The Land of Dwarfs and Giants Part 2 #81

My last blog ended with a left turn from Main Street in Fort Kent, Maine on our way to our weeklong adventure. We decided to take two trucks to our destination, Keith’s and Paul’s. Keith, Phil, Chris and Raymond were in their truck and Paul and I were in his truck. Just before leaving, Keith had handed Paul and I a walkie talkie so we could communicate between vehicles. That would prove to be beneficial immediately. Paul and I turned left, followed by Keith, and we all crossed the bridge over the Saint John River. Just before we stopped at the Canadian Customs, the radio came to life with the now famous words. “Phil forgot his passport, we are turning around and going back.” As we turned to look back, we saw their truck making a U-turn on the Canadian side of the bridge and headed back toward the American Customs. Both Paul and I knew this was not good and that came to bear. We stopped at the Canadian Customs and went through the standard questions after passing the officer our passports and then were waved through. We turned left and found a parking lot to wait, and wait we did. Now, remember, they had to go back through American Customs, get Phil’s passport and then come back to Canadian Customs. As is the case when turns are made, the Canadian Customs alerted the American Customs and they had to explain why they had passed into Canadian territory, and had not reported to the Canadian Checkpoint as is required, even when you turn around before reaching the checkpoint. They got through, and fortunately did not have a long way to travel to retrieve Phil’s passport. When they found their way back to Canadian Customs, the customs officers were waiting for them. They made them pull to the side for a check and for some reason, they only focused on one guy, Chris. Paul and I waited patiently in the parking lot and I could see the guys walking around the truck. Well, they finally released them and the truck began to move. We pulled out and were finally off. The drive took us up Route 120 by Lac Baker and Lac Long. Just after passing Saint-Marc Du Lac-Long, we turned northwest on to route 232. This road would take us to Cabano and after passing through there, we continued on Route 232 until we reached Route 234. That route would take us all the way to the coast of the Saint Lawrence Seaway. If you have never been there, you are missing some of the most beautiful views anywhere. We moved on to Route 132 and continued northwest along the coast to our destination of Matane, Quebec. This is where we would cross the Saint Lawrence via ferry. We arrived in Matane and drove immediately to the ferry entrance. Paul had made reservations and it was a good thing. There were a number of cars awaiting their turn to load on the boat. The cost to take the two-hour ride was $49.00 for each vehicle and $19.60 per person. This was all in Canadian money, which I might add was roughly worth 74% of the US dollar at that time. 

We lined up and then the cars began to enter the boat. 

Our turn came and  we eventually entered and parked where we were told to. I had heard a lot about the ferry and was looking forward to exploring it. We left the vehicles and headed up the stairs to Deck 5 where the passengers stayed during the crossing. Now, like I said, this was a little over two hours, but you had lots that you could do. We immediately made our way to the canteen where we got our lunch which we took into the lounge. We washed down a beer with our food and Phil had a glass of wine instead. Once we were finished, it was time to do some exploring. We worked our way to the top deck where we could see for miles in every direction. The Saint Lawrence was beautiful and calm that day. After we took in the sights, it was back down stairs where we took a little nap. It had already been a long day and it was not finished. Two hours passed quickly and before we knew it, the captain was announcing that we were arriving at our next destination, Godbout, Quebec and to please go back to your vehicle and prepare to off load. 

We found our way back to the trucks and drove off the boat and turned west toward our final destination for the day, Sept Iles, or in English, Seven Islands where we had hotel reservations for the night. On the way, I could not help but marvel in the electric transmission lines that lined the roadway. They were everywhere.

After about two hours, we made our entry into Sept Iles and stopped at the Comfort Inn. We checked in and got our room assignments, dropped off our luggage and now were on a mission to find some good food. After Phil quizzed the desk clerk, we decided to go to a local restaurant that specialized in seafood. Remember, this is on the coast and the seafood is right off the boat. The restaurant was named Poissonnerie Soucy or in English, Soucy Fish Shop. The meal was excellent, but we were slipping fast. We had left Fort Kent at 9am that morning and had finally arrived in Sept Iles at 5:30pm. We paid our bill and headed back to the hotel. We knew we would have a long day tomorrow and needed to get our beauty sleep. We said our goodnights and closed the first day of our trip. I was really excited and could not wait for the next day to come. It had been a long time in the making and I wanted to get to our destination. Tomorrow would hopefully be the day, however, we knew we could not control two things, the weather and the method of travel to get to our final destination. Would we be successful? That my friends is coming up in part 3.

Off to the land of Giants and Dwarfs #80

Somewhere far far away in a land where the water is pristine and trees grow small due to the severe winters and where the animals resist traveling to, and the cell and TV towers don’t exist, is also a land where the fish flourish and grow big and fat. It is also where we spent six glorious days on an island in a camp owned by one person in our party. Where the weather dictates our only way in and out which is by a float plane, and leaving us at their mercy as to when they drop us off and pick us up.  This is where our adventure began on a Saturday morning. This blog is dedicated to the five other guys who made the trip in and out with me. The story is so long that one blog will not do it justice, so it will be written in parts to catch as much of the trip as I can. So, without further adieu, let the story begin.

Our journey began many months ago when the planning started. The camp had room for six and names started circulating as to who would be interested in going. The point people for this adventure were Keith and Paul. Keith owned the camp we were going to and Paul had started the dialogue with Keith about wanting to go. Initially, the attendee list was refined to members of the Cyr family and was designed as a getaway for that group. They asked Daniel and Louie and Raymond and I was included in the mix which I was pretty pleased with. The plan was to go to Keith’s camp on a remote lake by float plane and to stay there for a week. Keith let us know that there were two times that he recommended we should go and each had its faults. We could go in May when the fishing was excellent and the trout were on top due to the cool water. Or we could go in August when the trout were down deeper due to the warmer water. Going in May brought a challenge in that the air was full of those pesky little things we all know as bugs. Yes, the bugs would be atrocious and furious. August would not have any bugs but the fishing may not be as good.  We settled on August and the planning began in full force. The roster seemed to be complete. Paul, Raymond, Louie, Daniel, Keith and I. Sometime after planning began, Daniel dropped out and we picked up their Uncle Phil, also known as Father Phil. He would fit in nicely as he lived and breathed fishing. So, we were again at full strength and ready to continue our planning. Now, if you have not gathered yet, this was a fishing trip and yes, I have not told you yet where we were going. It will become more and more apparent as we travel along the blog pathway. Also, I can’t forget to talk about one other big trooper who slid aside to let me go. Yup, TC was not invited to go, this would be an all guys trip this time. As a matter of fact, she encouraged me to attend. Can’t ask for any more than that.

Now, one thing that the brothers asked of TC was to sit down at the vise and tie them some of the flies they would use to catch the big trout. She responded by doing that and spent some time tying pink ladies, supervisors, mickey finns, among others.

As the planning continued and the day drew nearer, we learned that Louie would need to back out, so once again we were left with a spot to fill. We contacted a few others, but they were not able to come. At that point, we called our guide Keith and he went to work on finding someone. The opening was very short lived as he picked up his son in law, Chris who we were told was an avid sportsman. Once again, we were up to full force and the roster consisted of Paul, Raymond, Father Phil, Keith, Chris and myself. Two weeks before, some of us met at Paul’s home to hammer out the meal menu for our trip. The goal was to put together a list of food and then designated people would do the shopping the day before we left. Keith would line up the float plane for us and planning was complete. We were ready to go. Keith and Chris, who were coming from the central Maine area would drive up to Fort Kent on Saturday morning, and I would drive from home that day as well. We would all meet in Fort Kent and leave from there. Oh, and by the way, we learned that the plane had a limit of 2000 pounds. With the food, six full gas cans, two full propane cans we were left with being allowed only fifty pounds of personal gear each. That include our cloths and fishing gear. Now, there are two types of bush float planes. The first is a smaller BEAVER and the second was the much bigger OTTER. One of the guys processed that and came up with the question of why are they called that when a beaver is bigger than an otter in real life? Good question. If we were to be able to bring 2000 pounds, we would need the Otter. Other than that, the beaver would carry less which would make us have to bring less. We would keep our fingers crossed and hope for the Otter.

Well, Saturday finally arrived after months of planning, questions and anticipation. We were ready to go. I remember getting up that morning after a long night of little sleep, my bags by the door, saying bye to TC and pointing the Tacoma north to Fort Kent. All the way up, my mind was racing about if I had everything I needed or if I had forgotten anything. See, there is a side story behind this. I must have packed and unpacked my wet bag twenty times with TC giggling over my shoulder each time telling me that I was over the fifty-pound limit. TC always tells me that I tend to over pack in all my travels, which I have to admit is true. Anyway every time I packed, I would stand on the little bathroom scale, first to get my weight and then holding onto my wet bag, poles and other gear. And each time, the scale told me I was close to the limit, but a bit over. My final packing was around 54 pounds and I decided that was it. I could trim no more. They would just have to let me on with what I had. Well, I arrived in Fort Kent around 7:30 am that morning and headed to Paul’s home to drop off the gas cans I had brought up. From there, I went to Raymond’s where I would leave my pickup for the week. At around 8:45, Keith and Chris arrived and as they say, “the gang’s all here.” We packed the two trucks and headed out back down Main Street and then turned left on the first leg of our journey…………………………

Part two to come shortly. Stay tuned! 

You Made It Happen! #79

You know, when you sit down and put pen to paper, you generally have an idea of what you want to accomplish and how the final product should look. So, when the class of 1976 planning committee got together, our hope was that we would have enough interest from our classmates to move forward for the planning stage of our 40th class reunion. We posted on facebook or as Charette calls it, Face Tube, and learned very quickly that the gang wanted to go forward. And so the planning began under the guidance and direction of our class President, Robin Damboise. We had several meetings and the plan seemed to be coming together nicely. We made some decisions to have a get together Friday night, a canoe trip on Saturday morning and the piece de resistance was the banquet on Saturday night. We booked the Fort Kent Ski Tow for the banquet, Joel Bossie provided us with the venue for Friday night and we decided to canoe from Eagle Lake to Soldier Pond on the Fish River. Time passed and the numbers were not really growing so we decided to downsize and gave up the Ski Lodge in favor of the Lakeview Restaurant where we could have a buffet dinner and the forty or so signed up could get together comfortably. Well, the week came and the final touches were put on and then Friday night rolled around. The people started driving in and the parking lot filled up more and more. As they came in, friends met friends, hands were shaken and we had a solid group of class mates reminiscing about old times. We commented that if this was any indication of what was to come, we were going to have a good crowd the following evening. Saturday morning came, and a group of us met at Doody Michaud’s camp just where Eagle Lake meets the Fish River. Some came with motors on their canoe and some of us just used good old fashion manpower. The group shoved off and down the river we went. I can tell you that there was never a dull moment on the trip down. Some came with spirits and some without. Our band leader, Gerald Pelletier provided the orange whistle and blew it yelling "White Water" when it was approaching. I have to say the comical award went to the boat with the three comedians. Dale Charette, Tim Guimond and Claude Collins, with Claude at the helm I might add, provided the entertainment. Now just picture this, Guimond in the middle of the canoe in a chair with what he called his TEA. His wife, had given him specific and straightforward instructions that he was not to do any rowing because of his recent rotator cuff surgery, and he was a good boy for the entire trip, even though at one point I had him grab a paddle and took a photo of him with it, and sent the picture to his wife. The response was swift and to the point, all CAPITALIZED in her answer, GRR, HE IS NOT SUPPOSED TO PADDLE. Not wanting Tim to be in the doghouse, we responded that it was all a setup. 

Now as the trip progressed, I could see a change in the folks in the comedy boat. The stories began flowing like the TEA. As we came down the river, we all joined up in a catamaran type arangement and Guimond began to tell jokes. The funny part was that he could not finish them. At one point, TC yelled he needs help, so, Dale piped up and finished the joke. Me thinks to much TEA. Well we made it to Soldier Pond and had a great time. Thanks canoeists for coming, I really enjoyed it. TC asked me on the way down when the last time was that I had been down this part of the river and I thought for a minute and said it had to have been over 45 years.

So, unfortunately, the time passed quickly and Saturday night came around. Robin had set up places at the restaurant in the banquet room for eighty-eight people. Well, they came and they came and they came and as we sat down, it was clear that eighty-eight chairs were just not going to be enough. We added another table, moved some of the people at the existing tables closer so we could squeeze more in and in the end, I bet we had over ninety-five. Wow!

Well the night came to a close and I think everyone had a great time. We talked, we reminisced and we ate and danced. From my vantage point, I was amazed at the turnout. We had planned and they came in a big way. I thought to myself, you know, we never won a winter carnival but what happened this weekend showed that we did in fact have the best class and when it came time to win, we won big. From the committee, thank you so much for taking the time to come. From all of you who came from far, a big thank you. And to Barb Moore and Debbie (Daigle), thanks for enlightening me about 7^th grade and my antics. I really think that you two set me up, but as a prosecutor knows, circumstantial evidence does not prove a case. To all of you, take care, be safe and let's not wait ten years to get back together. Heck, let's do it next weekend!

One more thing:

Rester en sécurité et je vous remercie beaucoup d'être venu

And one more thing:

Linda (Morneault) thanks for calling me Timmy. Other than my dad calling me that, the last time I heard that name was from Mr. Tobin while he was hoisting me up onto a nail in the janitors closet. I can’t say that was a fond memory.

One more thing:

Kim, did you really throw Roland out that window?

Why? #78

TC and I heard some very disturbing news the other day while visiting her brother. It saddened me but also made me quite angry, which is why TC suggested that I write a blog about the problem. I would like to set the table, so to speak with how this all began.

About 23 years ago, my job was to travel throughout Aroostook County, Maine and adjust claims with our policyholders. During one of my trips, I brought back a badly damaged green john boat that had been hit by a vehicle. It landed at the office and as was custom then, the employees could place a bid to purchase it. Well, I was telling my father in law, Rosaire Cyr about it and I decided to place a bid. The process made its way and I was awarded the high bid, and in turn the john boat. I loaded the boat up on the truck and hauled its mangled frame up to Rosaires’ shop. Now, for those of you who don’t know, Rosaire owned a body shop and there really was nothing he could not fix. I remember vividly when I landed there, him taking a look at it, scratching his head and saying, this thing is really bad, but I can fix it. Several months later, I was up there visiting and Rosaire asked me to come to the shop for a minute. When I got behind the shop, there it was. Rosaire had done it. The john boat was back in line and was waterproof. He decided that he was going to park it into one of his favorite ponds, Black Pond in Saint John, so he could have a boat there to use. It stayed there for more than 21 years untouched. Each time we would go, it was left there unchained, and ready for the days fishing. I recall a time when I was going there to fish with him and his son Raymond. It wasn’t long after we got into the boat that we heard splashing. So we looked to the shore and there stood a mother moose and her two calves. We watched as the moose taught both of them to swim that day and I recall Rosaire taking it in intently. It suffices to say that there were many memories on that pond with this boat over the years.

There is an unwritten rule in the woods that professional sportsman adhere to. If you walk into a pond and a boat is chained, leave it alone. If it is not chained and you use it, take care of it and put it back exactly where you found it. Well, from time to time that does not happen, and here is why I am so upset. A while back, the boys decided to chain the john boat to a tree because it had been used and was not getting the best of care.  On a trip late last fall into Black Pond, they found the boat still chained, but someone had taken an axe to it and damaged it quite badly. The boys fixed it and made it as waterproof as they could and left it there again. Last weekend the oldest son Paul, and his wife Bonnie, walked into the pond to do a little fishing and the boat was gone. Paul looked for it but to no avail.

So my question is WHY? Why did someone feel the need to destroy someone else’s property? Why did someone steal that boat which had so much history and brought so many fond memories? I really believe that someone knows where it is and who took it. All we ask is that it be put back where it was found. Let’s continue the professionalism, courtesy and respect that many of us exhibit and live every day.