The morning mist burned off just enough to lift a curtain of hope, the watery brume giving way to a pink orange sky lurking behind a veil of black spruce. Even the eye watering smoke from the breakfast fire doubted the days progress; would it be worth breaking camp to trudge through brush and bog to find that elusive moose? Perhaps it might be as well to collect dry tinder and just stay in camp? One more year of hunting disappointment. Memequay pondered all this aloud when "sa blonde" spoke up "No way! We are going to get our tag today! This is my first time and I am NOT going home without a moose tabernac!" Blondie had spoken and so it was.
With plenty to spare the 20 footer canoe took the full load of tent, hunters and gear. Pushing off from shore the paddles dripped sweet northern water back to its source, completing the cycle of life, from November freeze-ups to January snows, and from the April runoffs thru September low waters; the memory of sundogs last winter whispered across their bow in early autumn spray.
The gurgling wake did not betray their approach as from around the next sand bar Blondie caught sight of an immense dark shadow hovering above the shallows next the shore. She froze as did Memequay in the stern. A huge head slowly lifted from the late summer lily pads adorned with a spread of antlers the like they'd never seen before. Memequay carefully unzipped the camo bag to ease the rifle from it's place. The emerging sun glinted off the water and time stood still. Rivulets of water streamed down the great l 'orignal's flanks as he quietly stepped out onto the bank undisturbed. The two hunters held their breathe and made their peace. Blondie slowly raised her gun and calmly took aim...three hearts beat in sync under a morning sky...and her paddle laid across the bow tipped drops of water back into it's source, to continue the journey.
