Personal, yet universal reminiscences from Doug “Uncola” Lynn at theburningplatform.com:
Life is hard as it is. Too many rough roads to travel. Too many chains to untangle. But no matter how cruel the world may be, life becomes less hard when you got a good friend.
True friends say good things behind your back and bad things to your face.
In the late nineteen-forties, three young men graduated college, packed their gear into a Willy’s four-by-four and took a road trip into the Canadian wilderness where they built a log-cabin. They felled trees by hand and used nineteenth-century tools to construct the cabin of such quality, it was shared by multiple generations of their three families over the next five decades.
As one born in the turbulent sixties and growing up in the nineteen-seventies, I was lucky enough to catch the tail-end of a time when boys were boys and men were men. It was also very fortunate that my childhood best friend’s father was one of the three men who built the cabin. It had a wood stove and an old-fashioned hand pump in the kitchen that drew water directly from the lake. An outhouse was positioned around 30 yards from the back entrance and the front porch offered limited views of the water through veritable walls of trees.
Usually a group of four to six of us would drive more than a day’s time to reach the cabin and our party generally consisted of two or three seasoned older men and a similar number of us young bucks. And, every visit, we spent about the same amount of time repairing, maintaining, and improving that old cabin as we did fishing.
We cut down trees and built a bigger boat ramp, assembled docks, listened to the loons at sunset, and witnessed the Milky Way in all of its glory, in the enchanting black of night.
Once we young bucks were of a certain age, we’d chug a beer, do a shot, or both, and burn ticks and leeches from our bodies with freshly extinguished match tips. Many times we missed the targets.
To continue reading; On Fishing, Friends, and Hidden Treasures Found