It was about noon on a beautiful summer day. Brian Woodcox a new assistant scoutmaster with our troop who had recently graduated from being an Eagle Scout to being a Scouter and was the acting event Scoutmaster for the canoe trip. Pushed off from a small wooden dock near Steckert Bridge a canoe landing just down river from Rosecommon, Michigan; his Bowman was Cody Harrison a young scout on his second 50 miler.

Following them in the clear but tannin stained brown water of the South Branch of the Au Sable were Fred Robinson and Brandon Bouges. They were strong paddlers who would need to be restrained to keep them from getting miles ahead of the other canoes. Fred now had several 50-miler patches sew on his backpack was a much stronger canoeist than he had been on his first 50-miler when his performance inspired a new award at our troop.

My canoe came next. My Bowman was Chris Souza. Chris who would be this years recipient of "The Fred Robinson Memorial Dry Paddle Award" which is given to a deserving scout who has shown the fortitude to travel 50 miles by canoe without getting his paddle wet, settled into his seat content to watch the shoreline float slowly past.

These three canoes headed down the twisting and winding South Branch of the Au Sable River. But they were not alone, slowly following them; a solitary figure in a one-man canoe could occasionally be seen. He had a long beard, a keen eye and a canoe paddle, which silently propelled him forward hardly noticed by deer on the shore or the fish and fowl of the river. This man was Rick Collom our grub master and this was not the first trip down this grand old river or mine for this is where our story begins. Because the best way to plan a wonderful canoe trip is to survive a bad one, and this trip would remove a weight from both our shoulders, which had rested there for 30 years. That trip had left us bruised but wiser.

This is a story of the old boy scouts with dreams beyond the ability of mere mortals, it was a 7 day trip which started as far up the South Branch as a canoe can go and ended at Saginaw Bay 100 miles down river. We went from a swamp filled with fallen trees and rattlesnakes to a bay with waves high enough to swamp a canoe. So from swamp to swamp we paddled, over portages, against headwinds, in rain and burning sun. We paddled, through dead water with no currant, portaged over dams just to find more dead water on the other side of the dam where the impoundment of the next dam began. We had it in our minds assumed would be the surging outflow which would carry us effortlessly down the river. It was not. We only found more dead water, more head wind and more paddling.

Keep in mind this trip took place 30 years ago. It was 1970 and I was a brand new tenderfoot scout, who had just joined troop 1323 of "MIGHTY" North Ridge District, Detroit Area Council and if there ever was a more likely recipient for the dry paddle award it was I. I was young, small and had the misfortune to be the Bowman in my older brother’s canoe. At one point I ducked under a forked branch hanging out over the river. I turned to look at my brother just in time to see him snatched out of the canoe by the same branch I had avoided and left him bobbing up and down in the river as my canoe slowly sailed away. This is the only happy memory I have of that trip.

Not that the trip 30 years ago was not well planed or well manned, it’s just that I was not up to the task at hand and the elements conspired against us. The trip was well scouted, our leaders had checked the head waters were we would put in a week before and found rangers cutting up fallen trees and dragging them out of the river to prevent any impediments to passage. Rivers do not like to be managed and heavy rains washed all these logs back into the river where they did in fact impede passage. For this section of the river we would take two strokes and portage over a fallen log, either by hauling our canoes up on the shore and around or by hauling the canoe over the log. On one of these portages we pulled up next to a fallen tree and after waiting in line, jumped up on the tree, pulled the canoe over the log, jumped back in the canoe and paddled on. When our scoutmaster, who was in the last canoe arrived at the fallen tree he decided to pull his canoe up on the bank and portage around the log. When we chided him about taking the more difficult route he replied " I didn’t want to bother the rattlesnake laying in the tree (not two feet from where each of us had stood as we crossed the log)."

This went on for most of the day and the progress was much less than our planners had planned upon. As we grew more wet and tired the day wore on, the shadows grew long, nighttime arrived and we still had miles to go before we sleep. The first of the incidents that would haunt Rick (and me to a lesser extent) for the next 30 years then occurred. We quit. We did not press on. We stopped and sent runners to a store and called for our canoe haulers. I could not have been happier. I was used up and looked as though I had been beaten with an ugly stick. Rick was not ready to quit. We had not reached our goal and we where still alive. He argued that we should push on and preserve. Our group was more tired than proud so the canoe haulers took us back to our base camp. So ended the first day.

There where many more days of twisting river in burning sun and paddling against strong head winds in drizzling rain with no currant to help foreword progress, but I escaped much of this because of the second incident. It was punishment and I was glad to get it.

You must remember that in 1970 we had old school boy scouting without the sensitive training that is so much a part of scouting today. I remember O.M.B. (Old Man Brown) our scoutmaster who punctuated every sentence with a kick to the rear and never spoke at less then a yell. I also remember Mr. Collom Senior; he was as mean as the day was long which qualified him as the nicest scouter in the troop. So with that in mind let me tell you about the second incident which occurred on that fateful trip.

As you may remember on the first night I was tired and muddy. When I got back to camp I crawled into my sleeping bag and fell into an instant sleep muddy boots and all. The next morning I rolled up my sleeping bag jumped into the canoe and sailed off. The way our trip was organized was that one large group would canoe on the river and a smaller group, the support group, would strike camp, load up the trailer, move to the next location down river, setup camp and cook dinner for the river group. Rick’s father Mr. Collom Sr. was part of the support group. When they arrived at the new campsite he noticed that some of the boys sleeping bags in the trailer seemed damp. He took it upon himself to set up a line to hang the bags in the sun to dry. When he opened my bag to hang it he found it smeared with foul smelling river mud. He took my bag and some of the other bags to the Laundromat and washed and dried them for us. When we got off the river that night he asked me how my sleeping bag had gotten so dirty and why didn’t I do anything to clean it. I replied; it’s been 30 years and I can still hear those words ringing out of my mouth as though it was yesterday, "I thought the maid would get it". I thought it was a funny thing to say, but he did not. I spent the next four days of the trip scrubbing pots. It was nasty work, but I loved it because it me off that horrible river. I had 1 or 2 days of paddling on currant less windy ponds, portaging over dams, paddling in hot sun, paddling in cold rain, paddling, paddling and paddling.

That was in the past and a new trip was beginning. A new trip where I could make everything right and break the spell. I could make the Au Sable River Great again if only in my own mind. With this thought in my mind I pushed off from the dock that dock down river from Roscommon and paddled into the river.

This was my 5^th summer camp at Cole Canoe Base. It is one of the finest Boy Scout Camps in America; as well as having a plethora of merit badge instructional programs, an excellent shooting program and a thoroughly pleasant beach on Bosco Lake it also has the good fortune to straddle the Rifle River. A river safe enough for the novice canoeist and long enough to satisfy the demands of the more experienced canoeist. On this river Cole Canoe Base offers everything from a 1 hour rump bump rides (tubing) to 1,2,3 and 4 day canoe trips which more than 50 miles from it’s headwaters at beautiful Grousehaven Lake to its mouth at Lake Huron. We had paddled the Rifle River for the last 4 years and we where looking for a new challenge. The Director of CCB is always looking for new activities to keep the program fresh and interesting to the boys. The new programs this year included a triathalon (hike, bike and paddle), a backpacking trip to Picture Rocks in Michigan Upper Peninsula and a 50-mile canoe trip on the Au Sable River. Rick and I met with the CCB staff to plan the Au Sable River trip. They gave us their brochure that told of a trip from Mio to Oscoda. This would take us through of the currant less water with dams so close together that the impoundment from one dam starts at the foot of the last dam. We could be assured of head winds and sunburn. I rejected that course and suggested we paddle from Grayling to Mio on the Main Branch. Rick who had been sitting quietly at the table looked up and said "No Tim, We have to go back the South Branch; and this time we don’t quit". And so our trip had been planned.

It was a beautiful day as our canoes silently piled through the waters of the South Branch. We were a mix of well-seasoned old scouters, brand new scouters, boys with 50 miler awards proudly sewn on their backpacks and boys on their first high adventure canoe trip. In our troop we divide our activities in regular with all scouts invited to join in and high adventure. Which has the following requirements: the boys must be 14, have obtained the rank of 1st Class, have completed 1 week of long term camp (Summer Camp), have the permission of the scoutmaster and have mastered any appropriate skills i.e. swimming. This protects the younger boys from the 100-mile canoe trips like the mentioned in this story. It provides challenging enough experiences to the older boys to keep them interested in the program. I know that this somewhat controversial decapitates the older boy leadership from the troop during summer camp. Since we may lose the older boys from the program anyway if we do not challenge them I feel it is the best choice.

The currant did not seem especially strong when we began but I quickly noticed that we were making better time then we had on the Rifle River which our troop had paddled so many times before. With every mile we paddled little creeks and springs joined our river and it’s speed gradually increased. Soon we passed under our first land mark Chase Bridge. Up until this point the shore was dotted with cottages but this ended as we entered the Mason Tract a 7000-acre sanctuary bequeathed to the state of Michigan in 1954 by automobile manufacturing magnate George Mason. The land in the Mason Tract has been left to revert, as closely as possible to the natural state of a Michigan forest.

Through this forest of yesteryear we paddled seeing dear, beaver and egrets. The only signs of mankind we saw 2 or 3 fly fishermen trying to capture the bounty of the "holy water" as this stretch of the river is known. It is possibly the best trout stream in the world with strictly enforced rules to protect the trout. The trout needed no help today for none of the fishermen we passed had any luck. We stooped at the Mason Chapel for a few moments of rest and to eat our lunch. I would like to point out that through out our trip, especially on the South Branch we found good solid docks to tie up our canoes and signs listing the next few stops with both time and distance readings. The river is very well maintained.

We soon passed Smith Bridge and sailed on to our next main landmark, the confluence of the South Branch and Main Branch of the Au Sable River. The river had been fairly fast and sallow but now it began to slow and deepen as the waters of the South Branch backed up as they ran into the Main Branch. The river was now broad with beds of reeds along both shores. We passed more fishermen plying these beds as we paddled on.

We passed Connors Flat’s public access and soon found ourselves at the end of our first day of paddling. We had paddled 20 miles and were now at Rainbow Bend State Forest campground. The State Forest campgrounds have hand pumps for water, primitive outhouses and campsites equipped with fire rings. They are maintained by Michigan DNR and are an excellent bargain at $1.00 per person / per night. You cannot reserve them. It’s first come first served. We were greeted on our arrival by a group of young boys from out of state who looked and acted as though they just come from the set of Deliverance (the movie). Fortunately they went to bed early and we got a good night sleep, except Rick who slept with one eye open all night. Before bed that night we dined on steak, Spagetteos and chocolate pudding. Dinner was marred by only one event that I will not tell you about, well lets just say it’s a bad idea to tell a joke when everyone has a mouth full of pudding.

The next morning after a cold breakfast we got an early start. The river was flowing nicely and had a pattern of riffs and pools. In the pools the water is deep where it backs up before flowing into fairly shallow riffles, some fast enough to create broken water, which then backs up as it runs into the next pool. This pattern went on for most of the day. The currant picked up when we passed the North Branch. We stopped only once to eat lunch and had an uneventful day until we reached the "neck". The river had been slowly widening for about an hour when in the afternoon we came around a bend and saw the "neck". The river dose not quickly transition itself from a river into a pond. There is a swampy expanse between the two that we call the "neck". We stopped dead in the water to marvel at what lay before us. I recall Humphrey Bogart in the movie "The African Queen" talking about a place where the river gets twisted and the water gets confused. Well I can’t speak for the water but I was certainly confused. The channel we were following split and than split again, four paths lay before us into an expanse of twisted waterways a mile across. Mud flats and reed beds lay everywhere. I have studied the map and knew that if followed the left bank we should find the quickest route through. This was easier said than done, if we got too close to the left bank we would get stuck in the reeds and mud, too far to the right and we might miss the outlet and go in circles. We took a middling course and the swamp slowly became river like. Behind a hidden bend we found the outlet and sailed into the Mio Pond Proper.

Mio Pond can be divided into two parts upstream and downstream of Camp road 10. Above Camp road 10 the pond is a drowned forest with the tips of dead trees sticking up as a hazard to navigation. Here is where we encountered the most spectacular sight of our entire trip. A bald eagle on the wing alighted to the uppermost branches of a tree and was soon lost from our sight. As inspiring as this sight was we were tired and camp was near so we paddled on. Downstream of Camp road 10 the pond gets wide with open water in the center and mats of seaweed along its shore. That seaweed might be heaven (paradise) to bass but it is hell (Hades) to paddle through. Here and through the rest of the trip thru the Mio Pond we encountered the same headwinds that I remembered from 30 years ago. I thought it best not to take our small boats into the open water and risk being swamped by the strong headwinds or passing speedboats. We struggled along the shoreline thru molasses like seaweed for about two miles. It was more like poling along the canals of Venice than canoeing down a river. On the north side of the pond near the dam we found Mio State Forest Campground. We came ashore, we had paddled 25 miles, and our second day had come to an end.

While the boys were pulling the canoes up on the racks and setting up camp I went in search of the registration bulletin board, registration being on the honor system at these campgrounds. A system that the boy scouts understands and complies. Waiting in the parking lot was the head U.S. Forest Ranger for this area. When he saw me he said " Have you seen any boy scouts around here". I said that we were they, thinking, "I hope we didn’t get to close to that eagle or broke a federal law". My fears were unfounded, we hadn’t checked in by phone for two days as we were required to do because although we had a cell phone there wee no towers in the wilderness area we had just traversed through. The director of CCB had called the ranger to check on us. He returned to his office and called CCB to let them know all was well. Before he did he promised to return in the morning with an assistant ranger and intern to educate us about the "Wild and Scenic" river area that we would be paddling through tomorrow after we crossed the Mio Dam.

I should point out that we are the first group from CCB to take this Au Sable trip. Gus the camp director saw this an opportunity to cooperate with the U.S. Forest Service. They could advise and assist us in managing the forest within CCB and we could provide them with an audience for their program to educate the public about the scenic river program. The ranger told me that he could think of no group he would rather have on his river than "The Boy Scouts of America".

We had a dinner of hamburgers, hotdogs, beans, soup and pudding. We took the boys across the pond to the modern county campgrounds where we bought some shower tokens and had nice hot showers that we needed after two days on the river. We paddled back across the pond and went to bed.

Day three begins. As per our plan our support group had arrived the night before with our load of food, after breakfast we packed up our gear in the support groups vehicles. Our plan was that since this was our last day we would not need our tents and most of our gear. We would portage the dam and catch the fast moving water on the outflow of the dam and with our boats light make a quick and easy day of it. While we waited for the rangers to arrive we heard an alarm sound from the dam. They were opening the floodgate. If we had not needed to wait on the rangers and gotten an early start we would have been caught up in a Nantucket sleigh ride. Rick had done it once long ago. The horn sounds, the gate opens, you lose control, the canoe spins and bucks, you hold on and pray and remember back to a time before dams when this river was truly a wild river.

The rangers arrived and we shared coffee. The boys sat in a row for the lecture. The head ranger talked about his desire to bring young people to this river and educate them about it. Next the assistant ranger talked about the project to return the river back to a more natural state. To try and mitigate the negative effects the logging and damming had done to it. He explained how they would use heavy lift helicopters to drop large trees, roots and all along the banks and in the river itself to increase the fish population by providing covers and shelter. Finally the intern spoke about a three-year study in which she was part of. This study is the "Wood Turtles", a sensitive (not quite endangered) species which can easily be spotted by its orange legs and neck. She showed us her field maps and radio transmitters she used to track their range (habitat). Later that day we saw several of the wood turtles as we paddled along the "scenic river" portion of the Au Sable.

After we said goodbye to the rangers we put our canoes in the water and paddled to face the dam. We portaged the dam and on the other side found the fastest water of our entire trip. We had to paddle only enough to steer our canoes as the river swept us along. The river was doing most of the work for us and that was a good thing. We had come nearly 50-miles in 2-days and we were tired. We still had 18-miles to go. So with our boats light and river swift we thoroughly enjoyed our last day on the river. Gone from mind were the wind, rain, and still water of 30-years ago. Gone was the burning sun. On this day puffy clouds shielded us from the sun and the day was completely pleasant. After a leisurely lunch we reached our take out point at McKinley Bridge at about 3 o clock in the afternoon, a good hour ahead of schedule. I rewarded the boys with candy and soda from a nearby store and we sat in the shade skipping stones into the river. As others arrived the boys helped them land their canoes. We saw another truly spectacular sight while sitting at the landing. The next week was the Grayling to Oscoda canoe race, 114-miles. The race starts in Grayling at midnight and finishes 12 short hours later in Oscoda. While we were sitting on the bank two men in a canoe who were practicing for the race shot by. I am not exaggerating when I say that you could have water skied behind that boat as their powerful arms sped it through the waters.

I sat on the bank to enjoy the day and think. Their canoe trip would be over in 12 short hours, but mine had taken 30 years to complete. I have heard it said you can never go home, it’s not the same when you get there. It’s true that it’s not the same, but sometimes its better. This trip was so perfect that I may never go canoeing again. I’ll sign off for now, I have to start planning next years trip and it’s really going to be hard to top this one.