It was the beginning of a cloudy weekend. We were four young men out on a whirlwind adventure, seeking winding waters and fresh fish. This simple trip had been postponed from the memorial day weekend to the weekend prior to the wedding of good ‘ol Tom.
The rains didn’t keep away for long. Before we finished our first day of rowing, the clouds fell. Like men, we trudged through the river of Manistee until the first milestone appeared. The overpass was a sign of relief, and that meant that it was time to find a spot on the river bank to set up camp for the evening, and most importantly of all it meant that it was time for food!
Camp was awesome, and dinner was fantastic. Fishing proved to be unfruitful, disappointingly. Then came the night.
We were asleep by 9 in the evening and all awoke to the more than the simple patter of rain. A storm had rolled in during the night, and when I say in, I mean in. The water had made its way in through the bottom of the tent.
Sleeping was less than pleasant. Some people were soaked all night long. By 5:30 in the morning all of us were awake and preparing for a brave new day. If I do say so myself it was the best breakfast I have had in a long while. Sausages, bacon, and potatoes, the breakfast of men.
By 8:30 or 9 we were off again. A discussion began whether to canoe through the day and finish the three day trip in two days, or to tempt fate and try another night. We did end up finishing that day.
Despite stopping for lunch for an hour we made the trip in 8 hours.