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Circumambulating The Lake Like Fuckin' Crazy
Our first task of the day would be to walk the perimeter the frozen lake.Circumambulating The Lake Like Fuckin' Crazy
I must add that our first day was not really a traditional part of Bell-Beaker people, snow time jaunts. The real tradition would start the next day when we drove to the north shore to sashay down some snowy paths in this winter season. Our first day was sort of a side trip, a Winter Excursion tangent, it wouldn't be right to perform an whole "Winter Excursion" with only one of the two last remaining Bell-Beaker people participating in the trek.
Now one thing you must all know about our, as per this year, solitary Bell-Beaker person, is that he is a writer of fictions, a poet extraordinaire, a scribe of veritable verbiage! Wouldn't you be, if you were the very last of you're kind? (excepting of course for one other, lame, Bell-Beaker who was "unable to attend")
Now, if i was the last of my kind, i don't think i would waste my time on writing. I think i'd booze it up.
Anyway, here is our dear author, himself virtually extinct, gazing off into the hazy distance of "Ruminant Lake". Contemplating the depth of his latest work of "idea painting" which he entitled "Palisade Head Story".
The Palisade Head story is about a fictitious 'snow time jaunt' by the last two remaining Bell-Beaker people, Mike and Pat, to one of their favorite spots along the North Shore: Palisade Head.
One of the most holy of holy rituals performed is at these cliffs overlooking Lake Superior. It consists of selecting the finest dead birch trees one can find and then hurling them off the cliffs to watch them smash on the rocks below. It is what the Bell-Beakers call "A Celebration of Birch".
The story is about a fictitious journey to this sacred spot after having discovered that it has been defiled by a possible suicide or, perhaps, just an horrific accident. Mike and Pat make the journey not only to the physical location of Palisade Head, but also to a new found realization about our finite existence here on god's white earth and to a deeper understanding of the greater meaning of it all.
(RIP front man of "Charisma" RIP! -- his real name has been altered for anonymity sake)
You can read this fine short story Here. It's an important inspection into the greater significance of "A Celebration of Birch". (A ritual i will have the pleasure of performing tomorrow).
Here is a picture of your brave documentarian, looking rather retarded at the moment, confused by silly bell-beaker contemplations about mortality and the significance of it all (whatever "it all" means).
As we continued around the perimeter of "Ruminant Lake", following the snowmobile tracks of hard packed snow that now veered toward the center of the lake rather than following the edge, Mike asks me whither we shall continue onward.
I say we must continue along the shoreline even though the snow is harder to walk through. I didn't realize how tiring this would actually be however.
Now it's Mike's turn to look retarded:
Despite my reassurance that we did not need to strictly follow the shoreline, Mike insisted. And despite my refusal to follow him beyond the snowmobile tracks of harder, easier trudged through snow, Mike persisted in making his point that i should practice what i preach, by practicing it for me.
"The well beaten path is another person's journey" said Mike, implying that i should make my own path through the snow.
In theory, he made a good point, but in practice I thoroughly disagreed with his suggestion.
Seeing how this was technically the day that the "Winter Excursion" was strictly on my terms. I modified last years pipe smoking ritual, into that of a cigarette smoking ritual.
I peer pressured Mike into burning one:
Now isn't that a sight to behold!
Where's your straight edge god now Michael? Where's your ironic anti-smoking "American Spirit" sarcasm now? (Never thought i'd see the day, but i guess the lure of looking "cool" has proven to be more powerful and persevering than your youthful idealistic convictions after all).
By the way i should mention that Mike tried to peer pressure me into some things too, but i have a much stronger will and greater integrity than he does. For instance he tried urging me to grow a full-on beard. "C'mon Bob grow a manly beard, it'll be cool".
Yeah right. I hate beards, there's no fucking way - not a chance in hell. They itch like crazy after a certain point. I wouldn't go through that kind of torture just to look "cool" by Mike's standards.
Anyway, back to the story at hand:
Mike refuses to take shortcuts. Bound and Determined to strictly adhere to my original decision to follow the shore line, Mike follows an insignificant inlet bay area, refusing to just route it via the snowmobile tracks.
I am forced to wait for him.
There he is, you can barely see him, because he is so small,proving himself to be the bigger man.
A bad zoom in shot of him waving...or pointing. What's he pointing to? Why it's WILDLIFE!!!
Off in the distance we both see a deer. It's a majestic sight.
We were both able to get really close to it and this graceful creature. It was really tame and even let me get close enough to take some really intimate photographs of it, worthy of publication in some type of wildlife magazine that does that sort of thing.
Check out my wildlife photos...
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