Back The Puller Save as PDF
Chapters (24)
  1. Cover
  2. Publishing Details
  3. Dedication
  4. The Beginning
  5. Journey
  6. Iron Daily News February 21, 2014: What’s Killing the Moose?
  7. The Trapper
  8. The Shack
  9. The Traveler
  10. Bob Sanders
  11. Ernie
  12. Colors
  13. Day One
  14. Reformed Near the Water – 15 Years Ago
  15. Day 2
  16. Bad Moon Rising
  17. Day 3
  18. Every Good – 15 Years Ago
  19. Day 4
  20. The Last One – 1928
  21. Wrigley Field – Eight Months Ago
  22. Day 5
  23. Day 6
  24. Day 7

The shack stood as the last intact structure of the old farm operations. Despite a little mold, it was holding up fine. Lake Superior casted a humidifying spell on these highlands, and sometimes he’d wake to find the property ensconced in fog. No doubt this contributed to the damp smell.

A few yards southeast of the shack was a sloping section of grassland that made up the two-track driveway. Matt followed the driveway down to Julip Road. Directly across the road was a half-acre section of the property besieged by a jungle of maple, birch, and enormous Goldie’s fern. Walking through that soup was always a challenge. You couldn’t see anything below your waist as the ferns obscured the ground. Anyone trudging through the salad had no idea if they were going to surprise an animal. He often thought he’d stir up a sleeping bear back in that jumble, maybe even a mother with cubs. So why not just avoid it? Water. The Black was much smaller up here at the shack, but substantial enough to roar during spring runoff. Rotting logs, moss, and beaked sedge made up the stream banks. Trickling springs seeped between ferns here and there, some forming sinkholes filled with thick, black mud. They reminded him of tar pits. A few years back, his friend Trent had fallen into one. It wasn’t pretty. When Matt pulled him out, the pit had taken both of his hiking boots. They’d named that sinkhole “Merril,” after the boot manufacturer.

In order to fill the water buckets, you had to inch down the unstable bank. If you slipped and fell, enjoy five feet of ice-cold water. This section of the Black was narrow but deceptively deep. Boulders nudged past the surface like curious turtles. The water percolated through dark, undercut banks and then out onto sunny riffles. Brook trout nipped the surface for bugs, the bigger fish making a distinct popping noise as their jaws smacked the surface. The upper Black was known for frequent sightings of mother black bears with cubs in tow. Perhaps this was a good place to keep cool with all the springs and moist vegetation.