Adversity '09

On July 9th, five friends ventured out into the B-dub Wilderness to learn and grow together. Adversity '09 began at entry point #27, Snowbank Lake, and continued on with a series of lake paddles through Parent, Disappointment, Ahsub, Jitterbug, Cattyman, Adventure, Jordan, Ima and Thomas lakes. The weather was bea-yutiful, and camping was prime, though we were almost carried away by mosquitoes from our gorgeous, plateaued campsite on Ahsub. Good times.

This year, I found my home away from home on Ima; although, my first impression of the lake was far from pleasant. On our way through to Thomas, lady-I gave us quite a battle, as the waves picked up to heights near four feet. Had we paid attention to the terrified troop of Boy Scouts we met on the way out to the main lake, we might have expected this and waited for the weather to calm, but we didn't. Instead, we trudged on and nearly shat ourselves as the Itasca II bounced over some pretty fierce white caps.

On our return trip from Thomas, Ima proved to be much more peaceful. Remembering full well what the lake had done to us on our first run, we made the best and worst decision of the trip by taking a night paddle in hopes of nesting into a campsite on Jordan lake. Ima was smooth as glass as we cruised across its waters at sunset, all the while belting out atrocious renditions of Moses Hogan spirituals. Unfortunately, Jordan was all full, and we didn't end up settling down until near 1 am, several pitch-black river portages later. Was it worth it? You bet your bottom dollar, Annie.

We woke up the next morning a pristine site on the northern shore of Ima, with bass and northerns waiting to be caught just off our front porch of smooth shoreline rock.


























I could write more, but as can be said of any trip to the BWCAW among fine, strapping young lads--and in this case, one fine young lass....

You Don't Even Know.

New York, New York


So, I may not have told you, but I'm on Long Island. Crazy, right?

Actually, it is kind of crazy. Since way back in the day, the family Strong, turned Munson-Strong some time ago, has had a cozy, cedar-sided home in East Hampton. For about as long as I can remember this house, which is so graciously lending me its porch as I write this, has been a great place for me. Whether traveling here by plane, my first experience with aviation, by train, my first experience with a gameboy, or by automobile, certainly not my first or last experience with sibling rivalry, I have always enjoyed making the trip out East. Some of my most vivid childhood memories have been formed in a place I've been to only a handful of times.

Though this particular trip was planned primarily around my grandmother Eleonore's passing, it's turned into somewhat of a big-tent revival for James M. Munson. Away from Walker, buzzing tourists, waiting tables on buzzing tourists, the lake and the woods, I've started to work on making sense of the inner shit-storm that's been brewing inside me for longer than I rightly know (if this sentence here seems a bit heavy, you either don't know me very well, or should call me in the near future). I feel good tonight; I feel even better knowing that it's on account of my own hard work, and not some other stuff.

Tomorrow, for the third day in a row, I'm getting up at 7:30 to buy fresh bagels and coffee, and I'm happy about it, damnit.

I cursed twice in this post. Sorry. Here's another picture I took of a fence at the beach to make up for it.