The Magic Aquifer: Treating the Political Stress Syndrome A Novel. John R. Krismer

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The Magic Aquifer: Treating the Political Stress Syndrome A Novel - John R. Krismer

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Bill agreed. “So what do you suggest we do?”

      “I suggest we get out our fishing poles and troll our way out there, just as fast as this old barge will go. Haven’t we got all the time in the world? That way we’ll look more like fisherman than prospectors, and we won’t be threatening those Indians who believe this is their sacred turf. Isn’t that why we’re sneaking out here by boat this time, so they won’t chase us off what they think is their domain? When I went in there before, I hiked in from Caliper Lake, and I made those Indians so nervous they followed me every step of the way without my ever knowing it. In fact, I thought they were going to kill me when they woke me up that morning, and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough, even with all my written authorizations they completely ignored.”

      “God all Friday, it’ll take us ten hours to get out there at this speed,” Bill snarled, still trying to figure out another solution.

      “So what’s wrong with that?” Dave once again chuckled. “We’re in no big hurry. Don’t you think it would be better if we quietly motor in at dusk anyway? That way we do it all in one trip, and we probably won’t even be noticed.”

      “All right, if that’s what you want - we’ll do it your way,” Bill said, flopping back down in his seat, obviously disturbed as he reached out and moved the throttle to a more relaxed trolling speed.

      With that Ed reached for his fishing pole, and settled back for what was now going to be a much slower trip.

      “Okay, I’m going to catch us some dinner on the way, in fact I can already taste those fresh Walleye” he smiled, throwing out his line behind the boat.

      With that Bill laughed, turning his attention back to the direction he’d been heading as he once again sat tall behind the wheel, finally resigning himself to a much slower trip to Split Rock near Bay Lodge. And even though he wasn’t sure this was the smartest solution, they at least were moving even though they were pushing a huge wall of water ahead of them. As they slowly moved from one island to another, Bill’s thoughts drifted back to when Dave first shared his remarkable experience with them.

      Dave had spent much of his time prospecting for copper mines during his vacation from college over the last few years, and during his assignment last year, he’d been asked to search out a very remote and new area just east of Lake of the Woods. While he was collecting his usual mineral samples, he focused his search primarily on locations around Log Creek and Caliper Lake. Then towards the end of the summer, he moved further west along the Grassy River, which was next to a small Canadian Indian Reservation, eventually finding his way to what he’d identified as the Split Rock River. In that he’d initially entered the forest near Caliper Lake, he’d probably hiked some ten miles or more before reaching this remote location, which was about five to ten miles south of Lake of the Woods. Previously, Dave had always worked in the Arrowhead Boundary Waters of Minnesota, where he was familiar with the wilderness and the local Indians who all knew him very well, but for some reason he felt very uneasy in this strange new Canadian forest. He wasn’t as worried about the animals as he was about an unruly tribe of Indians he’d heard about when he stayed overnight in Nestor Falls. Then one day when he was gathering his copper samples, he was startled to find what appeared to be lava like silt along the Split Rock riverbank.

      Could it be possible that there was once some kind of volcanic action here, he thought. Then later that same day, while he was bathing in this cold refreshing stream he noticed several shiny rocks reflecting the sun’s rays. After he gathered up several of them he stuck them under the canvas floor of his tent for safe keeping. And although he felt it was highly unlikely they were gold, they sure looked like gold, he’d thought. In any event, he’d decided that he’d have them checked out when he got back home, even though he’d never heard of gold ever being found in this part of the country. Then the following morning, Dave awoke to a terrible noise outside the tent and after he hurriedly crawled out of his sleeping bag, he found four defiant Indians methodically trashing his campsite. When they were finished, he was told in no uncertain terms to leave immediately, or risk not leaving at all. After he awkwardly tried to explain that he was doing government work, and showing them his papers, he realized that made no difference at all and they only became more irritated with him. Needless to say, he took their advice, but later he found out that those shiny rocks were not only gold nuggets, but the purity of the gold was extremely high. In fact, these few nuggets netted him close to one thousand dollars, which paid for his college tuition and much more that year. After telling Bill and Ed of his unusual find, they’d all agreed to take the next summer off, and go look for gold in the Split Rock River. But this time, Dave recommended they hike into the area from the mouth of that river on Lake of the Woods, acting as fishermen rather than surveying the land for copper. This way, they’d hopefully not attract all the attention he’d previously received with that unruly tribe while he was searching for copper the previous year.

      Yes, it was important they sneak in quietly, Bill was thinking to himself as Ed suddenly screamed,

      “Get the net! I’ve got our dinner on the end of this line.”

      After Ed landed a beautiful five pound Walleye, all three laughed and once again seemed excited by what lay ahead. After Dave placed their dinner in the live tank, they all sat back to once again enjoy the tranquility of the huge pine trees and solid granite cliffs that made up the many islands in this huge lake. “This section of the lake is nothing like the open water to the west,” Bill explained. In fact this is one of the most beautiful Lakes in Canada, he thought to himself, as he turned his attention to his map to confirm their location, trying to determine how much further they had to go. Then later that afternoon, they finally reached Split Rock Bay, and it was now only a short distance before they’d reach their campsite next to the waterfall at the mouth of the river. Since Bill had previously fished the falls by the mouth of the river, he remembered there was a huge reed bed that covered the shoreline. This would provide ideal cover for them, he thought, but they’d also have to push there way through all those mosquito infested reeds to find a good spot where they could hide the boat.

      “All right, you better get covered with mosquito repellent,” Bill explained, as they approached the waterfall and that dense reed bed that covered the entire backwater area.

      At first Bill tried to motor through the reeds that were blocking their path, but that was impossible, so Dave and Ed both climbed up on the bow and physically pushed and pulled their way forward. After what seemed like an eternity, they eventually found a good landing spot fairly close to where they’d planned to camp near the rushing waterfall, and although the mosquitoes repellent had helped some, they all had more than enough bites from the huge swarms of mosquitoes. As they pulled the boat onto the sandy beach, they hurriedly unloaded their equipment by passing things up to the higher ground, where there were far fewer mosquitoes to fight. Then after a quick search of the area, Ed shouted, “this looks like a good campsite over here by the stream,” swinging his ax as if clearing a space for their tent. Since they’d all brought guns for their protection this time, they paused just long enough to strap them on before setting up camp. While Ed gathered firewood, Dave and Bill struggled to raise the large canvas tent, which had taken up so much room in the boat. Then after they were finished, Bill worked his way back through the swarms of mosquitoes to secure the boat by zipping on the boat’s canvas top and raising the motor just as the last splinter of sunlight faded behind the tall dense pines. Bill’s huge tent was a real luxury, some twelve by sixteen feet in size with screened openings and waterproof flooring, and the green color blended well with the trees so that it was hardly noticeable in spite of its size. But getting settled in the dark was no picnic, and by the time they set up their table, and raised their ice chests on pulleys so they wouldn’t be trashed by bear, it was pitch dark. Finally after they all settled down around a warm campfire, the steady noise of the stream quickly put them at peace with Mother Nature, and

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