It has been almost a year since I have been to our cabin in Maine. If all goes as planned, around midnight on Sunday I will be listening to the Penobscot River rush by the front of my rustic dwelling. On Monday, the eagles screeching up and down the river will awaken me. The day will be spent getting the boats in place, buying supplies, and taking a walk along the river.
On Tuesday some guys from Georgia will join me. We are going to do lots of fishing, lots of lying, and trying to eat our own cooking. We will catch 100 bass a day for six days straight. No, that is not one of the lies I referred to. I have planned a little deviltry. I will wait for Robert C. to visit the "outhouse." Once he is comfortably seated, I will strategically place a firecracker and light it. I have plans for the others I will not divulge at this time.
The guys from Georgia will fish for ten to twelve hours a day; that is no exaggeration. After a couple days, they will continue to fish, and I will kayak about 8 miles from the Howland dam back to the cabin. Another day, My 80 year old dad and I will canoe from Passadumkeag stream, back to the cabin. He refuses to give in to advancing years. One afternoon, when the sun is high overhead, I will explore a world very few ever see; the bottom of the river. I will put on my mask and snorkel, shorty wetsuit, and float down the Penobscot.
In the evenings, we will sit around the fire pit and talk about each day's adventure, our journey of faith, and stare with amazement at the black sky studded with diamonds. Jim P. will keep an eye out for bear; he is convinced that bear roam around the cabin at night. Believe me, no respectable black bear would bother with any of them.
When it is time to go to sleep, the guys will head to the cabin. I will go to my tent. "Your tent?" you ask. "Yes, my tent!" Trying to get sleep in the same quarters with those guys, is like trying to get sleep on the firing range at Fort Benning!