FENCEROWS...Camping With Hodags
By John Luthens
Somewhere due north of Rhinelander, Wisconsin in Oneida County, we hiked up Tower Ridge, swatting mosquitoes and kicking our way though green summer ferns and beneath the swaying canopy of endless trees. We scrambled to the top, pitching tents before the darkest clouds dropped through the pines.
Thunder shook the ridge top and lightning danced above. The lightning cracked in nearly horizontal to our huddled position beneath a canvas rain fly where we waited out the storm.
Through the stretching trees below us, rain smashed the surface of Crystal Lake and it looked like the dancing rises of untold fish. I didn’t know yet what fish they were, or what else lay spread below our camp. But a week lay ahead to find out.
We were at the brink of summer camp in Rhinelander, 24 Boy Scouts and a small handful of adults on 10,000 acres of a Scout camp called Tesomas. None of us had been to this camp before, so it was an exploration of the finest order. None of us knew what waited below the ridge.
The mythical Hodag, a spike-backed creature with a swinging tail and glowing eyes, has been resident guardian of the northern Rhinelander wilderness for as far back as campfire stories have been told. I went to sleep in my tent the first night to the distant howls of coyotes- at least I thought they were coyotes. I had no clue what a Hodag sounded like. Maybe it lay in wait down the trails of the camp. I didn’t know, but there is always a shred of truth based in every legend.
The storm clouds passed in the night and the sun came out the next morning. The Scouts went their separate ways, walking far trails and packing what they needed for the day because our camp was a far way removed from the usual centers of camp activity: rifle and archery shooting on the ranges, environmental nature studies on the edge of a remote bog, swimming, canoeing and sailing on the surface of spring-fed Crystal Lake.
The sun breaks through above a summer-camp pond in Oneida County.
Now, while I have fond memories of summer camp when I was a boy, and I’ve done more than my share of time in Merit Badge classes, I have to say that being a leader is much easier. I simply went to breakfast with the boys, filled up on camp food and coffee, shouted out a few morning songs and made sure everyone oriented themselves in the correct direction for the day. Then I walked the trails surrounding the lake with a day-pack on my back and a fishing rod in my hands, searching the endless forest for Hodags with nothing else particular to do and nowhere to be for a week.
I’d tell you about all the paperwork I handled to actually get everyone to camp in Rhinelander, and how many months it took me to plan, and how I nearly gave up on the whole campaign several times not to mention that if it wasn’t on a volunteer basis to begin with I would have been fired long before we actually left for camp, but that would expose severe and unglamorous flaws in my leadership ability and is nowhere near as exciting as searching for Hodags.
The lake was lined with birch and pine, shelving off through a maze of boulders and submerged wood and disappearing into the depths very quickly. It was pristine and undeveloped shoreline, with loons diving on the surface and eagles skimming the air above. The water was crystal clear and cold. I was told there was still ice on the surface 5 weeks ago.
The first time I began to notice that I smelled curiously like stale campfire smoke, I went swimming instead of hiking in to the main camp for a shower. I fond it prudent to dive underwater in order to drown the plentiful wood ticks that had been inching their way up my body for several days. Crystal Lake was invigorating to say the least and I am convinced that I actually turned a slight shade of blue. I opted for the hike and the shower from that point on. Curiously, the boys could swim for an hour at a time with no side effects whatsoever. Perhaps the Hodag was giving them magical fortitude and simply thumbing his horns at me.
I fished whenever the mood struck me, catching bluegills by the dozen, all the same size, about three inches in length. If there were bigger panfish in the lake, I never found them. I hooked several smallmouth bass that were close to 2 pounds. They dove for cover beneath the submerged logs and I shouted like a madman with my cries of enthusiasm echoing across the lake and mixing with the laughter from the canoeing and sailing classes. The smallmouth fought like champions and broke my light leaders cleanly every time. I wasn’t too concerned about it. A week at a lake camp can put the actual landing of fish in proper perspective.
The fishing highlight of my week came when I was stripping in yet another small bluegill. A dark shape came out of nowhere from and grabbed the fish. A largemouth bass attacked my catch and refused to let go, and for several thrilling moments I was hooked up with two fish. The bass finally released its hold and by some miracle the bluegill was unscathed. The small fish swam back into the underwater food chain, and whether it survived or perished is a question I will never know the answer to.
Some of the afternoons turned humid and brought in passing rain that drummed the leaves above and softly dripped to the forest floor below. During one such shower I stumbled upon a hidden pond off the main lake. As the rain passed, the sun broke through from above and the air was alive with hundreds of dragon flies. They landed on my fly rod and seemed content to sit there for as long as I let them. The hours at camp Tesomas stretched on in this fashion.
A visiting dragonfly.
Some of the nights were cold and there was mist rolling off the surrounding lowland forest as I walked back to camp in the dark. I could see my breath as I shined deer with my flashlight in the rising night smoke of the clearings and they stood motionless within scant yards of me.
When everyone met back up in the evening, we sat around the fire and discussed our day. We hit the summer solstice-the longest day of the year-and it was still light long into the evening. There was no television or radio so we were content to talk and tell stories. I have to say that when it finally got too dark to see, the Hodag legend came up more than once.
We had a few cell phones of course, but when the batteries ran dead we just stuffed them in our packs and forgot about them. We lashed together a wooden tripod and hung a lantern from it. We were not totally removed from the outer world, but we were definitely on the fringes.
When it was all said and done, we never brought back a Hodag, and to be honest we never even spotted one. We brought back Merit Badges and stories, and hopefully memories that will stay with the Scouts far into the future and cheer them through the duller times of everyday life, times that are a simple fact of growing older.
John Luthens in front of his home for a week in the Rhinelander woods.
As for me, after a week living in a tent, my soft bed felt good. But I still slept restless. The Hodag is still out there. I can see him in my mind, sitting high on Tower Ridge in Rhinelander and watching the moon rise above Crystal Lake. I know in my heart that I will chase him again.