Chop Wood, Carry Water

Posted On October 1, 2024

A Zen Boat Journey

Seeking Escape from the Doldrums

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I’ve found myself in a bit of the doldrums of late. Not due to any particular life circumstance. It’s simply a place I find myself wandering into occasionally.

It may be due to fatigue, both mental and physical, or it might simply be something cyclically seasonal. Whichever the case, one night I go to sleep excited by life’s possibilities, the next morning, I awake to find myself not motivated to do much of anything. There I am, quite suddenly, without warning, listlessly slogging my way through the doldrums.

As I’ve forged my way along the path of life’s journey, I’ve embraced a technique for overcoming the doldrums. It’s a simple philosophy carried forward from my martial arts training. It’s a Zen Buddhist saying. Which made it a perfect fit for my Zen Boat.

The phrase “Chop Wood, Carry Water” reminds me to focus on life’s mundane tasks. It helps give me focus, appreciate simplicity, persevere, not get mired or lost in mental swamps. So, when I find myself in the doldrums, the “Chop Wood, Carry Water” philosophy helps me forge ahead, living in the day I am in, embracing even the most terrestrial moments on my life quest for Zen.

So that’s what I do, and that’s what I did as I forced myself to pack gear and load my truck for my annual September Military/Veteran’s early pre-regular season fall duck hunting trip.

Unlike other years, I wasn’t motivated to go. Ten thousand excuses sensed my vulnerable state and converged in my head. “Hunting alone is too hard.” “I’m getting too old.” “There’s still too much human traffic on the lake.” “My left shoulder hurts.” “The nights will be cold.” Cleaning and inventorying guns & gear was a chore. I packed halfheartedly. Loading my Zen boat felt onerous. Still, I pressed onwards, telling myself “Chop Wood, Carry Water”, and at some point, spirit’s fire will find spark and life’s engines will roar.

Slogging through the doldrums’ many whispered excuses, I left Saturday morning at 3:00 a.m., fully loaded for the weekend’s duck hunt. When I pulled into South Creek at 5:00 a.m., it was still pitch-dark outside. Since it was still an hour and a half until legal shooting time anyways, still beset with the doldrums, I decided to sit in my truck for an hour and nap.

At 6:30 a.m. it was finally light enough to load gear into my Zen Boat and embark. A hunter’s view differs from the rest of the world. We are afield far earlier and later than most folks, and thus privileged to view life though a lens that most miss.

The pre-sunrise skyline view as I paddled down South Creek was stunning.

The old saying goes “Red sky in morning, sailors take warning”, but I could already feel my spirits rising, like morning’s mist from the water.

A pair of beavers crossed my Zen boat’s path as I paddled. Given my recent dealings with beavers (which was the reason my shoulder was sore, and the inspiration for my story “Relentless”), I found this somehow rather ironic. Beavers mate for life, so I was sure it was a couple. I wondered just how long this pair had been together as they crisscrossed back and forth in front of me while I tried to capture them with some photos.

I flushed a black duck as I paddled. Several more flocks of ducks passed low overhead. I never raised my gun. I don’t hunt South Creek itself in September, as even before sunrise I don’t think it’s safe. I just never know who else might be paddling. So, armed with my camera instead, I simply watched them and smiled. One of my favorite vistas is Middle Saranac Lake’s morning mist rising as I make my Zen boat approach down through South Creek’s mouth.

I hit Middle Saranac Lake at sunrise, pausing to snap several photos before I turned my Zen boat west and began hunting in earnest as I slowly worked my way up the lake. If sunrise views like this don’t help shake one’s soul free of the doldrums, I’m simply not sure what will.

I’ve read “expert” commentary complaining about the drab state of this year’s fall foliage. I’m not sure what those folks are talking about, perhaps they just have the doldrums, because in the places I visit, this year’s colors are good. Maybe they just needed something to write about. Sometimes we find what we’re looking for.

I slowly worked my way up along the shoreline. I missed a shot at a black duck up on the river below Bartlett’s Carry.

Jump shoot hunting ducks from a canoe alone is no simple task. It’s an art. Black ducks are wary. My gun was slow.

After that, I circumnavigated the lake. The mist was pea soup thick as I cleared Stormy Point, crossed the channel leading to Hungry Bay, and made my way behind Halfway Island towards the rocky shoreline leading to Windy Point. Late September’s morning sun burned the mist from the lake.

My Zen boat journey eventually took me to First Island, just in time for some breakfast.

As my doldrum voices had cautioned, late September’s great stretch of weather meant human lake traffic was heavy. Too heavy for me to even consider hunting the river down towards the locks. So, I didn’t. Instead, after taking in my feeding tube breakfast and giving my aching left shoulder a rest, I worked my way across the lake back up towards the west end. Along the way, gun still slow, I missed another shot, this time at a merganser in one of the more remote bays back behind Shaw Island.

I finally managed to bag a nice black duck on a second pass into the river flow down below Bartlett’s Carry. Satisfied with my morning’s hunt, I settled into one of my favorite secluded spots on a remote rocky point of NYSDEC owned land away from all of the “Adirondacking” fall traffic.

When I’m afield alone, I travel quite light. As a tube fed cancer survivor, free from the human food supply, unburdened by cooler, I need neither cooking stove nor a fire. I don’ carry a tent or sleeping bag, opting instead for a Ranger’s best friends: my Army poncho liner, a thermos of rocket fuel coffee, and my trusty canteen cup. So, by that time free of the doldrums, as dawn turned towards dusk, I wrapped myself in my poncho liner and settled in under a tree to await Sunday’s dawn.

Sometime shortly after midnight, I was startled awake by a loud noise.

SPLASH!

“What the hell was that?!?”

More splashes followed, some of them next to my canoe, where I had my black duck stashed. I shined the small spotlight I keep close at hand at night but wasn’t able to get my beam on the culprit. It wasn’t a bear, (which had been my first midnight gut instinct thought). I had noticed several piles of freshwater clam shells on the rocks where my Zen boat was currently parked, and since beavers don’t consume mollusks, I suspect it was otters.

They most likely were protesting my Zen boat’s presence on the site of their nightly clam bake. Either that or they smelled duck. It was likely the same family of otters that stole my duck in that very spot the previous season. An incident I penned one of my most widely read stories:

“Larceny on the Lake”

At that point, fully awake, I looked up at the night. The sky was amazing, crystal clear, star filled and bright. Now at this point, those reading will have to use their mind’s eye. For in that moment, I had a decision to make. Did I want to give up the tightly wrapped warmth of my poncho liner and go get my camera? After giving the matter momentary consideration, I chose not to. I simply lay there gazing up at Zen’s stars. My apologies.

Sunday morning, I awoke, a bit stiff and chilly, but free of the doldrums, to very dense fog.

After checking to ensure the otters hadn’t made off with my duck, I gave myself a quick shot of rocket fuel, loaded my Zen boat, and hunted my way back down towards South Creek. As I stated at the beginning of this piece, hunters are privileged to view life though a lens that most miss.

The mist wafting down off the dew laden treetops formed an inviting Adirondack fall morning’s enchanted doldrum shoreline tunnel escape route. One might even say it was “mistical”. This next photo is not enhanced. My camera lens captured what I actually experienced.

I flushed one more black duck. My gun was loaded, but at that point I was not really hunting. Free of the doldrums, my life’s spark renewed, I was having far too much fun snapping photos. I still don’t know what the self-proclaimed “experts” & folks bemoaning this year’s fall foliage are complaining about.

Sometimes we simply find whatever it is we are looking for.

I know I did.

Until Our Trails Cross Again:

ADKO