in the muck on the deep side of the weed bed, in about 20 or 25 ft of water if my memory serves me. I have a picture of that sucker somewhere.
I have not been back there for many years but when I go past I see it is still as I remember it. Across the street, where I parked, is all condo's now. There is no place to even park.
I hope this is of interest to you. This site needs a bit of waking up :D
Crazy Robin
Kwasy Wobbin!
I was setting here at my computer yesterday doing computer things and in the background I kept hearing this tap tap tap. Over and over and at first it was just a far off thing that didn't really register.
Finally it came to my notice but I just tried to ignore it. Tap tap tap over and over. Finally it started irritating me and I looked around the room, wondering what the heck it might be, the wind tapping a branch against the window maybe?
I looked out the window and not a branch moved. Tap tap tap. It continued.I tried to ignore it but it soon became the only thing I heard.
Finally I got up and tried to figure where the heck it was coming from. I walked into the kitchen and stood listening. Tap tap tap. It was a bit louder but where was it coming from?
I looked in the cupboards thinking it might be a mouse but there was nothing there and it just kept on, tap tap tap.
I looked out the window and saw nothing at all. I opened the basement door and it sounded a little louder so I went down the stairs, not turning on the lights as I did not want to scare what was doing it. A haint maybe? Tap tap tap
It sounded like it was coming from the wash room so I looked in the doorway and the noise was louder. I walked in and stood, looking around. Tap tap tap, it continued like I was not there.
I looked around and there the little sucker was! I looked at the little basement window and there was a male Robin, pecking at the window. Tap tap tap, over and over again and he just would not quit.
I figured the little guy was getting at some ants or other bug but I looked closely and there was nothing there.
I went outside to see if I could figure what was wrong with the goofy bird but on closer inspection I saw nothing at all. Except his reflection.
It being the spring mating season the solution became apparent. He was fighting another male Robin. At least he thought he was. When I walked up he hopped off and flew into a low branch of a near tree and watched me.
I just laughed and propped a screen against the window, the one he was fighting, so he would not beat his brains out. I was suspecting he was lacking a bit in the brain department. Then I went back to what I was doing. Tap tap tap. He started before I was in the house. He just moved to the next pane. I got a piece of wood and put it against the other window and sure enough, a few minutes later he was at it again, Tap tap tap. It doesn't take much to fire him up it seems. He should have used a little of that aggression against that cow bird last spring I figure.
I don't know how long he was doing it before I noticed it yesterday but after I started hearing it he did it for FIVE BLOODY HOURS!!
As I set here this morning I hear Tap tap tap and he has been at it since sun up, a couple hours ago. Before I go home I am gonna block that bloody window off or the poor thing with beat his own brains out.
These are poor pictures but I could not get close with the outside shot and the inside was taken through a dirty window with the camera held over my head. The funny thing is that inside I took about six shots with flash, right in his face and it did not stop him at all.
I hope some found the KWasey Wobbin story interesting
I was setting here at my computer yesterday doing computer things and in the background I kept hearing this tap tap tap. Over and over and at first it was just a far off thing that didn't really register.
Finally it came to my notice but I just tried to ignore it. Tap tap tap over and over. Finally it started irritating me and I looked around the room, wondering what the heck it might be, the wind tapping a branch against the window maybe?
I looked out the window and not a branch moved. Tap tap tap. It continued.I tried to ignore it but it soon became the only thing I heard.
Finally I got up and tried to figure where the heck it was coming from. I walked into the kitchen and stood listening. Tap tap tap. It was a bit louder but where was it coming from?
I looked in the cupboards thinking it might be a mouse but there was nothing there and it just kept on, tap tap tap.
I looked out the window and saw nothing at all. I opened the basement door and it sounded a little louder so I went down the stairs, not turning on the lights as I did not want to scare what was doing it. A haint maybe? Tap tap tap
It sounded like it was coming from the wash room so I looked in the doorway and the noise was louder. I walked in and stood, looking around. Tap tap tap, it continued like I was not there.
I looked around and there the little sucker was! I looked at the little basement window and there was a male Robin, pecking at the window. Tap tap tap, over and over again and he just would not quit.
I figured the little guy was getting at some ants or other bug but I looked closely and there was nothing there.
I went outside to see if I could figure what was wrong with the goofy bird but on closer inspection I saw nothing at all. Except his reflection.
It being the spring mating season the solution became apparent. He was fighting another male Robin. At least he thought he was. When I walked up he hopped off and flew into a low branch of a near tree and watched me.
I just laughed and propped a screen against the window, the one he was fighting, so he would not beat his brains out. I was suspecting he was lacking a bit in the brain department. Then I went back to what I was doing. Tap tap tap. He started before I was in the house. He just moved to the next pane. I got a piece of wood and put it against the other window and sure enough, a few minutes later he was at it again, Tap tap tap. It doesn't take much to fire him up it seems. He should have used a little of that aggression against that cow bird last spring I figure.
I don't know how long he was doing it before I noticed it yesterday but after I started hearing it he did it for FIVE BLOODY HOURS!!
As I set here this morning I hear Tap tap tap and he has been at it since sun up, a couple hours ago. Before I go home I am gonna block that bloody window off or the poor thing with beat his own brains out.
These are poor pictures but I could not get close with the outside shot and the inside was taken through a dirty window with the camera held over my head. The funny thing is that inside I took about six shots with flash, right in his face and it did not stop him at all.
I hope some found the KWasey Wobbin story interesting
Winter Kayaking
What a wonderful day on the river. Mary and I arrived in Roscommon on Tuesday morning. There was a little snow but we would have liked to have had more for my kayaking and her skiing. She loves the river but is a bit leery to try it in winter conditions and frankly, I am glad she is. I don’t like to have to worry about anyone but myself on that fast cold river! Summer is different but winter can be dangerous.
The next few days were dreary and we watched the weather report. There was suppose to be snow on the way later in the week and we figured we could wait a bit. She needed snow for the skiing and I wanted snow for the beauty it would give the river. I was honestly hoping for a blizzard, like when my brother and I went down a couple years ago but would be happy with anything.
One day we went for a hike along the river. There is a beautiful trail that follows it and it gave me a chance to look it over a bit. It was rough walking as the ruts were frozen and the problem was I was continuously breaking through the crust, making for tough going.
I was following Mary as it is best to go at her speed and day dreaming. I was watching the trail so I could select the best footing for myself and I realized I was looking at bear tracks. What the heck was a bear doing out in the winter? Ain’t they suppose to be hibernating now, I was a thinking? Well by golly they look like bear tracks to me!! I pointed them out to Mary and she had just noticed them herself! They were a few days old and I started a looking around and farther down the trail, about 20 ft is all, there were a set of older ones. They were crossing the trail and were a bit smaller.
I told my buddy Dave about it and he acted like I didn’t know the difference between a bear track and a dog track. What do you thing?? Wayner???
There is a Resort down the road from us and I decided to talk to him about the conditions on the river. The name of it is PaddleBrave http://www.paddlebrave.com/webapp Tom the owner said that he had had a party of three one man canoes go down a few days before and one of them had flipped. By the time they got to Canoe Harbor they had had enough and called for him to pick them up. Canoe harbor is about 16 miles from his place and he said they were out of dry cloths. I asked if they were newbies but he said they were members of a club and seemed to know what they were doing. Great Oh well, they might have been stupid too.
I looked over the river wherever I could and it was fairly high and moving pretty good. There was no ice to speak of floating downstream and that was good news to me. When my brother and I made our trip a few years ago there was a lot of ice and that is where our problems started. There was a tree down about half way down the river and the ice had backed up from the tree and blocked our advancement. I had to hike out in the dang blizzard and come back with my 4WD to get Gary and the Kayaks. I posted that story a few years ago.
I was determined to make the run but also figured I had better be prepared for a dunking if it came to that. The Mason Tract is 16 miles with no roads or homes along it. If I put in at Paddlebrave it would add about 5 miles to the trip. That would be 21 miles for you Blondes. There are homes along the upper five miles and I could get a feel for conditions before entering the Mason Tract at Chase Bridge. I decided to do go in there.
We were sure hoping for some snow and Friday night it started. It started right after dark and we were sure happy for it. It was a sticking type snow which was great for Mary and the trails and would make the trip down the river beautiful.
From the time I decided I was going for it I had been going over what I would need to take along. I would be dressed in a snowmobile suit with warm gloves and boots but I was gonna take extra everything, in dry bags. Boots, suit, gloves, sox etc! I made a list and checked it twice, you can be on that!
I went to the hardware and bought some fire starter and threw in a bottle of charcoal starter to boot. Extra touque and sweatshirt! I wanted to take a camera and decided on my old two meg camera. If I dunked, I did not want the good one to take a dip. I had to buy a couple cigarette lighters and packed them all in the dry bag. Man I was ready! At least I hoped I was! Even with all the preparations, if I rolled over it would be miserable trying to get to shore and getting a fire going and changing cloths. I could still be in trouble and knew it. I have been in that ice water and it is not fun. You do not have a lot of time to waste.
I thought about renting one of Tom’s kayaks but decided to use my own, as I was used to it and didn’t need any distractions if I had any problems. Some were sure to come up.
Friday night we went to bed. I was exhausted because we had hiked that day along the river. We had hiked for 2 and a half hours and it was rough going. I was dragging butt but as I lay there I was going over what I was to be doing the next day. My mind was racing and I went over every piece of gear I was taking and could find nothing I had forgotten.
We have made maybe 60 or 70 trips down that river and I tried to think of where I might have problems. I could think of three, one at the upper end where there was a small island and if I went to the right side, which was where the main current ran, there was a tree laying almost all the way across the river and if I was swept into it sideways and it was entirely possible, I would be lucky not to roll over. The current was powerful there. I had to remember to take it to the left side! Then there was the dang place where the Beaver had dammed it up last fall. If they had the river blocked I had to be careful and look it over before I made my move there. That could be rough as it is bad in the summer with low water. Many people dumped there without the dam being there. Gotta watch that place. Then down the other side of Canoe Harbor there is a place that my buddy had dumped last spring. There are trees that have fallen in on each side of the river and they funneled the water through a narrow spot that I had to hit squarely or I was gonna be one cold, wet old fart!
The problem is there were so many places that trees could be blocking the river that I did not have any way of anticipating. All I could do is watch the water and pay attention to what it was telling me. I had to make sure I had my touque off my ears so I could hear the water because it can tell you a lot. I had to watch ahead for eddies and signs of rocks. If you see an eddy from a rock you must realize that what you are seeing is downstream from the obstruction. A lot of people don’t realize this and try to miss the eddy but hit the rock. If a person watches the river it will tell you a lot. That is the benefit of going alone I figured, I can pay attention to what the hell I am doing. Gotta do that.
I finally got to sleep and as usual, got up early. It was still dark so I started the coffee and packed a lunch. Mary knew I wanted to hit the river early so she crawled out of bed and got ready to take me to the Paddlebrave. I was to take my kayak and gear with me and then when I got to Smith Bridge, where I would be picked up, I would call Tom with my Cell and he would come and get me.
Man was it a beautiful morning. The pines were covered with snow and everything looked so clean and fresh. I was excited to be getting on the river at last.
Mary dropped me off at the camp and headed home. Tom came out to give me a hand loading up and getting my big butt into the kayak. That is the time a person is gonna have a problem. Those things are very stable but getting into and out of them is tricky. Once in there is no problem.
I loaded up the gear with the kayak setting on shore in the snow. It is much easier that way and you can get everything in its place before getting in. We carried the kayak to the river and slid it in. He has a breakwall and was able to hold the kayak as I settled my big butt in. Once in, I put the thermos between my legs so I could get at it and after checking everything, pushed off.
The water was moving fast and I was a little tense but after a minute or two I felt myself relaxing and going with the flow. There are a lot of trees hanging over the river but it is easy to avoid them if I looked ahead.
So many people get in trouble by not looking ahead and I was not gonna have that as an excuse if I took a dump!
The first five miles the river has a lot of homes and cottages, as I said and it runs right behind our place. We are not on the river but we are on a ridge above it. It is smooth going there and if I were to flip, I could easily get help. Good place to start!
I left Paddlebrave and soon slid under Steckart Bridge and on to adventure. I was excited and had my camera hung around my neck at the ready, for what I did not know but it sure was a beautiful morning.
I only paddled enough to maintain mydirection and to guide the kayak around the obstructions, of which there were many but I was enjoying the beauty of the river. There are many ducks feeding along the shallows and as I approached them, they would flush with a lot of quacking and splashing. They would fly a couple hundred feet and then land, until I approached again and then off they would go again, in a burst of noise. It was just beautiful. Except for the ducks there was not a sound, other than the occasional sound from my paddle. Most of the cottages are closed for the winter and I was alone with nature.
I was enjoying the scene and just letting my mind wander, there is so much to take in, and I noticed something in a tree, far ahead. At first I did not pay it any mind but it seemed to draw my eyes back. I would look away and then would be looking at it again, with no real thought as to what it was.
Finally I thought, “What the hell? That looks like a dang Eagle!” I stared at it and as I drew nearer I knew dang well it was a Bald Eagle! Now that is a thrill for this old Michigan boy!! I was too far off for my two meg camera but it is what I had so I took a couple shots of it. I was hoping I could get right under is, as some times you can but the dang ducks flushed in front of me and scared the sucker off. Down river it went and I got a poor shot of it but at least I saw it!!
As I drifted downstream, towards Chase Bridge and the start of the Mason Tract, I saw it three more times. One time it flew from behind me and soared over my head at about 20 ft but I was not ready for it.
One thing I did see that surprised me was a Great Blue Heron and a few Kingfishers. I was always under the impression that they flew south in the winter but there they were, on the banks of the South Branch of the Ausable River in the winter.
Man this is getting long. More tomorrow!!
Here we go again. Gotta get my head back into to. :D
As I pass under the Chase Bridge, which is the beginning of the Mason Tract, I feel a little tension coming back. I know that if I get in trouble down here it could mean a miserable time, at least until I could get to shore, build a fire and change cloths. The problem is if I went over I would have to have the sense to grab the kayak and drag it to shore with its contents. The contents were pretty important to me :D Then build a fire and change. Dang I had just better stay on top of the water!!
As you can see by the pictures the Mason Tract is pretty wild! On the upper part there are places that it is pretty hard to even get on shore! It is thick! Building a fire would be easy, as I had lighters and fire starter but it would be an adventure, for sure. One I was not wanting!
The river is a river of a thousand bends. Maybe not a thousand but sure a lot of them. It is rare when you can see more than a hundred feet down stream but that is what makes it so interesting and beautiful. There are cedar trees crowding the shores and many have fallen into the river, which makes it such great trout habitat. The Department of Natural Recourses maintain the river and even drop trees and position them with helicopters to slow the river and maintain cover for the trout. It makes for a great float.
There is one cabin on the upper part of the river. Some author owned it and it is right on a bend with a small island in front of it. You can pass on either side, with the main current passing between the island and cabin. This is the natural way for a paddler to go. The problem is there is a tree down and laying ¾ of the way across the river, jutting from the bank, toward the island. It can not be seen until you are committed to go to the right. I had seen it during the summer so was forewarned but I was worried that the left side was blocked by a beaver or just floating logs. I did not want to go to the right if I could help it. I could go that way if I stayed tight to the island but it was very rocky and shallow there. I wanted to go left.
As I approached the cabin area I started back paddling to slow myself down. I wanted to look it over before I committed. A kayak is great that way because with little effort, even in a stiff current, you can stop the kayak and set still with a little back paddling. I saw that the left was blocked by a log but it was mostly under water. I said to hell with it and started stroking. I aimed directly for the submerged log and hit it squarely. It went down, as I hoped it would and I shot right over it. I was clear and headed down stream. I looked back to the other route and saw that there was barely room for a kayak to slide through if I had gone that way. I bet that is where the canoe had went over a few days before. If they hit that tree sideways and it would have been hard not to and the paddler had leaned to the left, he would roll right over!
I paddled and drifted for quite a ways, maybe six or seven miles and passed the Castle. Well there used to be what was called the Durant Castle there. Nothing but foundations now and a bit dock for paddlers. The water gets a bit deeper beyond the Castle but the paddling was smooth and quiet. I usually see mink in that area but saw none on Saturday. Actually I saw little in the way of wildlife in the Mason Tract that day and that was not the norm. I have seen lots of beaver, otter, eagles and deer there. That is where we had seen the bear tracks too. I don’t know what I did not see any unless it was because I was concentrating on the river.
There are places that there is swampy areas on both sides, usually where a small creeks enters. You have to know that the creeks are there to even spot them as they are over grown. Other areas are in deep cuts with high hills on one side or the other. I like the cuts because there is little wind there and all you can hear are birds and the babbling of the river as it runs under the fallen trees. It is so peaceful!
I then came around a bend and there was a dang fallen tree all the way across the river. Luckily for me there was room for me to glide under it if I ducked down a bit. That is where paddlers get in trouble if they are not careful. When you duck you have to duck forward or straight back because if you lean to eather side, you could easily roll over. This dang tree trunk left me room to get under but there were lots of branches hanging down to the water. The branches were covered with lots of snow too. I had to find a hole and aim for it. I saw an opening in the limbs and lined up on it and ducked forward, as the bow started through. Slick that snail snot I slid through but a load of snow fell off the dang brush and down my neck! Geeesh! I came clear of the limbs and saw that there was a sharp bend immediately beyond the tree. I gave a couple heavy strokes on the right and slid around the bend.
I figured it was time for some coffee and reached for the thermos. I picked it up and unscrewed the top. I poured a cupful and head a rattling. I looked down in the jug and saw the liner was broken. Cripes! I was looking forward to a hot cup of coffee and now I had to look out for broken glass! Well it still tasted good but was not hot any more. I drank most of the thermos of coffee but was careful not to drink the bottom inch or so.
I came across another tree that completely crossed the river but I could see that it was bobbing slowly with the current so just headed for it and hit it square. That is the trick. Hit is square because if it is floating you can just shove it down with the kayak and go right over. That was the case here. I just paddled right over it.
I went another few miles and was approaching the spot where the dang beaver had blocked the river last fall. I was hoping that someone had killed it and torn out the dam by now. I had been just enjoying the scenery and had come upon the area before I had expected to. Dumbass me! I came around the bend and there was the big pile of old trees that have been there for years, coming across the river from the left. I expect the river is maybe a hundred feet across at this point and the pile of old trees come to within 25 ft of the right bank. It is easy in the summer to just hit this opening and slide past the pile but this is the spot the beaver chose to build the dam. Not exactly at the opening but downstream about 20 ft or so. It still tied into the jumble of dead trees but not right at the opening. To get a good look at the dam I had to commit to going through and only had second or two to decide what to do, before I would hit the dam. I could try to shoot over it, as it was rather low but there was a lot of snags below it that could roll me over. I didn’t want that.
In the summer we sometimes have our shore lunch on this brush pile as there is usually a breeze there and the bugs are kept at bay. Behind the pile of trees and it is a rather big pile, there is a calm area, the trees act like a dam and if I can get there I have a little breathing room. I slid through the gap and headed for the dam. I looked quickly to the left and the calm area but there were a bunch of small limbs and such blocking the way. To heck with I thought and started a stroking for the limbs. I did not want to be forced against the dang beaver dam and I sure did not want to risk going over it either. I figured I would force myself as far as possible into the limbs and such and at least be out of the current.
I shot right through it and into the relative calm area. I looked ahead of me to the shore and saw a kayak sized opening against the shore and paddled through it, back into the main river. Man that was as smooth as I could hope for and it was unplanned. I just got lucky and used what was offered. I looked back at the area I had just come through and it didn’t look as bad as it did from the top. I took this picture but it is rather poor as I was moving and shooting over my shoulder at the time. It is funny but I look at the dang picture and it looks as calm as a mill pond but coming down through that crap was sorta puckery like :D
The rest of the trip was just great until I got to Canoe Harbor, where the canoeist got out a couple days before. Just below was the place my buddy Jim had rolled over last spring in high water. There were trees coming out from each bank and there was a small gap in the middle to go through. These trees had been there for many years and were just skeletons of trees actually. The river is narrow there and fast but it is fun to shoot through.
I came around the bend and looked ahead, now very far ahead actually and saw in front of me the spot. I was moving rather fast and I saw that there was a dang dead tree blocking across the opening and I was committed now. Crap thunk I! I heard someone say, “Hey that is a bad spot” No kidding but I had no choice now and paddled as hard as I could at it. It was laying low but I was a bit tense. Wet ass here I come! And only a mile from Smith Bridge where I was to stop.
I just hit that dang log as hard as I could and shot right over it and into the slick water on the other side. I was so dang happy to have made it. I did not what lay ahead in the next mile or so but there were houses down there where I could get help if I needed it. As it turned out the way was clear and the rest of the trip was uneventful.
I just had a ball on the river last Saturday and am happy to have been able to share it with you. I would have liked to have had company but being alone did not take any of the thrill away.
I stayed dry!! :D
The next few days were dreary and we watched the weather report. There was suppose to be snow on the way later in the week and we figured we could wait a bit. She needed snow for the skiing and I wanted snow for the beauty it would give the river. I was honestly hoping for a blizzard, like when my brother and I went down a couple years ago but would be happy with anything.
One day we went for a hike along the river. There is a beautiful trail that follows it and it gave me a chance to look it over a bit. It was rough walking as the ruts were frozen and the problem was I was continuously breaking through the crust, making for tough going.
I was following Mary as it is best to go at her speed and day dreaming. I was watching the trail so I could select the best footing for myself and I realized I was looking at bear tracks. What the heck was a bear doing out in the winter? Ain’t they suppose to be hibernating now, I was a thinking? Well by golly they look like bear tracks to me!! I pointed them out to Mary and she had just noticed them herself! They were a few days old and I started a looking around and farther down the trail, about 20 ft is all, there were a set of older ones. They were crossing the trail and were a bit smaller.
I told my buddy Dave about it and he acted like I didn’t know the difference between a bear track and a dog track. What do you thing?? Wayner???
There is a Resort down the road from us and I decided to talk to him about the conditions on the river. The name of it is PaddleBrave http://www.paddlebrave.com/webapp Tom the owner said that he had had a party of three one man canoes go down a few days before and one of them had flipped. By the time they got to Canoe Harbor they had had enough and called for him to pick them up. Canoe harbor is about 16 miles from his place and he said they were out of dry cloths. I asked if they were newbies but he said they were members of a club and seemed to know what they were doing. Great Oh well, they might have been stupid too.
I looked over the river wherever I could and it was fairly high and moving pretty good. There was no ice to speak of floating downstream and that was good news to me. When my brother and I made our trip a few years ago there was a lot of ice and that is where our problems started. There was a tree down about half way down the river and the ice had backed up from the tree and blocked our advancement. I had to hike out in the dang blizzard and come back with my 4WD to get Gary and the Kayaks. I posted that story a few years ago.
I was determined to make the run but also figured I had better be prepared for a dunking if it came to that. The Mason Tract is 16 miles with no roads or homes along it. If I put in at Paddlebrave it would add about 5 miles to the trip. That would be 21 miles for you Blondes. There are homes along the upper five miles and I could get a feel for conditions before entering the Mason Tract at Chase Bridge. I decided to do go in there.
We were sure hoping for some snow and Friday night it started. It started right after dark and we were sure happy for it. It was a sticking type snow which was great for Mary and the trails and would make the trip down the river beautiful.
From the time I decided I was going for it I had been going over what I would need to take along. I would be dressed in a snowmobile suit with warm gloves and boots but I was gonna take extra everything, in dry bags. Boots, suit, gloves, sox etc! I made a list and checked it twice, you can be on that!
I went to the hardware and bought some fire starter and threw in a bottle of charcoal starter to boot. Extra touque and sweatshirt! I wanted to take a camera and decided on my old two meg camera. If I dunked, I did not want the good one to take a dip. I had to buy a couple cigarette lighters and packed them all in the dry bag. Man I was ready! At least I hoped I was! Even with all the preparations, if I rolled over it would be miserable trying to get to shore and getting a fire going and changing cloths. I could still be in trouble and knew it. I have been in that ice water and it is not fun. You do not have a lot of time to waste.
I thought about renting one of Tom’s kayaks but decided to use my own, as I was used to it and didn’t need any distractions if I had any problems. Some were sure to come up.
Friday night we went to bed. I was exhausted because we had hiked that day along the river. We had hiked for 2 and a half hours and it was rough going. I was dragging butt but as I lay there I was going over what I was to be doing the next day. My mind was racing and I went over every piece of gear I was taking and could find nothing I had forgotten.
We have made maybe 60 or 70 trips down that river and I tried to think of where I might have problems. I could think of three, one at the upper end where there was a small island and if I went to the right side, which was where the main current ran, there was a tree laying almost all the way across the river and if I was swept into it sideways and it was entirely possible, I would be lucky not to roll over. The current was powerful there. I had to remember to take it to the left side! Then there was the dang place where the Beaver had dammed it up last fall. If they had the river blocked I had to be careful and look it over before I made my move there. That could be rough as it is bad in the summer with low water. Many people dumped there without the dam being there. Gotta watch that place. Then down the other side of Canoe Harbor there is a place that my buddy had dumped last spring. There are trees that have fallen in on each side of the river and they funneled the water through a narrow spot that I had to hit squarely or I was gonna be one cold, wet old fart!
The problem is there were so many places that trees could be blocking the river that I did not have any way of anticipating. All I could do is watch the water and pay attention to what it was telling me. I had to make sure I had my touque off my ears so I could hear the water because it can tell you a lot. I had to watch ahead for eddies and signs of rocks. If you see an eddy from a rock you must realize that what you are seeing is downstream from the obstruction. A lot of people don’t realize this and try to miss the eddy but hit the rock. If a person watches the river it will tell you a lot. That is the benefit of going alone I figured, I can pay attention to what the hell I am doing. Gotta do that.
I finally got to sleep and as usual, got up early. It was still dark so I started the coffee and packed a lunch. Mary knew I wanted to hit the river early so she crawled out of bed and got ready to take me to the Paddlebrave. I was to take my kayak and gear with me and then when I got to Smith Bridge, where I would be picked up, I would call Tom with my Cell and he would come and get me.
Man was it a beautiful morning. The pines were covered with snow and everything looked so clean and fresh. I was excited to be getting on the river at last.
Mary dropped me off at the camp and headed home. Tom came out to give me a hand loading up and getting my big butt into the kayak. That is the time a person is gonna have a problem. Those things are very stable but getting into and out of them is tricky. Once in there is no problem.
I loaded up the gear with the kayak setting on shore in the snow. It is much easier that way and you can get everything in its place before getting in. We carried the kayak to the river and slid it in. He has a breakwall and was able to hold the kayak as I settled my big butt in. Once in, I put the thermos between my legs so I could get at it and after checking everything, pushed off.
The water was moving fast and I was a little tense but after a minute or two I felt myself relaxing and going with the flow. There are a lot of trees hanging over the river but it is easy to avoid them if I looked ahead.
So many people get in trouble by not looking ahead and I was not gonna have that as an excuse if I took a dump!
The first five miles the river has a lot of homes and cottages, as I said and it runs right behind our place. We are not on the river but we are on a ridge above it. It is smooth going there and if I were to flip, I could easily get help. Good place to start!
I left Paddlebrave and soon slid under Steckart Bridge and on to adventure. I was excited and had my camera hung around my neck at the ready, for what I did not know but it sure was a beautiful morning.
I only paddled enough to maintain mydirection and to guide the kayak around the obstructions, of which there were many but I was enjoying the beauty of the river. There are many ducks feeding along the shallows and as I approached them, they would flush with a lot of quacking and splashing. They would fly a couple hundred feet and then land, until I approached again and then off they would go again, in a burst of noise. It was just beautiful. Except for the ducks there was not a sound, other than the occasional sound from my paddle. Most of the cottages are closed for the winter and I was alone with nature.
I was enjoying the scene and just letting my mind wander, there is so much to take in, and I noticed something in a tree, far ahead. At first I did not pay it any mind but it seemed to draw my eyes back. I would look away and then would be looking at it again, with no real thought as to what it was.
Finally I thought, “What the hell? That looks like a dang Eagle!” I stared at it and as I drew nearer I knew dang well it was a Bald Eagle! Now that is a thrill for this old Michigan boy!! I was too far off for my two meg camera but it is what I had so I took a couple shots of it. I was hoping I could get right under is, as some times you can but the dang ducks flushed in front of me and scared the sucker off. Down river it went and I got a poor shot of it but at least I saw it!!
As I drifted downstream, towards Chase Bridge and the start of the Mason Tract, I saw it three more times. One time it flew from behind me and soared over my head at about 20 ft but I was not ready for it.
One thing I did see that surprised me was a Great Blue Heron and a few Kingfishers. I was always under the impression that they flew south in the winter but there they were, on the banks of the South Branch of the Ausable River in the winter.
Man this is getting long. More tomorrow!!
Here we go again. Gotta get my head back into to. :D
As I pass under the Chase Bridge, which is the beginning of the Mason Tract, I feel a little tension coming back. I know that if I get in trouble down here it could mean a miserable time, at least until I could get to shore, build a fire and change cloths. The problem is if I went over I would have to have the sense to grab the kayak and drag it to shore with its contents. The contents were pretty important to me :D Then build a fire and change. Dang I had just better stay on top of the water!!
As you can see by the pictures the Mason Tract is pretty wild! On the upper part there are places that it is pretty hard to even get on shore! It is thick! Building a fire would be easy, as I had lighters and fire starter but it would be an adventure, for sure. One I was not wanting!
The river is a river of a thousand bends. Maybe not a thousand but sure a lot of them. It is rare when you can see more than a hundred feet down stream but that is what makes it so interesting and beautiful. There are cedar trees crowding the shores and many have fallen into the river, which makes it such great trout habitat. The Department of Natural Recourses maintain the river and even drop trees and position them with helicopters to slow the river and maintain cover for the trout. It makes for a great float.
There is one cabin on the upper part of the river. Some author owned it and it is right on a bend with a small island in front of it. You can pass on either side, with the main current passing between the island and cabin. This is the natural way for a paddler to go. The problem is there is a tree down and laying ¾ of the way across the river, jutting from the bank, toward the island. It can not be seen until you are committed to go to the right. I had seen it during the summer so was forewarned but I was worried that the left side was blocked by a beaver or just floating logs. I did not want to go to the right if I could help it. I could go that way if I stayed tight to the island but it was very rocky and shallow there. I wanted to go left.
As I approached the cabin area I started back paddling to slow myself down. I wanted to look it over before I committed. A kayak is great that way because with little effort, even in a stiff current, you can stop the kayak and set still with a little back paddling. I saw that the left was blocked by a log but it was mostly under water. I said to hell with it and started stroking. I aimed directly for the submerged log and hit it squarely. It went down, as I hoped it would and I shot right over it. I was clear and headed down stream. I looked back to the other route and saw that there was barely room for a kayak to slide through if I had gone that way. I bet that is where the canoe had went over a few days before. If they hit that tree sideways and it would have been hard not to and the paddler had leaned to the left, he would roll right over!
I paddled and drifted for quite a ways, maybe six or seven miles and passed the Castle. Well there used to be what was called the Durant Castle there. Nothing but foundations now and a bit dock for paddlers. The water gets a bit deeper beyond the Castle but the paddling was smooth and quiet. I usually see mink in that area but saw none on Saturday. Actually I saw little in the way of wildlife in the Mason Tract that day and that was not the norm. I have seen lots of beaver, otter, eagles and deer there. That is where we had seen the bear tracks too. I don’t know what I did not see any unless it was because I was concentrating on the river.
There are places that there is swampy areas on both sides, usually where a small creeks enters. You have to know that the creeks are there to even spot them as they are over grown. Other areas are in deep cuts with high hills on one side or the other. I like the cuts because there is little wind there and all you can hear are birds and the babbling of the river as it runs under the fallen trees. It is so peaceful!
I then came around a bend and there was a dang fallen tree all the way across the river. Luckily for me there was room for me to glide under it if I ducked down a bit. That is where paddlers get in trouble if they are not careful. When you duck you have to duck forward or straight back because if you lean to eather side, you could easily roll over. This dang tree trunk left me room to get under but there were lots of branches hanging down to the water. The branches were covered with lots of snow too. I had to find a hole and aim for it. I saw an opening in the limbs and lined up on it and ducked forward, as the bow started through. Slick that snail snot I slid through but a load of snow fell off the dang brush and down my neck! Geeesh! I came clear of the limbs and saw that there was a sharp bend immediately beyond the tree. I gave a couple heavy strokes on the right and slid around the bend.
I figured it was time for some coffee and reached for the thermos. I picked it up and unscrewed the top. I poured a cupful and head a rattling. I looked down in the jug and saw the liner was broken. Cripes! I was looking forward to a hot cup of coffee and now I had to look out for broken glass! Well it still tasted good but was not hot any more. I drank most of the thermos of coffee but was careful not to drink the bottom inch or so.
I came across another tree that completely crossed the river but I could see that it was bobbing slowly with the current so just headed for it and hit it square. That is the trick. Hit is square because if it is floating you can just shove it down with the kayak and go right over. That was the case here. I just paddled right over it.
I went another few miles and was approaching the spot where the dang beaver had blocked the river last fall. I was hoping that someone had killed it and torn out the dam by now. I had been just enjoying the scenery and had come upon the area before I had expected to. Dumbass me! I came around the bend and there was the big pile of old trees that have been there for years, coming across the river from the left. I expect the river is maybe a hundred feet across at this point and the pile of old trees come to within 25 ft of the right bank. It is easy in the summer to just hit this opening and slide past the pile but this is the spot the beaver chose to build the dam. Not exactly at the opening but downstream about 20 ft or so. It still tied into the jumble of dead trees but not right at the opening. To get a good look at the dam I had to commit to going through and only had second or two to decide what to do, before I would hit the dam. I could try to shoot over it, as it was rather low but there was a lot of snags below it that could roll me over. I didn’t want that.
In the summer we sometimes have our shore lunch on this brush pile as there is usually a breeze there and the bugs are kept at bay. Behind the pile of trees and it is a rather big pile, there is a calm area, the trees act like a dam and if I can get there I have a little breathing room. I slid through the gap and headed for the dam. I looked quickly to the left and the calm area but there were a bunch of small limbs and such blocking the way. To heck with I thought and started a stroking for the limbs. I did not want to be forced against the dang beaver dam and I sure did not want to risk going over it either. I figured I would force myself as far as possible into the limbs and such and at least be out of the current.
I shot right through it and into the relative calm area. I looked ahead of me to the shore and saw a kayak sized opening against the shore and paddled through it, back into the main river. Man that was as smooth as I could hope for and it was unplanned. I just got lucky and used what was offered. I looked back at the area I had just come through and it didn’t look as bad as it did from the top. I took this picture but it is rather poor as I was moving and shooting over my shoulder at the time. It is funny but I look at the dang picture and it looks as calm as a mill pond but coming down through that crap was sorta puckery like :D
The rest of the trip was just great until I got to Canoe Harbor, where the canoeist got out a couple days before. Just below was the place my buddy Jim had rolled over last spring in high water. There were trees coming out from each bank and there was a small gap in the middle to go through. These trees had been there for many years and were just skeletons of trees actually. The river is narrow there and fast but it is fun to shoot through.
I came around the bend and looked ahead, now very far ahead actually and saw in front of me the spot. I was moving rather fast and I saw that there was a dang dead tree blocking across the opening and I was committed now. Crap thunk I! I heard someone say, “Hey that is a bad spot” No kidding but I had no choice now and paddled as hard as I could at it. It was laying low but I was a bit tense. Wet ass here I come! And only a mile from Smith Bridge where I was to stop.
I just hit that dang log as hard as I could and shot right over it and into the slick water on the other side. I was so dang happy to have made it. I did not what lay ahead in the next mile or so but there were houses down there where I could get help if I needed it. As it turned out the way was clear and the rest of the trip was uneventful.
I just had a ball on the river last Saturday and am happy to have been able to share it with you. I would have liked to have had company but being alone did not take any of the thrill away.
I stayed dry!! :D
Ray and the Crapper
This story is about the last trip I took into the wilds of Canada with the boys. My companions on this trip were Ray Bennett and a friend of several trips Dave Pryor. Ray was a diving buddy of mine and Dave was an electrician I had worked with for many years. Ray was a heck of a man. He had had heart problems all his life. He died a couple years ago at the age of 55. He had his first valve replacement at the age of 19 and that means they were experimenting on him. He had had two replacements since. That is what finally killed him. He was 5ft 7 and 220 lbs. I always told him if he was 2 inches taller he would be a perfect sphere!! That would always get his dander up. He was a hairy sucker too. Geeesh! Ray was the guy that was run#####g down the shore a cussing me at Lorenze lake! Dave was a feisty sucker. Bad nerves. While we were working together he would take up to 10 Valiums a day to keep cool. I didn’t know a person could live taking that many. After two days in the woods, he seldom needed any! Those were great trips and he could unwind up there. He had never done anything like that until he started going up with us.
I can’t remember the name of this lake so maybe I will call it Gore Lake because as I remember it, it sucked. We flew into this lake in early June and the weather at that time of year is pretty iffy. You can have beautiful weather with millions of blackflies or it could be snowing and cold. The cold never bothered my much but some would get a bit testy. Like Ray! He was on blood thinners and it bothered him. I remember flying into a lake and we had to dodge the squalls on the way in. That is another story!
Well when we flew into the bush the weather was beautiful. The camp was a tent camp at the south end of the lake. The reason I can remember the end of the lake it was on will become apparent in the next story. I’m gonna bust this one up a bit.
We were flying in a Dehavilland, Beaver. Now if I spelt that sucker right it is pure luck. You pilots will know what I am talking about. They are a single engine float plane that has power to spare. I think it is about 400hp or so. They are one of the primary planes that are used by the bush pilots.. The Beaver and Otter. I have flown in on a Cessna but don’t remember which. 172 or something like that. The Beaver it noisy and they fill them with all the gear they can get in them. On my later trips they had instruments and even radios in them but the early ones didn’t. I have flown into the bush with the pilot navigating with a dang map on his lap!
As is usual the pilot circled the lake before approaching for a landing. Checking for floating logs and fishing boats in his landing area. He then lines up on the longest stretch of water and at treetop level, slips it to the water. Those guys are great pilots. Course they fly from dawn to dusk all summer long with probably a landing every half-hour or so. They get plenty of practice.
On this day the lake was like glass and it was a fun flight. We landed and the pilot swung the plane around and taxied up to the camp. There was no dock but a bit of a sandy beach which he just ran the pontoons up on. .
There were people fishing the lake the previous week and their gear was setting on the beach awaiting the plane. We got out and said our hellos. As usual we asked how the fishing was and had them mark on the map where they had caught fish. Then they helped us unload our gear and in turn we aided them load theirs.
It was a beautiful camp. Two tents, which were on frames, which meant we would not be sleeping on the ground. We would have a wooden floor. They were unheated but that was never a problem. The ope#####gs of the tents were facing the water, which meant they were facing north. There was a campfire and a good pile of firewood right in front of the tents. We heard the plane preparing for takeoff so we walked down to the beach to watch. I always loved to see them take off. As they leave the water and disappear over the trees. As I stand there, liste#####g to the sound of the plane disappearing, I start getting the feeling that we are alone. That is what we go up there for. The solitude and freedom to relax which not many of us get the chance to do.
We then started lugging our gear up to the camp. On the way I looked down and saw a damn mouse!! Fat hairy little sucker reminded me of Ray. I called them over and pointed him out. He was just a setting there, next to the path eating lichens. Wasn’t scared at all. We had become accustom to that because the wildlife in the bush aren’t normally scared of us. Heck the damn Canadian Jays and chipmunks will get right on the table and fight us for the dam food sometimes. Anyway he was cute. I reched down and could even touch the little guy. He just hunched up and kept on eating. I called him little Ray to Ray’s objection. More about him at a later time. Ray took a liking to the little guy
We were anxious to get fishing but we had to get camp set up. Like I said, there were already two tents set up but we had to organize our gear. Only time the whole week that it would be organized, I’ll tell you! One tent was for gear and the other was for sleeping.
The facilities in some of those camps were a bit crude. There is no woman on the planet that would live under the conditions that we did in some of those camps. The toilets were a bit crude to say the least. The best thing that could be said about them was the fact that they were up wind. Usually! The one we had at this camp was, about 50 ft downwind of camp, a 4 inch log, tied between two trees about 3 and a half ft off the ground or so. A hole was then dug in the ground and you had to drop your drawers, take aim at the hole and let er go!! Had to keep your heels out of the way so as you didn’t load up your britches. One thing that was a problem at that time of the year was the fact that the air was full of black flies. You could always go at night but the skeeters weren’t much better. Both would chew on your necessaries horrible like. Ain’t no place to have no swolt necessaries!! Itches too.
I was smart on this trip. I had gone to Kmart and bought a portable toilet. Only cost 6 bucks so it wasn’t what you would call real sturdy but it was all I could afford. All it was was a seat with legs and a bag that attached under it. I figured all I had to do is spray it full of Black Flag and then when I used it the fly could not get my parts. Never gave a lot of thought to what Black Flag would do to my parts though. Anyway, I figured it would beat the heck out of a damn log between two trees!!
Now Ray took exception to my toilet. He laughed at it and gave me a hard time. Course I took it like the gentleman I am. Damn cow! Our toilet was, as I said about 50 ft downwind of camp. Which would be to the west, on a rise. All brushy so a person could have a little privacy. Like who the heck would want to watch anyway? I found that the thing worked pretty well. I didn’t trust to put my full weight on the thing as I weighed about 220 myself at that time, but with a little balancing and concentration, it was a hell of a lot better than the log they were using.
I would always come down from my trip to the hill and laud the advantages of my portable toilet. Ray laughed at first but the flies were pretty bad at first and he was getting pretty much fly bit on his trips. I laughed and told him that I did not have that problem because of the Black Flag. I also told the boy he was not gonna use it no matter how much he begged!! Well we got to bickering back and forth and he said he was gonna use it if he wanted to. Course I didn’t care but I got to squalling just to make him feel good. He grabbed up his paper and headed for the hill. I told him to take a new bag and change mine and course he told me to go to hell and I was gonna burry HIS crap for him! He did have a testy streak in him at times.
Well up the hill he went. I yelled, “Don’t put all your fat assed weight on it” He told me to go to hell, that if it would hold me it would hold him. I guess I failed to tell the lad that I didn’t put all my weight on it. Hummm. I thought I told him. Anyway Dave and I were setting at the fire and Ray was up the hill. I grabbed my camera and ran up the hill to take a pic. Corse he was in a no position to run. He was just getting settled and ran me off!! I then went down to the campfire with Dave!
All of a sudden we heard a hell of a squallin’ noise! He was a using the Lord’s name in vain, I will tell you. In conjunction with mine it seemed. That and a bunch of noises that I didn’t really recognize as humanoid. We didn’t know what the heck had happened but when we looked up the hill he was gone. That is where the damn noise was coming from though. The boy was a calling ME names!! Heck I didn’t do nothing! We started up the rise and thin he appeared. He was pissed! Sorta red faced like as I remember. He was sorta on his knees and trying to drag his drawers up. The looks of his drawers made me wonder just why he wanted to do that. He got them up enough to hide what we didn’t want to see anyway and headed for the lake. As he turned around we saw that the portable had collapsed. He had put all his weight on the darned thing and smushed it. Course when he smushed it he sat in it. Bet he wished he had used his own bag now!! I said,”Hey, you smushed my terlet!!” Dave and I were laughing so damn hard that I almost peed myself. Ray was a bustin brush a trying to get to the lake so he could clean his fat ass! He had a bit of a waddle anyway but with his drawers around his knees and him trying to push through the brush with his elbows it was a sight to see! I wish I had a video of that!! He was just a bellering all the way down. I wasn’t all that sure I was gonna live through this one, I’ll tell you!
Thing about June in the bush is the fact that the water is cold. Ice had only been out for a couple weeks and it was bitter. Didn’t stop my buddy Ray!! He sat right down in that water and glared at me. I figured he might want some privacy so we went back to camp. I went up and looked at my terlet and yelled at him that he had to fix it for me. He said something about shoving it somewhere so I thought it was better to bury it. Couldn’t be fixed anyway, I guess.
After Ray got cleaned up a bit and changed, he settled down. That is until he found that I had forgotten to tell him that I didn’t put all my weight on it! He would not have listened anyway the way I figure!!
This is but one of the events in this camp and I will tell more later.
I can’t remember the name of this lake so maybe I will call it Gore Lake because as I remember it, it sucked. We flew into this lake in early June and the weather at that time of year is pretty iffy. You can have beautiful weather with millions of blackflies or it could be snowing and cold. The cold never bothered my much but some would get a bit testy. Like Ray! He was on blood thinners and it bothered him. I remember flying into a lake and we had to dodge the squalls on the way in. That is another story!
Well when we flew into the bush the weather was beautiful. The camp was a tent camp at the south end of the lake. The reason I can remember the end of the lake it was on will become apparent in the next story. I’m gonna bust this one up a bit.
We were flying in a Dehavilland, Beaver. Now if I spelt that sucker right it is pure luck. You pilots will know what I am talking about. They are a single engine float plane that has power to spare. I think it is about 400hp or so. They are one of the primary planes that are used by the bush pilots.. The Beaver and Otter. I have flown in on a Cessna but don’t remember which. 172 or something like that. The Beaver it noisy and they fill them with all the gear they can get in them. On my later trips they had instruments and even radios in them but the early ones didn’t. I have flown into the bush with the pilot navigating with a dang map on his lap!
As is usual the pilot circled the lake before approaching for a landing. Checking for floating logs and fishing boats in his landing area. He then lines up on the longest stretch of water and at treetop level, slips it to the water. Those guys are great pilots. Course they fly from dawn to dusk all summer long with probably a landing every half-hour or so. They get plenty of practice.
On this day the lake was like glass and it was a fun flight. We landed and the pilot swung the plane around and taxied up to the camp. There was no dock but a bit of a sandy beach which he just ran the pontoons up on. .
There were people fishing the lake the previous week and their gear was setting on the beach awaiting the plane. We got out and said our hellos. As usual we asked how the fishing was and had them mark on the map where they had caught fish. Then they helped us unload our gear and in turn we aided them load theirs.
It was a beautiful camp. Two tents, which were on frames, which meant we would not be sleeping on the ground. We would have a wooden floor. They were unheated but that was never a problem. The ope#####gs of the tents were facing the water, which meant they were facing north. There was a campfire and a good pile of firewood right in front of the tents. We heard the plane preparing for takeoff so we walked down to the beach to watch. I always loved to see them take off. As they leave the water and disappear over the trees. As I stand there, liste#####g to the sound of the plane disappearing, I start getting the feeling that we are alone. That is what we go up there for. The solitude and freedom to relax which not many of us get the chance to do.
We then started lugging our gear up to the camp. On the way I looked down and saw a damn mouse!! Fat hairy little sucker reminded me of Ray. I called them over and pointed him out. He was just a setting there, next to the path eating lichens. Wasn’t scared at all. We had become accustom to that because the wildlife in the bush aren’t normally scared of us. Heck the damn Canadian Jays and chipmunks will get right on the table and fight us for the dam food sometimes. Anyway he was cute. I reched down and could even touch the little guy. He just hunched up and kept on eating. I called him little Ray to Ray’s objection. More about him at a later time. Ray took a liking to the little guy
We were anxious to get fishing but we had to get camp set up. Like I said, there were already two tents set up but we had to organize our gear. Only time the whole week that it would be organized, I’ll tell you! One tent was for gear and the other was for sleeping.
The facilities in some of those camps were a bit crude. There is no woman on the planet that would live under the conditions that we did in some of those camps. The toilets were a bit crude to say the least. The best thing that could be said about them was the fact that they were up wind. Usually! The one we had at this camp was, about 50 ft downwind of camp, a 4 inch log, tied between two trees about 3 and a half ft off the ground or so. A hole was then dug in the ground and you had to drop your drawers, take aim at the hole and let er go!! Had to keep your heels out of the way so as you didn’t load up your britches. One thing that was a problem at that time of the year was the fact that the air was full of black flies. You could always go at night but the skeeters weren’t much better. Both would chew on your necessaries horrible like. Ain’t no place to have no swolt necessaries!! Itches too.
I was smart on this trip. I had gone to Kmart and bought a portable toilet. Only cost 6 bucks so it wasn’t what you would call real sturdy but it was all I could afford. All it was was a seat with legs and a bag that attached under it. I figured all I had to do is spray it full of Black Flag and then when I used it the fly could not get my parts. Never gave a lot of thought to what Black Flag would do to my parts though. Anyway, I figured it would beat the heck out of a damn log between two trees!!
Now Ray took exception to my toilet. He laughed at it and gave me a hard time. Course I took it like the gentleman I am. Damn cow! Our toilet was, as I said about 50 ft downwind of camp. Which would be to the west, on a rise. All brushy so a person could have a little privacy. Like who the heck would want to watch anyway? I found that the thing worked pretty well. I didn’t trust to put my full weight on the thing as I weighed about 220 myself at that time, but with a little balancing and concentration, it was a hell of a lot better than the log they were using.
I would always come down from my trip to the hill and laud the advantages of my portable toilet. Ray laughed at first but the flies were pretty bad at first and he was getting pretty much fly bit on his trips. I laughed and told him that I did not have that problem because of the Black Flag. I also told the boy he was not gonna use it no matter how much he begged!! Well we got to bickering back and forth and he said he was gonna use it if he wanted to. Course I didn’t care but I got to squalling just to make him feel good. He grabbed up his paper and headed for the hill. I told him to take a new bag and change mine and course he told me to go to hell and I was gonna burry HIS crap for him! He did have a testy streak in him at times.
Well up the hill he went. I yelled, “Don’t put all your fat assed weight on it” He told me to go to hell, that if it would hold me it would hold him. I guess I failed to tell the lad that I didn’t put all my weight on it. Hummm. I thought I told him. Anyway Dave and I were setting at the fire and Ray was up the hill. I grabbed my camera and ran up the hill to take a pic. Corse he was in a no position to run. He was just getting settled and ran me off!! I then went down to the campfire with Dave!
All of a sudden we heard a hell of a squallin’ noise! He was a using the Lord’s name in vain, I will tell you. In conjunction with mine it seemed. That and a bunch of noises that I didn’t really recognize as humanoid. We didn’t know what the heck had happened but when we looked up the hill he was gone. That is where the damn noise was coming from though. The boy was a calling ME names!! Heck I didn’t do nothing! We started up the rise and thin he appeared. He was pissed! Sorta red faced like as I remember. He was sorta on his knees and trying to drag his drawers up. The looks of his drawers made me wonder just why he wanted to do that. He got them up enough to hide what we didn’t want to see anyway and headed for the lake. As he turned around we saw that the portable had collapsed. He had put all his weight on the darned thing and smushed it. Course when he smushed it he sat in it. Bet he wished he had used his own bag now!! I said,”Hey, you smushed my terlet!!” Dave and I were laughing so damn hard that I almost peed myself. Ray was a bustin brush a trying to get to the lake so he could clean his fat ass! He had a bit of a waddle anyway but with his drawers around his knees and him trying to push through the brush with his elbows it was a sight to see! I wish I had a video of that!! He was just a bellering all the way down. I wasn’t all that sure I was gonna live through this one, I’ll tell you!
Thing about June in the bush is the fact that the water is cold. Ice had only been out for a couple weeks and it was bitter. Didn’t stop my buddy Ray!! He sat right down in that water and glared at me. I figured he might want some privacy so we went back to camp. I went up and looked at my terlet and yelled at him that he had to fix it for me. He said something about shoving it somewhere so I thought it was better to bury it. Couldn’t be fixed anyway, I guess.
After Ray got cleaned up a bit and changed, he settled down. That is until he found that I had forgotten to tell him that I didn’t put all my weight on it! He would not have listened anyway the way I figure!!
This is but one of the events in this camp and I will tell more later.
Raising the Motorcycle
Raising the Motorcycle
I live in Oakland County, Michigan. The largest lake in the county and also the most popular is Cass Lake. This lake is around 1200 to 1200 acres and it is fairly deep. There are 9 holes in it over 90 ft and of these, 5 are over 100. The deepest by the chart is 123 or so. There are sand bars and underwater hills, that I call sunken islands in various places on the lake. Some of these are on the edges of the depths. Visibility is usually pretty good but goes to nothing at about 55 ft in most places.
The bottom is hard sand, beautiful for the beaches that surround the lake. It is almost one continuous beach, all around the lake. A diver drops down the drop and the bottom is all silt. Deep silt in places.
The lake has some of the best small mouth bass fishing in the whole area. I have seen huge bass on many of my dives. Bass and walleyes. The bass will follow you all over the place like a damn dog. When I start seeing bass, I know I am nearing a weed bed.
That is the place to fish for these lunkers. The weed beds. The problem is they are hard to find in this lake. Weeds ring most lakes but Cass is different. If a person doesn't know the lake he will do well to find more than a hand full of them. Some are not much bigger than a car and will hold a lot of fish.
I was born in Keego Harbor, on the east shore of the lake. I pretty much know the bottom of the lake from years of fishing it and years of diving there. I can pretty much go directly to the weed beds. On some days it is a chore for even me to find them, they are so small and wave action will hide them.
I have hunted bottles in Cass Lake for years. I have found a lot of old blob topped beer bottles. They are usually embossed with the brewery's name and city. Before the prohibition, almost every town big enough to have a brewery, had one.
The place to find them is to go where the fishermen fished. It was the same a hundred years ago as now. The weed beds. I hunt for bottles with scuba gear. I will go to the bottom and reach into the silt with both hands and slowly searching by feel, for the bottles, as I move forward. There are a lot of bottles down there. When I find one I will look at the neck for a blob top and then feel for embossing. If it has either, I pop it in my mesh goodie bag. I have found old fishing tackle and one heck of a bunch of bottles this way.
Because of the popularity of the lake and the total lack of any IQ test for boaters and those arrogant pissants that ride the jet skis, it is too dangerous to dive the lake during the summer. I normally hit it soon after ice out and dive until late fall. It was not that way 25 years ago when I first started diving the lake but is now.
One day I decided to go out there and do a little searching. I loaded my boat with the diving gear and headed for the lake. This was to be a solo dive, as most of mine are. On solo dives I generally stay shallower than 40 ft and the fact that I was using my hooka also tends to keep me in the shallower water.
On of my favorite places is the dropoff along the south shore. This drop goes from about 3 ft to 25 at a 75 degree angle. The bottom is all hard sand, in the shallows and the drop is too steep to hold any sediment. When the droop hits the deeper bottom there is a build up of silt but only 6 inches or so, most places. People would fish this drop and toss their bottles. Since they could not hang on the drop, they would just roll down to the bottom. There over the years they would accumulate. That was easy picking when I first started hunting there. I would fill my bag before going home. There are a bunch of modern bottles there too but most are, or were, older ones. The visibility is usually pretty good over there too.
After diving along the drop for a while, I can't remember how long I was there, I decided to go check out a sunken island I had not spent much time on in the past.
This island, and another just to the east of it, was a great place to fish. Very few know about them as the weed beds are only bathtub size and almost impossible to see from the surface. I had been down on the before so knew that old bottles were to be found. The tops of the islands were under about 8 ft of water and they sat in about 35 ft of water. This made it a nice easy dive. I would just anchor my boat on the top and drop over the side and I was ready to start hunting.
The top of these islands are generally flat and pretty hard with a thin layer of moss like plants. They aren't much over an inch or so thick. I like to scan this area as if there is a bottle laying under this stuff the lump is easy to see. Many times there will be old anchors laying around too. I just pull the bottles out and check them out and it they are not keepers I just stick them back in the bottom, neck first so I don't dig them again.
On this dive I headed for the weed bed and swam down the drop-off to about 35 ft of depth. The bottom here has at least a foot of silt over the harder bottom. It was a fairly clear day and I could see about 20 ft down there. This is damn good for these inland lakes.
I started my search at this depth, working myself in a back and forth pattern, working myself up toward the weeds. The fishermen would just anchor off the weedbeds, is seems, and toss their bottles when empty.
I found some bottles but I can't remember exactly what. When I got bored with that I dropped down the drop and headed out a little farther on the flat, just to explore a bit. You never know what the heck you might find. I have found motors and boats, fishing shanties and pontoon boats. Hell you never knew what the heck you would find. It is fun to just explore like that and a little creepy at times, especially when the visibility is poor which was not the case on this day. I swam right into a damn shanty hole one time. I only had about 4 inches visibility at the time-----don't ask me what the hell I was diving at 30 ft with that kind of visibility, along for either L----! The thing was laying on its side and I blundered into the damn thing. That thing spooked me a bit. All I could see is a big black shadow and then I was in it. Geeehs!
Anyway, I digress, on this dive it was not the case. Visibility was as good as it gets in our lakes as a rule and I was just a crawling along the bottom, digging for whatever with my hands. Something was coming into view in the distance and I was unconsciously looking at as a person is want to do when there is little to see. I couldn't tell what the heck it was but it was sticking up about 3 ft on the flat empty landscape. I got curious eventually and swam over that way. We find lawn chairs and coolers out there on occasion and I half expected that to be the case now. I was still working my hands in the sediment of the bottom all this time and trying to lock my eyes on the thing.
As I neared it what I saw didn't make sense at first. It looked like a bike but how could that be. As I got closer I saw it was a motorcycle and it was laying upside down in the sediment. The wheels were sticking straight up to the surface, with the seat and gas tank out of sight in the silt. I wiped some of the sediment off it with my hand and heck, the thing didn't look all that old! I didn't have the equipment to raise it on this day but figured I would come back for it, better prepared.
One thing I did have to know. Where the hell was I? I knew where the knoll was but I had been wandering for quite a while and had not been paying attention to my compass. It is easy to get screwed up down there and I could easily be on the opposite side of the knoll than I had started. I decided to go up and mark in my mind, where the bike was.
I looked up at the surface and listened. I had no intention of coming up when a speedboat was around. You can hear the high pitch scream of their props for quite a distance. There are also a bunch of sailboats that use the lake and I almost came up under one of them a couple year before. Powerboats are suppose to stay 200 ft from my dive flag but many boaters are morons and have not a clue what it is. I have learned to look and listen before surfacing.
Everything was clear so I headed up. As I hit the surface I inflated my BC, which is the flotation device we all wear around out necks. I could relax now and eyeball the shore for landmarks. I was quite a ways from shore but was on the west side of the little underwater knoll. That's good! I lined myself up on a big tree on shore and had an idea I could find it again. I knew my depth and had enough information now. I then dumped the air from the BC and headed back down.
I wanted to get an idea of its condition before I spent the effort to recover it. It was a 350 Honda dirt bike. I figured some damn fool had been racing it across the lake, on the ice and had gone through. It happens and the rider seldom is doing much marking of locations as he is freezing his arse off in the half-frozen lake. I can't imagine why he did not get one of us divers to go down and recover it though useless he had drown of course. It happens.
I could not see the bike very well by this time as I had really stirred it up by now. Heck it looked good to me so I would bring it up on another day.
The next day at work I looked up an old diving buddy, Bob Savage. He had been diving for years and I figured he would be a good one to help lift the thing. We decided to do it the next weekend. In the meantime I would get the things together for the lift.
My aunt had an old pontoon boat moored on the lake which would be perfect for the lift, we figured. Nice and stable and a big deck to put the thing on for the ride to shore. There are various ways of doing the lift and they all involved tying a lift bag of some sort off to the target and filling it with air. Some of these lift bags can lift pretty heavy loads, in fact a friend of mine lifted an airplane from the bottom of this same lake with three of them. That is a story in itself! J These bags are pretty expensive and I didn't have one big enough. I figured we could just use a big plastic garbage can.
On Saturday morning Bob and I met at the dock for the dive. We loaded our equipment on the pontoon boat. Boy are they nice to dive from! We did our double check of the gear and shoved off from the dock.
It wasn't but a 10 minute run to the site. It was about eight am and there were very few boats on the lake, which is the way we wanted it. We would be anchoring close to the target but I have very little respect for boaters. Experience has made me this way L
We motored across the lake and found the underwater knoll. I positioned the boat in the area I figured the bike was laying. I knew I would be fairly close but could not pinpoint it. Good enough for me! J We geared up and prepared for the dive. We were both using tanks this day. Bob kept looking sideways at the garbage can then at me but didn't say much. I don't think he trusted my idea. Hell he should have been with me the first time I lifted a boat and he would have been scared! I did that one alone!
I told him I would go down and see if I could find it and when I did I would tie a float on it. It is just a little bobber like thing that floated on the surface. This is what I did. I dropped into the water, next to the boat and after adjusting my mask and regulator, dumped the air from my BC and started down in a controlled descent. Since it is only 35 ft this didn't take long. I landed feet first in the silt and just stood there, looking out in the distance. The visibility was still good. I saw nothing but mud flat but started a turn to my left. I turned a ways and damn near stumbled over the damn thing. I almost landed on it. I was not looking down on descent and almost landed on it.
I looked up and was staring at the bottom of the pontoon boat. This was not good, I wanted to come up next to it, not under the damn thing. I tied off the marker and let it float to the surface. I then backed off a bit and followed it up.
When I got to the surface I filled the BC and laid back and relaxed. I shoved the mask back and looked up at Bob. He said, "What's the matter? Can't you find it?" with a smug smile on his face. I told him I had miscalculated a foot and a half. He asked where the marker was and I told the boy it was under the boat. I apologized to him for missing my mark and asked him to lift anchor and back up about 10 ft and reset it. Well it seemed the boy didn't believe me. HA! Well he did as I asked and said I was just lucky. I told him if I was really lucky I would have a dive buddy that respected my word! Well I have known him for a long time and I don't guess I have ever given him any reason to trust me.
He tossed the garbage can with about 10 ft of rope tied off to one hande, to me. I grabbed the rope and tipped it so it would fill with water. He was soon in the water and next to me, adjusting his dive gear. We were both ready and looking at each other nodded. We both, with our left hands, lifted our BC dump hoses and started venting air. Slowly we started dropping to the bottom with me still holding onto the can.
The water was still fairly clear but that was about to change. There had to be at least a foot of very fine silt covering the bottom and the motorcycle was in it quite a ways. Just moving around on the bottom was stirring it up pretty badly and we were trying to be careful. It wouldn't be long before there would be zero visibility.
As I said before, the motorcycle was laying on its back with the front and rear wheels pointing directly to the surface, 35 ft above. I wrestled the car around and set it, bottom up, between the tires. I held it there while Bob threaded the rope through one tire and then the other. Then he tied it to the other handle of the plastic garbage can. We were all set now! J Piece of cake! HA
Holding the can inverted I took my regulator out of my mouth and reached up inside of the can with it in my hand. I then pushed the purge button on the regulator. This let it free flow into the can and the air displaced the water. It stabilized itself and started pulling on the ropes as it began pulling to the surface. I had to pull my had our and take a pull on the regulator as I needed air more than the garbage can. Bob got on the other side and started doing the same thing.
There is an enormous amount of lift generated by a garbage can of air. I don't know how much but plenty for the job at hand, I figured.
Pretty soon we had that can a straining at the ropes. I looked up into the open maw of the can and saw that we had it full and it still was not lifting the damn motorcycle! What's up with that, I'ma thinking? I looked at Bob and he just shrugged. I looked at the surface and we had a clear shot if it would start a moving.
I looked at the bike and saw how it was in the mud. There had to be a bit of suction there but not that much I thought. I grabbed my side and started a rocking it to break it loose. Bob saw me and my intention and jumped in to help. We were a string it up now, I am here to tell you!! That garbage can was just a doing its best to break that thing free!
Finally I felt it start to lift. Bob and I looked at each other and smiled. We would slowly take it up to the surface now. Slowly my arse! That bad boy took off like a damn shot out of a gun. I went with it for a short way but let it go in fear of getting an embolism from rising too fast. That can kill a diver in a hurry. Bob saw me let go and did the same. I looked up and that thing looked like a damn rocket launch I once saw at the cape. It was a going and the expanding bubbles were shooting out from under the lip of the can. To add to the sight, there was a black cloud of mud being pulled from the bottom all the way to the surface from the bottom of the bike. Geeesh!
We stood there on the bottom, looking up and it was good we did. That garbage can had slipped as it busted loose from the bottom and rode up crooked. As it busted through the surface at and angle, it immediately dumped all of its air! Air gone? Here it came back down at us, a bat out of hell. We saw that damn bike a coming at the same time and although we didn't have a clue as to why it was coming at us at , we did have an idea what would be happening if we were hit on the head by a damn motorcycle in 35 ft of water. Squersh city!
We lunged backwards and got the hell out of the way. Luckily the can was still tied on and slowed its descent a bit. This gave us the time we needed to avoid it. It hit the bottom and if we thought it was stirred up before, that was nothing! It was like a damn bomb had hit. I could not see my hand in front of my face by now. I reached over and found the bike and then the can. I flipped the can over and started filling it again. I got it half filled and it started pulling at the ropes again I slowly added air and immediately became neutral. This was good. Bob was standing on the other side of the bike and helping me stabilize it. The sediment was settling a bit now and we could see a little. I grabbed my pressure gauge to check my air supply and could not believe what I was seeing. 150lbs! That sucks. Normally we come up with 500 lbs. for safety and I was almost out. I had been messing around down there a while and had filled the garbage can off the tank, two times. What ever the reason, I had to surface as soon as I could. I showed it to Bob and he pointed to the surface. He signaled that he would guide it up alone as he had not dumped air in it the second time and had plenty.
I nodded ok and headed for the surface. I swam to the pontoon boat and pulling my fins, climbed to the deck and dumped the empty tank. I saw where Bob was coming up by the explosion of bubbles marking the spot. As he is coming up, the air is expanding in the can and venting out from the bottom. Bobs task is to keep the can steady and not let it dump on the surface as it did before.
It was not long before the can popped to the surface with Bob holding it steady. I could not see the bike as it was still hanging under the can a ways. Bob slowly swam the can, bike and all to the front of the boat. I dropped him a line and he went under to tie it off to the bike. This done, he swam to the ladder and crawled aboard.
Now we had a motorcycle. All we had to do is bring it aboard. Should be easy, right? Wrong! I jumped into the lake and untied the can from the bike. Bob reached down and grabbed it, then pulled it aboard. I swam around to the ladder and climbed back aboard. We both grabbed the rope and tried to pull it up to the deck. This made me realize just how much life a garbage can of air has. We could not get it much above the surface. We are a couple pretty good-sized fellers and we could not do it. Not with a damn rope anyway.
We decided to tie it off to the front of the boat and slowly tow it to the shallow water, which was not far away, maybe a hundred feet or so. This is what we did. We were anxious to see what we had recovered now after all that work. We pulled anchor and slowly motored to the drop off and up shallow until we could stand. It was in about 4 ft of water we stopped. I dropped the anchor and we jumped in, wading around to the bow. We then looked at our prize.
That thing was a piece of junk. It had been down about 2 years too long, I figure. The corrosion was pretty bad and more of a job than I wanted. I looked at my buddy, Bob and asked him if he wanted it. He said hell no! He asked what we were gonna do with it. I said there is one of those hundred foot holes, not far away.
That is where it lies today.
Now all that much of an adventure but it was fun and a learning experience.
Like John says, "I hope you enjoyed the trip!"
I live in Oakland County, Michigan. The largest lake in the county and also the most popular is Cass Lake. This lake is around 1200 to 1200 acres and it is fairly deep. There are 9 holes in it over 90 ft and of these, 5 are over 100. The deepest by the chart is 123 or so. There are sand bars and underwater hills, that I call sunken islands in various places on the lake. Some of these are on the edges of the depths. Visibility is usually pretty good but goes to nothing at about 55 ft in most places.
The bottom is hard sand, beautiful for the beaches that surround the lake. It is almost one continuous beach, all around the lake. A diver drops down the drop and the bottom is all silt. Deep silt in places.
The lake has some of the best small mouth bass fishing in the whole area. I have seen huge bass on many of my dives. Bass and walleyes. The bass will follow you all over the place like a damn dog. When I start seeing bass, I know I am nearing a weed bed.
That is the place to fish for these lunkers. The weed beds. The problem is they are hard to find in this lake. Weeds ring most lakes but Cass is different. If a person doesn't know the lake he will do well to find more than a hand full of them. Some are not much bigger than a car and will hold a lot of fish.
I was born in Keego Harbor, on the east shore of the lake. I pretty much know the bottom of the lake from years of fishing it and years of diving there. I can pretty much go directly to the weed beds. On some days it is a chore for even me to find them, they are so small and wave action will hide them.
I have hunted bottles in Cass Lake for years. I have found a lot of old blob topped beer bottles. They are usually embossed with the brewery's name and city. Before the prohibition, almost every town big enough to have a brewery, had one.
The place to find them is to go where the fishermen fished. It was the same a hundred years ago as now. The weed beds. I hunt for bottles with scuba gear. I will go to the bottom and reach into the silt with both hands and slowly searching by feel, for the bottles, as I move forward. There are a lot of bottles down there. When I find one I will look at the neck for a blob top and then feel for embossing. If it has either, I pop it in my mesh goodie bag. I have found old fishing tackle and one heck of a bunch of bottles this way.
Because of the popularity of the lake and the total lack of any IQ test for boaters and those arrogant pissants that ride the jet skis, it is too dangerous to dive the lake during the summer. I normally hit it soon after ice out and dive until late fall. It was not that way 25 years ago when I first started diving the lake but is now.
One day I decided to go out there and do a little searching. I loaded my boat with the diving gear and headed for the lake. This was to be a solo dive, as most of mine are. On solo dives I generally stay shallower than 40 ft and the fact that I was using my hooka also tends to keep me in the shallower water.
On of my favorite places is the dropoff along the south shore. This drop goes from about 3 ft to 25 at a 75 degree angle. The bottom is all hard sand, in the shallows and the drop is too steep to hold any sediment. When the droop hits the deeper bottom there is a build up of silt but only 6 inches or so, most places. People would fish this drop and toss their bottles. Since they could not hang on the drop, they would just roll down to the bottom. There over the years they would accumulate. That was easy picking when I first started hunting there. I would fill my bag before going home. There are a bunch of modern bottles there too but most are, or were, older ones. The visibility is usually pretty good over there too.
After diving along the drop for a while, I can't remember how long I was there, I decided to go check out a sunken island I had not spent much time on in the past.
This island, and another just to the east of it, was a great place to fish. Very few know about them as the weed beds are only bathtub size and almost impossible to see from the surface. I had been down on the before so knew that old bottles were to be found. The tops of the islands were under about 8 ft of water and they sat in about 35 ft of water. This made it a nice easy dive. I would just anchor my boat on the top and drop over the side and I was ready to start hunting.
The top of these islands are generally flat and pretty hard with a thin layer of moss like plants. They aren't much over an inch or so thick. I like to scan this area as if there is a bottle laying under this stuff the lump is easy to see. Many times there will be old anchors laying around too. I just pull the bottles out and check them out and it they are not keepers I just stick them back in the bottom, neck first so I don't dig them again.
On this dive I headed for the weed bed and swam down the drop-off to about 35 ft of depth. The bottom here has at least a foot of silt over the harder bottom. It was a fairly clear day and I could see about 20 ft down there. This is damn good for these inland lakes.
I started my search at this depth, working myself in a back and forth pattern, working myself up toward the weeds. The fishermen would just anchor off the weedbeds, is seems, and toss their bottles when empty.
I found some bottles but I can't remember exactly what. When I got bored with that I dropped down the drop and headed out a little farther on the flat, just to explore a bit. You never know what the heck you might find. I have found motors and boats, fishing shanties and pontoon boats. Hell you never knew what the heck you would find. It is fun to just explore like that and a little creepy at times, especially when the visibility is poor which was not the case on this day. I swam right into a damn shanty hole one time. I only had about 4 inches visibility at the time-----don't ask me what the hell I was diving at 30 ft with that kind of visibility, along for either L----! The thing was laying on its side and I blundered into the damn thing. That thing spooked me a bit. All I could see is a big black shadow and then I was in it. Geeehs!
Anyway, I digress, on this dive it was not the case. Visibility was as good as it gets in our lakes as a rule and I was just a crawling along the bottom, digging for whatever with my hands. Something was coming into view in the distance and I was unconsciously looking at as a person is want to do when there is little to see. I couldn't tell what the heck it was but it was sticking up about 3 ft on the flat empty landscape. I got curious eventually and swam over that way. We find lawn chairs and coolers out there on occasion and I half expected that to be the case now. I was still working my hands in the sediment of the bottom all this time and trying to lock my eyes on the thing.
As I neared it what I saw didn't make sense at first. It looked like a bike but how could that be. As I got closer I saw it was a motorcycle and it was laying upside down in the sediment. The wheels were sticking straight up to the surface, with the seat and gas tank out of sight in the silt. I wiped some of the sediment off it with my hand and heck, the thing didn't look all that old! I didn't have the equipment to raise it on this day but figured I would come back for it, better prepared.
One thing I did have to know. Where the hell was I? I knew where the knoll was but I had been wandering for quite a while and had not been paying attention to my compass. It is easy to get screwed up down there and I could easily be on the opposite side of the knoll than I had started. I decided to go up and mark in my mind, where the bike was.
I looked up at the surface and listened. I had no intention of coming up when a speedboat was around. You can hear the high pitch scream of their props for quite a distance. There are also a bunch of sailboats that use the lake and I almost came up under one of them a couple year before. Powerboats are suppose to stay 200 ft from my dive flag but many boaters are morons and have not a clue what it is. I have learned to look and listen before surfacing.
Everything was clear so I headed up. As I hit the surface I inflated my BC, which is the flotation device we all wear around out necks. I could relax now and eyeball the shore for landmarks. I was quite a ways from shore but was on the west side of the little underwater knoll. That's good! I lined myself up on a big tree on shore and had an idea I could find it again. I knew my depth and had enough information now. I then dumped the air from the BC and headed back down.
I wanted to get an idea of its condition before I spent the effort to recover it. It was a 350 Honda dirt bike. I figured some damn fool had been racing it across the lake, on the ice and had gone through. It happens and the rider seldom is doing much marking of locations as he is freezing his arse off in the half-frozen lake. I can't imagine why he did not get one of us divers to go down and recover it though useless he had drown of course. It happens.
I could not see the bike very well by this time as I had really stirred it up by now. Heck it looked good to me so I would bring it up on another day.
The next day at work I looked up an old diving buddy, Bob Savage. He had been diving for years and I figured he would be a good one to help lift the thing. We decided to do it the next weekend. In the meantime I would get the things together for the lift.
My aunt had an old pontoon boat moored on the lake which would be perfect for the lift, we figured. Nice and stable and a big deck to put the thing on for the ride to shore. There are various ways of doing the lift and they all involved tying a lift bag of some sort off to the target and filling it with air. Some of these lift bags can lift pretty heavy loads, in fact a friend of mine lifted an airplane from the bottom of this same lake with three of them. That is a story in itself! J These bags are pretty expensive and I didn't have one big enough. I figured we could just use a big plastic garbage can.
On Saturday morning Bob and I met at the dock for the dive. We loaded our equipment on the pontoon boat. Boy are they nice to dive from! We did our double check of the gear and shoved off from the dock.
It wasn't but a 10 minute run to the site. It was about eight am and there were very few boats on the lake, which is the way we wanted it. We would be anchoring close to the target but I have very little respect for boaters. Experience has made me this way L
We motored across the lake and found the underwater knoll. I positioned the boat in the area I figured the bike was laying. I knew I would be fairly close but could not pinpoint it. Good enough for me! J We geared up and prepared for the dive. We were both using tanks this day. Bob kept looking sideways at the garbage can then at me but didn't say much. I don't think he trusted my idea. Hell he should have been with me the first time I lifted a boat and he would have been scared! I did that one alone!
I told him I would go down and see if I could find it and when I did I would tie a float on it. It is just a little bobber like thing that floated on the surface. This is what I did. I dropped into the water, next to the boat and after adjusting my mask and regulator, dumped the air from my BC and started down in a controlled descent. Since it is only 35 ft this didn't take long. I landed feet first in the silt and just stood there, looking out in the distance. The visibility was still good. I saw nothing but mud flat but started a turn to my left. I turned a ways and damn near stumbled over the damn thing. I almost landed on it. I was not looking down on descent and almost landed on it.
I looked up and was staring at the bottom of the pontoon boat. This was not good, I wanted to come up next to it, not under the damn thing. I tied off the marker and let it float to the surface. I then backed off a bit and followed it up.
When I got to the surface I filled the BC and laid back and relaxed. I shoved the mask back and looked up at Bob. He said, "What's the matter? Can't you find it?" with a smug smile on his face. I told him I had miscalculated a foot and a half. He asked where the marker was and I told the boy it was under the boat. I apologized to him for missing my mark and asked him to lift anchor and back up about 10 ft and reset it. Well it seemed the boy didn't believe me. HA! Well he did as I asked and said I was just lucky. I told him if I was really lucky I would have a dive buddy that respected my word! Well I have known him for a long time and I don't guess I have ever given him any reason to trust me.
He tossed the garbage can with about 10 ft of rope tied off to one hande, to me. I grabbed the rope and tipped it so it would fill with water. He was soon in the water and next to me, adjusting his dive gear. We were both ready and looking at each other nodded. We both, with our left hands, lifted our BC dump hoses and started venting air. Slowly we started dropping to the bottom with me still holding onto the can.
The water was still fairly clear but that was about to change. There had to be at least a foot of very fine silt covering the bottom and the motorcycle was in it quite a ways. Just moving around on the bottom was stirring it up pretty badly and we were trying to be careful. It wouldn't be long before there would be zero visibility.
As I said before, the motorcycle was laying on its back with the front and rear wheels pointing directly to the surface, 35 ft above. I wrestled the car around and set it, bottom up, between the tires. I held it there while Bob threaded the rope through one tire and then the other. Then he tied it to the other handle of the plastic garbage can. We were all set now! J Piece of cake! HA
Holding the can inverted I took my regulator out of my mouth and reached up inside of the can with it in my hand. I then pushed the purge button on the regulator. This let it free flow into the can and the air displaced the water. It stabilized itself and started pulling on the ropes as it began pulling to the surface. I had to pull my had our and take a pull on the regulator as I needed air more than the garbage can. Bob got on the other side and started doing the same thing.
There is an enormous amount of lift generated by a garbage can of air. I don't know how much but plenty for the job at hand, I figured.
Pretty soon we had that can a straining at the ropes. I looked up into the open maw of the can and saw that we had it full and it still was not lifting the damn motorcycle! What's up with that, I'ma thinking? I looked at Bob and he just shrugged. I looked at the surface and we had a clear shot if it would start a moving.
I looked at the bike and saw how it was in the mud. There had to be a bit of suction there but not that much I thought. I grabbed my side and started a rocking it to break it loose. Bob saw me and my intention and jumped in to help. We were a string it up now, I am here to tell you!! That garbage can was just a doing its best to break that thing free!
Finally I felt it start to lift. Bob and I looked at each other and smiled. We would slowly take it up to the surface now. Slowly my arse! That bad boy took off like a damn shot out of a gun. I went with it for a short way but let it go in fear of getting an embolism from rising too fast. That can kill a diver in a hurry. Bob saw me let go and did the same. I looked up and that thing looked like a damn rocket launch I once saw at the cape. It was a going and the expanding bubbles were shooting out from under the lip of the can. To add to the sight, there was a black cloud of mud being pulled from the bottom all the way to the surface from the bottom of the bike. Geeesh!
We stood there on the bottom, looking up and it was good we did. That garbage can had slipped as it busted loose from the bottom and rode up crooked. As it busted through the surface at and angle, it immediately dumped all of its air! Air gone? Here it came back down at us, a bat out of hell. We saw that damn bike a coming at the same time and although we didn't have a clue as to why it was coming at us at , we did have an idea what would be happening if we were hit on the head by a damn motorcycle in 35 ft of water. Squersh city!
We lunged backwards and got the hell out of the way. Luckily the can was still tied on and slowed its descent a bit. This gave us the time we needed to avoid it. It hit the bottom and if we thought it was stirred up before, that was nothing! It was like a damn bomb had hit. I could not see my hand in front of my face by now. I reached over and found the bike and then the can. I flipped the can over and started filling it again. I got it half filled and it started pulling at the ropes again I slowly added air and immediately became neutral. This was good. Bob was standing on the other side of the bike and helping me stabilize it. The sediment was settling a bit now and we could see a little. I grabbed my pressure gauge to check my air supply and could not believe what I was seeing. 150lbs! That sucks. Normally we come up with 500 lbs. for safety and I was almost out. I had been messing around down there a while and had filled the garbage can off the tank, two times. What ever the reason, I had to surface as soon as I could. I showed it to Bob and he pointed to the surface. He signaled that he would guide it up alone as he had not dumped air in it the second time and had plenty.
I nodded ok and headed for the surface. I swam to the pontoon boat and pulling my fins, climbed to the deck and dumped the empty tank. I saw where Bob was coming up by the explosion of bubbles marking the spot. As he is coming up, the air is expanding in the can and venting out from the bottom. Bobs task is to keep the can steady and not let it dump on the surface as it did before.
It was not long before the can popped to the surface with Bob holding it steady. I could not see the bike as it was still hanging under the can a ways. Bob slowly swam the can, bike and all to the front of the boat. I dropped him a line and he went under to tie it off to the bike. This done, he swam to the ladder and crawled aboard.
Now we had a motorcycle. All we had to do is bring it aboard. Should be easy, right? Wrong! I jumped into the lake and untied the can from the bike. Bob reached down and grabbed it, then pulled it aboard. I swam around to the ladder and climbed back aboard. We both grabbed the rope and tried to pull it up to the deck. This made me realize just how much life a garbage can of air has. We could not get it much above the surface. We are a couple pretty good-sized fellers and we could not do it. Not with a damn rope anyway.
We decided to tie it off to the front of the boat and slowly tow it to the shallow water, which was not far away, maybe a hundred feet or so. This is what we did. We were anxious to see what we had recovered now after all that work. We pulled anchor and slowly motored to the drop off and up shallow until we could stand. It was in about 4 ft of water we stopped. I dropped the anchor and we jumped in, wading around to the bow. We then looked at our prize.
That thing was a piece of junk. It had been down about 2 years too long, I figure. The corrosion was pretty bad and more of a job than I wanted. I looked at my buddy, Bob and asked him if he wanted it. He said hell no! He asked what we were gonna do with it. I said there is one of those hundred foot holes, not far away.
That is where it lies today.
Now all that much of an adventure but it was fun and a learning experience.
Like John says, "I hope you enjoyed the trip!"
Pere Cheney
Mary and I found the old Ghost Town of Pere Cheney easily and searching for the cache was fun but it was far more interesting to see the old cellar holes and explore the old townsite. There is little left other than these shallow pits to show that there was anything ever there. I got this from the Geocache site.
Town History: In 1873 Michigan Central Railroad completed the railway system between Gaylord and Jackson. About that time George Cheney got a land grant form the railway company to establish a stop on the railroad for gas, freight, water and passengers. It was prior know as Center Plains Township. Cheney built a sawmill, and later Cheney House, a Hotel to acomadate the number of fast rising settlers, lumbermen and tourist in the area. On December 1st, 1874 Pere Cheney received a post office. By 1877 the town had 2 sawmills, a general store, a wagon maker, 2 carpenters, a doctor, a hotel telegraph service, and daily mail. Lumber was the only product ever shiped from Pere Cheney. The cemetary was established on about 5 acres, in 1878, located south east from the town. By 1896 the population had droped from around 1500 people to around 55, 25 people in 1901, and 18 people in 1917. The post office was closed in 1912, and the land was sold off at a public auction on May 7th, 1917. The only reamaing families were farmers of the outter lying area of the town. Diptheria was spread through the town twice in its short life, once in 1893, and again in 1897. It took several lives, many from the same family at the saem time. The Barber family lost 3 children in less than 3 weeks over Christmas of the 1893 sickness. Many families moved out of the town into neighboring towns of Roscommon and Grayling, or further. There were several fires in Pere Cheney due to the sparks from the mills that were located behind and to the south the cemetary. There was no water supply near Pere Cheney, so the towns people had to use water wagons and shovel dirt to put out these fires. Sometimes they were not successful and had to let the fires burn out themselves. Most of what you will read says that townspeople from neighboring towns tried to burn the town down to stop the spread of disease, I have found nothing to credit that. Although some of the buildings burnt down due to a mill fire after the town had been deserted.
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I knew there was an old cemetary there and Mary and I decided to explore it a bit. I find it interesting to look at the old markers and it is sad how many of them are for infants.
This is a fairly large cemetary with few gravestones. It upsets me as many have been stolen or broken by vandals over the years and for the life of me I can not understand why.
There were many graves in this cemetary as I could see by the hollows, which are caused by the coffins rotting away and caving it.
A few of them are still tended as we could tell by the flowers on them. Plastic flowers but someone cared. There were four quarters laying on one gravestone. Why someone left them I don't know.
The last one I looked at was one with Barber etched on it. Barber? I got a chill. I took a couple picture of it from outside of the cemetary and looked it up as soon as I got back home here. I knew I had read something about Barbers. It was the family that lost three children that one terrible Christmas so long ago.
Someone is still tending the Barber grave. I found it very moving.....
Town History: In 1873 Michigan Central Railroad completed the railway system between Gaylord and Jackson. About that time George Cheney got a land grant form the railway company to establish a stop on the railroad for gas, freight, water and passengers. It was prior know as Center Plains Township. Cheney built a sawmill, and later Cheney House, a Hotel to acomadate the number of fast rising settlers, lumbermen and tourist in the area. On December 1st, 1874 Pere Cheney received a post office. By 1877 the town had 2 sawmills, a general store, a wagon maker, 2 carpenters, a doctor, a hotel telegraph service, and daily mail. Lumber was the only product ever shiped from Pere Cheney. The cemetary was established on about 5 acres, in 1878, located south east from the town. By 1896 the population had droped from around 1500 people to around 55, 25 people in 1901, and 18 people in 1917. The post office was closed in 1912, and the land was sold off at a public auction on May 7th, 1917. The only reamaing families were farmers of the outter lying area of the town. Diptheria was spread through the town twice in its short life, once in 1893, and again in 1897. It took several lives, many from the same family at the saem time. The Barber family lost 3 children in less than 3 weeks over Christmas of the 1893 sickness. Many families moved out of the town into neighboring towns of Roscommon and Grayling, or further. There were several fires in Pere Cheney due to the sparks from the mills that were located behind and to the south the cemetary. There was no water supply near Pere Cheney, so the towns people had to use water wagons and shovel dirt to put out these fires. Sometimes they were not successful and had to let the fires burn out themselves. Most of what you will read says that townspeople from neighboring towns tried to burn the town down to stop the spread of disease, I have found nothing to credit that. Although some of the buildings burnt down due to a mill fire after the town had been deserted.
-------------------------------------------
I knew there was an old cemetary there and Mary and I decided to explore it a bit. I find it interesting to look at the old markers and it is sad how many of them are for infants.
This is a fairly large cemetary with few gravestones. It upsets me as many have been stolen or broken by vandals over the years and for the life of me I can not understand why.
There were many graves in this cemetary as I could see by the hollows, which are caused by the coffins rotting away and caving it.
A few of them are still tended as we could tell by the flowers on them. Plastic flowers but someone cared. There were four quarters laying on one gravestone. Why someone left them I don't know.
The last one I looked at was one with Barber etched on it. Barber? I got a chill. I took a couple picture of it from outside of the cemetary and looked it up as soon as I got back home here. I knew I had read something about Barbers. It was the family that lost three children that one terrible Christmas so long ago.
Someone is still tending the Barber grave. I found it very moving.....
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