newstalk

Civilization at Tenmile Point.

So, rather than talk about how crazy and hectic the two weeks previous to this one were, let me instead say that I spent the last three days on the southern shore of Lake Superior with some of the other operations staff from camp. Though the water and the nights were both cold, we had the sun and a roaring campfire to warm us. I slept under the stars last night, something I have not done in far too long.

I’ve been reading a book called “Civilizations: Culture, Ambition, and the Transformation of Nature”:http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/074320249X/qid=1086310629/sr=8-1/ref=sr_8_xs_ap_i1_xgl14/104-3201762-0464747?v=glance&s=books&n=507846) in which the author, Felipe Fernandez-Armesto, categorizes world civilizations by the environment in which they emerged and the ways in which they transformed their environment. From the afore-linked editorial review on amazon (emphasis mine):

bq. “Civilization” is a tricky term, one that means many things to many people. For some, it denotes great buildings, canals, codes of law; for others, it offers a contrast between one group and another, with the advantage always going to the more “civilized” bunch against the “barbaric,” “savage,” or “primitive.”

bq. All such distinctions, writes Oxford University historian Felipe Fernandez-Armesto, are arbitrary and laden with subjective value; they speak to unscientific notions of progress, to hidden agendas. What matters, he continues, is the extent to which a culture has developed means to separate itself from nature: _Civilization makes its own habitat. It is civilized in direct proportion to its distance, its difference from the unmodified natural environment._ A culture such as the ancient Han Chinese, the medieval highland Maya, or the Renaissance Venetian, then, is highly civilized inasmuch as its members dammed and diverted rivers, drained lakes, stripped forests, and built monumental structures to celebrate their achievements; people content or resigned to live off the product and inhabit the spaces nature gives them are markedly less so by virtue of that accommodation.

His descriptions came to mind many times this week as we set about the enjoyable task of “roughing it”. Upon arriving at the beach (after roughly a mile of hiking from the truck), our very first task was to select a site. This proved a challenge, as there were a number of flowage outlets into the lake all along the beach, likely from the heavy rains we’ve had this past month. Superior’s water is usually drinkable, but the water can still be contaminated with “giardi-ardia”:http://www.cdc.gov/ncidod/dpd/parasites/giardiasis/factsht_giardia.htm if you drink it too close to an outlet. We eventually settled on a spot near where we emerged from the forest, only to discover a few hours later that one of the outlets aimed its flow diagonally out into the lake so that the current carried all that lovely stream-water right in front of us. More on this later.

Upon settling upon the site (and here’s where the connection with Fernandez-Armesto begins), we immediately began digging our fire pit. Of course, what’s a fire pit without logs to sit on? An hour later, the five of us had finished dragging two large drift-logs over to our pit, arranging them not to close, not too far from where our heat source would eventually burn.

Next, we went on an excursion eastward down the shore, quickly discovering the aforementioned situation with the flowage. We agreed that we would have to boil all our water, just in case. (Nobody wants giardia. Nobody.) We continued on. A quarter-mile or so East, the sand beach transitioned into a rocky sandstone beach, providing us with an eternal lifetime supply of skipping stones. We explored further, than returned to our campsite.

While Mike and Randy were starting dinner, Jesse and I went to examine the flowage again. After examining the direction of the flow, we determined that it wouldn’t be hard to redirect the stream through a new channel in the sand. We dug a quick proof-of-concept, shifting the stream only 20 degrees or so, and it worked swimmingly. So, with one camp shovel and our hands, we set about digging a new channel straight out to the lake across the obstructing sand bar. With a small channel in place, we began damming up the old flow with logs and sand.

At first, the stream fought back, growing more torrential as its old course narrowed. We widened and deepened our new channel, then continued on with the dam work. Before too long, the water, seeking an outlet, began carving out the new channel. The old flow slowed to a trickle, then stopped. We backfilled the old passage, so that it had no chance of breaking through again, and let the stream have its way with the new. Soon it was wider and deeper than the old channel, being a more direct route. Randy and Mike came out to see our work, then we all went back to have our first night’s dinner of bean burritos with rehydrated veggie fake-meat. I pondered on our being here–we were certainly roughing it, though with a few concessions to comfort: tents, a gas stove, and a Dutch oven. Yet already we had turned this stretch of empty beach into a foothold of civilization, modifying it to suit our needs.

In the morning, after performing our morning routines of waking and breakfast (”monkey bread”:http://abcnews.go.com/sections/GMA/GoodMorningAmerica/recipes/recipe991208_monkeybread.html, coffee, orange juice), we set out down the eastern shore for some solo time, a long-standing HoneyRock tradition. Along the way, we discovered that our stream had diverted westward again, toward the camp site. We determined that the wave action of the lake had a general westward approach, which tended to spread the eastern bank of the outlet in a sandbar across its mouth, forcing the channel to the west. We agreed that in the afternoon we would re-engineer it.

We spent six hours that day each of us alone on our own stretch of the shoreline, the time completely unstructured, with only a water bottle, a bible, a notebook and pen, and the clothes on our back. I took some notes for a story I’ve been kicking around in my head, skipped a lot of stones, read 1 John, and did a lot of sitting and thinking. And I built a sand castle with red shale walls, because all the materials were there and I couldn’t let them go to waste. It was a solid little structure, with a good foundation. It should last until the next storm blows through.

After a time, a time, and another time, Randy and Ben showed up at my solo spot. We continued on and picked up Mike. Then we came to Jesse’s spot. He had built a fortification out of driftwood, with a tiny catapult which he employed to fling small sticks at us. After we overran his defensive walls, we all stood and marvelled at his afternoon’s work (and the ruddy sunburn on his legs). He reported that he had seen about 10 deer, a weasel, and two people walking on the shore in the distance (Jesse has eagle eyes and will be going to school in the fall to be a pilot). We speculated as to who they might have been, but we never saw another soul the rest of our stay.

We set off for the camp site again, only to discover that our flowage had turned to a rushing torrent eight feet wide and knee deep in the middle of the channel. Inexplicable. We forded it and returned to the firepit. Our camp remained undisturbed. Mike stoked the fire. Randy and Jesse left to hike back to the truck to make sure it was still there and retrieve the paper towels (which Mike planned to use for, among other things, coffee filters).

Mike, Ben and I began preparing the spaghetti dinner, which Mike had been talking about since before leaving on the trip. He cooked the meat over the camp stove, boiled water for the noodles, and warmed up the (store-bought) sauce with the meat. It was beginning to smell really good when we saw Jesse and Randy afar off down the shore, ambling along toward us. The food continued to smell good while we waited for them. They took their time, oblivious to our patience, and stopped to investigate something they had seen along the shore. We waited.

Finally they arrived. Before they could say anything, we forced Randy to pray and then attacked the spaghetty with gusto. Once the sauce had settled on the noodles and our spoons found our mouths, we allowed Randy and Jesse to talk. They had discovered two things: along the shore, they had discovered a wind shelter that some previous occupants of the shore had constructed. We all agreed it would have been a good idea, as the wind had been particularly sharp all day, despite the warming influence of clear blue sky and bright sun.

The second thing they had discovered on the hike out. Actually, two things. They had traced our flowage back to the source, where they discovered the remains of a beaver dam which must have burst earlier in the day. It had been a massive construction, pooling a large head of water up above the paltry flowage that we had seen before. The flowage still raged, and we could see the current from our camp site, extending some thirty yards out from the shore into the lake. They had found another beaver dam further west, toward the truck. They reported that it was nearly 40 yards across and the reservoir behind it nearly 10 feet deep. We shared the sentiment that it had better not burst while we were around. We also agreed that all water would continue to be boiled through the duration of our trip. Then we made cheesecake and stuffed ourselves to the gills.

A little later, Ben and Jesse went back to the flowage and began tearing out the remains of a smaller, unfinished beaver dam that lay across the current where the forest met the sand of the shore. In less than half an hour they had increased the flow of the current by 25% or more. Jesse nearly fell in nine times, and we warned him to stop before the tenth time came around. We returned to the fire pit. While Randy and Mike and I huddled around the fire in our heavy jackets, Ben and Jesse stripped down to their skivvies, complaining of being too warm. Then they ran out and jumped into the lake, with much hooting and hollering. They returned to dry off around the fire with us and we all had a good laugh.

Jesse and I slept under the stars that night, while everyone else retired to the tents, warning us that the night would be cold and the dew heavy. We ignored their warnings and slept warmly all night (though are sleeping bags were quite damp in the morning).

I woke up early this morning and stoked the fire while everyone else slept. After awhile, they all climbed out and we had breakfast of sausage, eggs and bacon. And orange juice and coffee, of course. Randy and I took a dip in the lake (must have been about 38°F or so–cold, cold, cold). We began to break down the camp. The flowage had largely spent its anger in the night, beginning to resemble a stream again. We burned our fire down, buried the ashes, picked up all the trash we could find (”leave no trace!”:http://www.lnt.org/), and set off. Along the way, we examined the intact beaver dam the others had found. It was immense (actually two dams next door to each other), and must have taken a generation of beavers to build.

Then we came home, back to civilization, as it were. But I’m beginning to think that we take civilization with us wherever we go, and that civilization is less a place and more a state of mind. And now that I’m done writing this, I’m going to go join the others at the campfire over by their cabin, Big Hoss. We were going to have chocolate chip cookies last night, but we had the cheesecake instead, so Mike insisted that we would have them tonight. Civilization calls, and I must go, but thanks for reading.

Possibly related:

Share this: