Ripe Vaccinium spp. greeting our arrival.
The gusty frontal winds and wash-board waves were occasionally reduced to acceptable circumstance by the scenic beauty of Northern Wisconsin flowage shorelines. Each exhausting stroke of our paddles seemed to merely inch us closer to an ever-distant locale. Campsite after campsite were occupied. About eight miles of fighting the wind and twenty-one of these let-downs passed by my steadily doubting eyes. We continued our pursuit to the end of a series of designated sites. The last one, a small island in the middle of a large body of water, was our final attempt at redemption. The lack of a parked vessel and absence of smoke or noise meant we had finally found a place to settle for the night.
Sunrise began behind the forested horizon and I awoke to the redundant song of a small, yet boisterous, bird. I made a quick descent to the place where the blueberries grew, the steep sandy northern shoreside. The ambient light exposed an adequate patch of ripe berries growing near the shores of this 75x30 yard oasis. I tested another two or three as I assessed the cache before returning to my slumber. Two hours later I was awake and making preparations. My friend began to construct his rock-star breakfast, fit for the whole band, as I gathered most of a cup of blueberries.
Freshly harvested blueberries made into syrup over the campfire.