doctorpilsxhp
08-19-2006, 11:00 AM
I posted this tale years ago but I thought it still may be of interest.
I've always enjoyed canoeing the northern rivers where peace and solitude is only broken by the cry of the ring necked loon. Where pine and fir trees frame rushing rapids and where granite pushes its way through the soil like the knees on teenaged jeans.
I've always wanted to canoe the Albany River to James Bay, a historic fur trade route and in 1980
my canoeing partner headed north. We were driving through Michigan to cross back into Canada at Sault St. Marie. Caught a glimps of Lake Superior conjuring up thoughts of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Late that evening as fatigue overtook us we decided to pull off of highway 631 and catch a few winks at the side of the road before proceeding to our destination of Hearst.
Our sleep was imediately broken by the rumbling sounds of locomotives, shaking the ground as they shunted back and forth. The smell of diesel fuel filled the air as did the sounds of horns and bells. This continued all night!
Early next morning we decided that we had enough of this train yard and pushed onwards. I popped my new Lightfoot cassette, 'Dream Street Rose' into the player and was enjoying the tunes as the scenery sped by. As if on cue, the town sign announcing 'Hornpayne' flashed by while the speakers blared out 'On the High Seas'. Gord sang "was it up in Hornpayne where the trains run on time". Our jaws dropped as we looked at each other.
Perhaps Gord spent a sleepless night in this town as well?....
Yuri
"the river is the melody, the sky is the refrain"
I've always enjoyed canoeing the northern rivers where peace and solitude is only broken by the cry of the ring necked loon. Where pine and fir trees frame rushing rapids and where granite pushes its way through the soil like the knees on teenaged jeans.
I've always wanted to canoe the Albany River to James Bay, a historic fur trade route and in 1980
my canoeing partner headed north. We were driving through Michigan to cross back into Canada at Sault St. Marie. Caught a glimps of Lake Superior conjuring up thoughts of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Late that evening as fatigue overtook us we decided to pull off of highway 631 and catch a few winks at the side of the road before proceeding to our destination of Hearst.
Our sleep was imediately broken by the rumbling sounds of locomotives, shaking the ground as they shunted back and forth. The smell of diesel fuel filled the air as did the sounds of horns and bells. This continued all night!
Early next morning we decided that we had enough of this train yard and pushed onwards. I popped my new Lightfoot cassette, 'Dream Street Rose' into the player and was enjoying the tunes as the scenery sped by. As if on cue, the town sign announcing 'Hornpayne' flashed by while the speakers blared out 'On the High Seas'. Gord sang "was it up in Hornpayne where the trains run on time". Our jaws dropped as we looked at each other.
Perhaps Gord spent a sleepless night in this town as well?....
Yuri
"the river is the melody, the sky is the refrain"