Mantra

"Stink! Stink! Stink! Stink! Stink! Stink! Stink! Stink! Stink!"

Nine of them. Glenn counted. And each in cadence, though more harsh than melodious. After the boy passed by, Glenn heard him rattle off another nine as he continued along the rough, Canadian canoe path.

Ah, that's what the High Portage can do to, especially to kids. It's the perfect place for unloading stress and learning about yourself. And once over, you're never the same. The portage requires so much concentration, strength, and endurance, that all else drops off. Some fight it, like that kid. But it sure is easier when you just accept it.

Glenn knew because he'd faced himself on that portage years before. At the end of the war when his father saw how much stress everyone had accumulated. A man of action, his solution was to head for Canada in the hopes of dissolving the stress.

Father made the canoe trip sound like a grand adventure: camping in the woods, traveling on lakes, going down rivers, always sleeping tents, sitting by campfires, being around frogs, turtles, fish, porcupines, raccoons, deer, loons, seagulls, ducks, even facing the scourges of the North, the black fly and mosquito. Everything would be new and exciting.Yeah, kids, we getto go to bed when the sun goes down and rise with it on the invigorating, Canadian mornings!That was the romance. The reality was The High Portage.

Glenn listened to a White Throated Sparrow. When it had finished its seven-noted trill, he thought about that first summer when the family didn't know a thing about camping or canoeing and especially portaging. They learned everything by trial and error -- common sense. They paddled as one or the canoe went around in circles or stood still. And if anyone held his paddle incorrectly he got blisters.

Glenn watched a Chipmunk scurry up a pine tree being chased by his friend.Yes, I remember. Welearned how to shift from one side of the canoe to the other so we wouldn't poop out. You learned not to splash or we got splashed. That's when I learned how to back-paddle: to help

Father retrieve his hat when it blew into the lake. I learned to tie everything in after that first capsizing. I also learned how to aim the canoe so we wouldn't ship water, how to load so the bow angled, how to balance so we wouldn't have to swim in our clothes, how to keep a snack handy, the value of periodic rest, going to bed as early as possible so we could make it through the next day, about aluminum canoes versus wooden vessels, about everyone literally being in the same boat, about individuality and teamwork, the value of planning, learning to have a cup tied close to revitalize myself, the value of silence, to sense the needs of others as well as their strengths and weaknesses, the importance of authority, respect, the camaraderie of family, what made me tick. We learned or paid the consequences.

Glenn also remembered making a list of what he learned a few years after the unforgettable trip. Even the general categories, void of details, was staggering: what to take and how to load the canoe properly. Avoid cans or you'll die on portages: they'reheavy. Put up the tent on high ground: if you don't, you'll float when it rains. Pitch camp on level ground or you can find yourself in the drink. Save dry kindling so you can start a fire, especially in wet weather. Keep fire going because restarting can be a beast. Regulate the heat so you don't burn the food. Show as little skin as possible so the blackflies and mosquitoes won't take your sanity and dignity. Ward off animals that don't respect the value structure of humans. Prepare for a three-day rain so if you're stuck in a tent you have things to do. When you return from a trip, be tolerant and patient with those who didn't go: beware of statements that could be interpreted as bragging or exaggeration. Glenn Foster wrote out all the details, but even without them he was convinced that the simple canoe trip had taught a great number of life-long lessons.

The Long Lake trip, complete with the High Portage, turned out to be the trip of trips. The infamous mile-and-a-half carry came after the fourteen-mile paddle and before twelve more miles. Disregarding the rest of the journey, he feltgetting tothe lake obliged him to grow up fast.

Now, seventeen years after his initiation, Glenn lay on the pine needles and smiled at the boy whose chant he heard echoing down the trail. His mood was distracted when the father strolled by. Glenn nodded as the man, barely sweating, leaned on his walking stick.

"Beautiful day."

"Perfect for portaging."

So much was said in those simple words!

As the man strolled off, Glenn wondered if his father had handled the portage as effortlessly.

George Foster mentally planned the trip as he was being mustered out of the Marine Corps in 1945.So long, Iwo, so long one-hup-pree!

The veteran projected himself into civilian life. Four years is a long time, and I know I'm not the only one who's been effected. Irene with the kids all that time -- God,shemust be beat too!

He sensed it would take a lot of psychology and energy to reenter the family.Not too gung-ho,but enough a driving force to reestablish family unity.

Instead of emphasizing rules and behavior, he chose to focus on action.Keep them busy and the rest will take care of itself.So he ordered a twenty-foot freight canoe. Had it and all the gear shipped to a train station in Ontario lake country: paddles, cushions, a step-mast and rig for sailing, plus folding lea boards to keep from capsizing. He ordered knapsacks for everyone and duffel bags for food and three tents.

The first day they did nothing but paddle. That alone made everyone realize the new order. It began with the novelty of doing something new followed by the fun of splashing, then came the strain offifteen milesand realizing that if they didn't protect their hands from blisters, this could become dangerous. And behind all the stages was the indomitable force of FATHER. He never forced, he instructed, mostly by being the model. Everyone knew that ifhedidn't quit, no one should. That paddle was the beginning of a great transformation.

No one knew that bays came fifteen miles long. The cats became disgruntled and abandoned ship. Quick-thinking Mother scooped them up with the landing net. The diversion gave everyone an excuse to rest his paddle on the gunwale. But respites were only temporary and back they went to Father's rhythmic pull. He didn't count cadence, but he could have, so regular were his strokes.

They met mud at the end of the bay.Come on, kids, you can't expect a fully loaded, twenty-foot freight canoe to get all the way to shore -- besides, now you have an excuse to slop!No complaining about reality.

Glenn clearly remembered the ingenious way his father devised to carry the giant canoe. He strapped Oak branches across the thwarts. The entire family held the ends of the poles and carried with their arms.Much easier, especially on blistered hands, right, gang?And so the giant caterpillar

worked its way up the steep path of the High Portage.

But even though the weight of the great vessel had been lessened by the group effort, the trip was still hard. Each family memberalsolugged his knapsack, which contained everything he needed for a week. And the straps uncannily dug into the sorest part of their shoulders.

The High Portage proved to be a cheap form of therapy. Glenn couldn't help wondering if the chanting boy's father was a psychologist. Maybehejust got out of the Service. Whatever his occupation, he, like Glenn's Father, must have known that the trip offered a quick way to mature.

Kids, when walking over rocks, be careful. You don't want to twist your ankle because not only will you suffer but everyone else will be burdened. As for tree branches, you better duck so you won't get whacked, but also to keep the person behind you from getting slapped. Look at leaf clusters: some hold water, insects, biting wasps, mosquitoes, blackflies.

Glenn stretched his hands behind the back of his head and looked into the blue sky of Ontario. He knew that trip had impressed him more than any single event of his life and he remembered it vividly.

I don't know about you, kids, but I'm going to walk on as manypine needles as I can: they're SOFT. Why do it the hard way by stepping on stones when there are needles or moss nearby? Not to mention taking the chance of twisting my ankle!

Glenn smiled when he remembered learning the true meaning of the Golden Rule that fateful trip. It came from holding the pole while carrying the big canoe. When he lifted too high, his brother on the other side suffered because the weight shifted and he carried most of it. God knowshedidn't want to carry more than he had to!

And he almost chuckled thinking how he learned about tolerance and creativity: mosquitoes and blackfliesalwaysbite. He found different ways to swat them while still maintaining his balance and stride. Whenever he became impatient, he wasted energy swatting at an expert escape artist.

Glenn watched a cloud float by overhead. How effortless! It reminded him of the lesson he had learned concerning the futility of asking certain questions, such as when will the portage end.Oh, how I antagonized my siblings every time I asked that! And how much energy it took justasking! Usually it was better not to ask but to think. And when that becomes a burden, just put one foot in front of the other. The end of the portage, like everything inevitable, would end when it would, questions or not.

The man knew that on that single canoe trip he had learned a great deal

about handling his mind. How to divert it when he ached. How to concentrate onanythingto keep from feeling pain: Listen to the White Throated Sparrow and the laughing loon, smell the dry pine needles, watch a puff of pine pollen float through the air kicked up by a gust of wind, observe and remember where the wild blueberries, strawberries, and raspberries grow.

In spite of the slave-driving techniques he felt his father had imposed seventeen years ago, Glenn now realized how compassionate the ex-Marine actually was. Compassionate and wise, for every time he saw someone truly suffering, the man called a halt. Compassion, endurance, working together: that trip wasn't summer vacation, it wasschool.

Glenn lay on the soft needles watching a column of ants march around a pine cone. He could enjoy the High Portage now, but he could also appreciate what his father had taught him by taking the family over it. Glenn couldn't think of a better way the veteran could have chosen to dissolve his wartime frustrations and to reunite the family. He felt that everyone had passed the survival course and had received at least a doctorate degree, and all in only a few, though demanding, hours.

Glenn looked at the ink-blue sky speckled by white whiffs. All his senses were alive. He stared at the beautiful clouds, smelled the pine needles, heard the melodious White Throated Sparrow, tasted a handful of sweet blueberries and, above all, sensed the wholeness of the wilderness. Intellectually he knew that the whole was greater than the sum of the parts, but now, experientially, the saying became alive. All those parts, the senses and his memories, they compressed into a clear oneness. The eternal moment flooded him with joy.

But joy was not what he had experienced seventeen years before. The pain had been so intense that he asked himself if the trip was worth it. Now the question was less than rhetorical; it had been muted by the knowledge of all he had gained.

Now heard the boy's rhythmical chant echo through the woods. The sound was his spontaneous way of dealing with the reality of the High Portage, his intense present.

Could this be how mantras came about in ancient times?

"Stink! Stink! Stink! Stink! Stink! Stink! Stink! Stink! Stink!"