Looking up at the thin wooden plank that supported the second bunk, he realized with a great deal of relief that the shack afforded him protection. Then his eyes closed, summoning sleep anemones which saw him through the night.

Reformed Near the Water – 15 Years Ago

REFORMED NEAR THE WATER – 15 YEARS AGO

Big John Kearns and his good friend Ron pulled into the small gravel lot of the Huron Bay Tavern. It was an impressive place, built upon a slice of land between the big lake and the highway. John wondered if they’d needed a forklift to get the giant timbers in place. The owner, Mary Henders, had once said the logs were taken from the upper Black at the turn of the century. They were extraordinary, and John had only seen their equal in the remote Huron Mountains.

Ron took a Marlboro Red from behind his ear and lit it with a yellow Bic lighter. He drew deep and a curl of smoke wafted across the truck cab. The lone streetlamp reflected off his spectacles and illuminated his angular face in monochrome.

The night was quiet save for the faint tavern music and the gentle sloshing of Lake Superior along the rocks. The tavern windows glowed invitingly. The moon shone bright above the pitched roof, casting ambient light upon the hardwoods and balsam fir.

“Good night to be in the woods,” Ron said.

John blinked. “You’re slipping, Ron. It’s always a good night to be in the Northwoods.”

“Not slipping yet,” Ron said. “And I’ll prove it when I whip your ass in darts.”

John chuckled. Ron definitely had his number in darts.

They exited Ron’s Chevy pickup and opened the tavern door, letting Merle Haggard flood the once quiet woods.

The Huron Bay Tavern was just as impressive from the inside. Massive, vaulted timbers rose to the ceiling, towering above the spacious room. The rectangular bar was placed square in the middle with several stools and a plethora of tables and chairs surrounding it. An Alaskan king crab mount sat in one corner, the plaque indicating it was from Ice Bay. In the northeast corner loomed a tremendous brown bear mount from Kodiak Island. It stood ten feet tall with its paws out, frozen in time, teeth exposed. John stared at the thing, trying to see something in its glassy eyes. He wondered of the bear’s disposition in life. What if it had been a gentle bear? They had personalities too. You had your grumps and angels, just like humans. Tonight the tavern had a few of them too, and their glassy stares weren’t all that different from the stuffed brown bear.

Ron hit the jukebox with his fist. “Damn thing took my quarter.”

The female bartender, slim with blonde hair and light on the makeup, shouted at him. “Hey, do I come into your place and beat on your stuff?”

Ron turned, frowning.

The bartender smiled. “Gotcha,” she said.