Tighten your bra straps!

And buckle up for a ride through the U.P.

Jun 29, 2024

I typed this post on my phone, with little time to edit, so please forgive any typos, and thanks for reading!

I’m writing this post as a postcard to you from a hunting lodge in northern Michigan, during a break between activities on my 3-day vacation. The reason I’m staying in such a …shall say…taxidermy-rich Air B&B nearly an hour from civilization might surprise you. It’s certainly not because I sought out a place with added charms like of a windchime made of bullets, and antlers used as door hooks in the bathroom, but because I and my fellow travelers needed a place that could (somewhat affordably) accommodate 32 people. Thirty two women.

The Quad Cities Women’s Outdoor Club is an amazing organization that has helped me find joy, a sense of community, and, a way to help rewrite my story since finding myself divorced at age 40. If it wasn’t for QCWOC, I’d never have gone snow tubing, ziplining, canoeing, kayaking through Davenport and under the Centennial Bridge (as part of Floatzilla), touring the clock tower at Rock Island Arsenal, trying bunjee fitness or belly dancing. (Yep, we do stuff that’s not outdoors, too).

Despite all that activity over the years, this week is my first multiple-day trip with the group. And on Thursday, one day after my 47th birthday, we did an activity together that ended up providing one of the coolest and most awe-inspiring experiences of my life: sea kayaking along the Pictured Rocks National Shoreline.

The weather was pristine. The company that ferried us to our put-in spot, and provided three experienced guides for our group, ran the entire operation smoothly. The rock formations were absolutely astounding. Lake Superior was placid enough to let us participate (while lots of trips get called off or re-routed), but with rolling waves that did provide a thrill from time to time. Moments when we got to paddle inside a cave, with drops from a waterfall up above, or under and through a stone archway, were magical— including the one where, as we exited, an enormous flock of seagulls seemed to be putting on a show for us. Again, all I can say to really get it across: awe. (I didn’t take any pics from the yak because I was too busy paddling— and also knew there was a thousand percent chance my phone would end up at the bottom of the lake).

But the kayaking adventure wasn’t our only one planned for this trip. When I heard that part of it was going to include “side-by-siding,” I knew right away that I wasn’t truly interested. But it was included in the price of the trip—and hey, why not try it? What if, by learning to honor my true self as I age, I’m just…getting stodgy?

So, on Friday morning, after a day of peaceful paddling that stirred and soothed my soul, I put on a helmet and goggles and subjected myself to purposeful, extreme turbulence. I rode — and later drove — a loud, high-tech dune buggy (a Polaris RZR) over miles of rugged trails through the Hiawatha National Forest.

(I’m on sketchy Wi Fi, but hopefully you can see a video or two in this post.)

Imagine locating the most severely potholed parking lot you’ve ever seen, right in that time of late winter/ early spring after the ice has melted—a lot with the kind of holes that, when you hit one, make you wince and draw in a breath in and go, “damn it! There go my shocks!”— and then purposely repeating that experience for hours.

We encountered huge splashes of mud that splatted our hair, eyes, mouth, everything. Each time we experienced a big splash, we all laughed and whooped. (I shared an sxs with one woman near my age, and two ladies a generation or so older than me.) I found myself thinking that the experience would be a dream for teenage boys.

I ended up confirming that this kind of experience isn’t one I’d choose, or plan to repeat, but glad I tried it. And I didn’t rattle out any of my teeth!

32 women, 3 bathrooms

If it sounds like I’ve found an incredible organization to join, one filled with women who inspire me and help get me out into the world in ways I never would on my own, you’d be 100 percent correct.

If you think traveling with as many as 31 other people might be a wee bit of a clusterf*ck, well, you’d be right about that, too.

The term “herding cats” has seemed more and more like a genius description than a cliche. It took us over an hour of low level but steady chaos, for just one example, to get divvied up into the ATVs, separating into morning and afternoon groups, getting the right helmets, (everyone including me playing Goldilocks with the sizes), figuring out who did and didn’t have rides back “home” to the lodge (40 minutes away) if some people wanted to stay in the area to go view waterfalls. And just when we’d get belted in to the Polarises, helmeted and goggled up, you’d hear: “wait—did anyone see where the bathroom was inside?”

In the lodge, I’ve been getting a kick out of observing our behavior and conversation while I try to imagine the (likely male?) hunters who usually stay here, saying/ doing anything like the following:

“I don’t think I’m going to actually wash my hair today, just wait til this evening, but I’ll take a light shower tonight. Are you going to actually shampoo? Do you think I should shampoo?”
“Should I bring my jacket? Are you bringing a jacket?”
“In the (car / kayak/ ATV) tomorrow, do you think there will be room for my backpack?”
“I’m going to pack up so I’ll be ready for the morning. And now I’m going to make my bed, and now this is where I’m keeping my toothbrush.” (Narration/ announcement of every action: all 12 women on my floor doing this at the same time. Including me.)
“Do you snore? I’m not sleeping next to anyone who snores.”
“Did you hear (x) saying she won’t sleep next to anyone who snores? How rude. It’s not like I can help it that I snore.”
Midnight, same lady who’d earlier said she won’t sleep next to snorers: “ZZZZZ.”
“What should I do with my wet towel? Where are you hanging yours? Did they say where we should?”
“Where’s my sunglasses/sunscreen/water bottle/ bug spray/ hat/ phone? Did I leave it/them out in the car? Damn it. Now I gotta go all the way back out to the car/downstairs/upstairs [three flights].”
“I love the scent of campfire.”
“I hate the smell of campfire smoke in my clothes.”
“Where’s the outlet? Did anyone see an extra outlet? I’m looking for an outlet. Oh, you’ve got yours plugged in there? Ope… Ok. No, no… it’s fine.”
“I should’ve brought my pillow. I usually travel with my own pillow. Oh, you brought yours? Damn, I should’ve brought mine.”
“Should I pee before we go?”

Out Here in the Fields

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