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| I can't remember the name of this |
My
father worked for a big oil company as a district manager and we moved
around a lot until he went as far in the company as he wanted to go so
Gulf Oil gave him Michigan to run and also had him train the other
district managers for the company. It was a swell job and he was good at
it. His secretary, Maggie, was his alter ego and was the consummate
"I'm sorry, he is out of the office and traveling today, can I take a
message?" cohort when she knew darn well he was playing golf with me or
in the spring, out scouting the territory from a trout stream.
About
the end of February or early March, when cabin fever was at its height, my dad used to retire to
the basement and haul out his trout fly setup and tie flies for the
upcoming season. I got my first fly tying vice when I was about 8 years
old and my first fly rod, a nifty 7 footer, at the same time. By the
end of March we were ready for trout season, lines waxed, flies in tight
order, equipment in the back of his company car.
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| Where the Two Hearted River empties into Lake Superior |
As
close to opening day as possible, usually when the ice was off the
rivers, I would be summoned to the office at school where my father
would be waiting with some hair-brained excuse that he needed to pull
me out of school - this was generally a family illness somewhere -
his older sister (no such person) having taken ill or dying or died -
and off we would go. His older sister died I think 5 times in all.
In
seventh grade we were in our reading class at school and Hemingway's
story, The Two Hearted River, was assigned. You can read the Wiki
synopsis here
and in it you will note that Nick, the central character, gets off the
train in Seney, Michigan and fishes the Fox River not the Two Hearted. I
knew that because we vacationed summers for a week near Seney and my
dad was careful to point it out. It doesn't make much difference; perhaps Hemingway liked the Two-Hearted name better than Fox. We will never know.
The
Two Hearted river was a wild one to fish. Full of rapids and slick
rocks, sudden holes and what passed for quicksand - just soft silt sand
caused by backwash off Lake Superior. We fished near the mouth of the
river, where it emptied in the Lake and it was near the ruins of a Life
Saving station, then coast guard station, as shipping passed near there
on its way to Sault Ste. Marie and down to the lower lakes and it was a
scene of some pretty bad wrecks.
Hemingway's
"Nick" was a WWI vet with some shell shock issues and he used the River
in an attempt to find some stability and help him back to normalcy. My
father never admitted to any such issues but then again never talked
much about WWII although his tour in the South Pacific led him to some
pretty awful places and events.
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| The historical marker |
He
had first come up to this area when he was just a kid; with his brother
Jim and a fellow name Jimmy Mott (of the Mott family - famous and rich
Motts). He told me he knew the coast guard station when it was a life
saving station so it had to be in the early 20s and we spent some times
looking for the old campsite from then 35 years back - something long
swept clean by storms from the Lake.
In
hindsight I suspect that my dad was looking for something other than
his campsite. I was along for the ride. I think I understand that now.
Took a while. Realizations come slowly first to Nick, then my dad and
finally to me - just now in fact.
The historical marker is aptly named.
The historical marker is aptly named.