BUMMER-FREE ZONE

If you kill the outboard and let your boat drift into a silent glide that parallels the shore you can almost imagine the place as it may have appeared in antiquity. I imagine dugouts pulled up onto the bank and half-naked savages taking their leisure under the trees. Perhaps even wigwams, with hides and birch bark sheets lashed to stout frames, were clustered along the shoreline.  In my mind’s eye the scene may have closely resembled an exhibit I once saw in a natural history museum. In the exhibit a canoe filled with braves hailed the shore where squaws were busily occupied scraping hides and gathering fire wood while naked children ran along the bank or stood knee-deep in the water waiting for the canoe to land. In the village the aged members of the tribe sat Indian-style near the front door of their lodges while industrious looking hunters mended equipment, or strode through the village intent on mysterious errands.