'Greased Pig Portage' Demands Teamwork and Grit
By Pat Ecker
Storms race through Louisville, where I have lived for many years, in a furious rush to get to the East Coast. Large trees bend and sway in the eerie-sounding wind. Leaves, twigs and even sizable limbs fall to the ground.
Survival of the fittest applies: The strong limbs bear the brunt of the impact and remain intact while the smaller and weaker limbs, especially those that are dead or dying, fail to survive and fall to the ground. After such a storm, I dutifully walk around my backyard and pick up the twigs and sometimes even get out the saw to take care of the larger limbs. When I collect the twigs and hear the snap of snap-wood, my mind wanders back to the days of canoe trips. I wonder if I should put the snap-wood in a wannigan, because someday we will want to start a fire in the rain, and dry snap-wood will come in handy. Ha! Don’t have a wannigan. Too old to go out on a trip. The trips and their influence remain nonetheless.
A camper carries a canoe across a portage on the Bloodvein River in 2018. (Ben Woods)
“No one could intentionally invent something as strange and “impossible” as some of the more infamous portages that Kooch-i-ching travelers have experienced.”
In this worldwide health crisis, even Kooch-i-ching—its service uninterrupted since Pop Vance first brought his football players to International Falls from the North Shore of Chicago in 1925—may be affected. Even if it is, the memories remain, and among those memories are a variety of crazy and insane portages. No one could intentionally invent something as strange and “impossible” as some of the more infamous portages that Kooch-i-ching travelers have experienced. One of those is the “Greased Pig Portage” on the Bloodvein River.
The name of the Greased Pig Portage came from the mind of Bob Meek, who went down the Bloodvein many times and knows its quirks and nuances better than anyone.
The Greased Pig Portage is actually only about 25 or 30 yards long. The length is not what causes the trouble; it is, rather, the difficulty, the near impossibility, of getting started on it.
The Greased Pig Portage goes around a small waterfall. The water level determines its severity: In low water, it is not much, and in high water, it is somewhat imposing. At times, it is possible to avoid the portage and take the canoes down the small waterfall. I was cautious about doing that, however, for two reasons. First, I always tried to remember what Ron Coleman said about going down fast water: Think about what your weakest boat is capable of doing, and if you have any doubts about what that boat can do, always portage. Second, a lengthy and nasty set of rapids follows around the bend from the Greased Pig Portage, and this must always be portaged. I didn’t want anyone to get sucked into that dangerous next set of rapids. So most of the time, we took the portage.
“A lot of sweating and swearing take place on a portage, and sometimes bugs try to chew on your neck the entire way across a swampy expanse, but the true spirit of our experience involves using teamwork, along with grit and determination, and then laughing when it is all over. ”
The major problem with the portage is that it starts on a red clay bank that is always slippery, but especially so in the early morning when it is still wet from dew and perhaps also from any rain that may have recently fallen. Try as you might, walking up that slippery bank remains impossible. The only way to conquer this portage is through teamwork. Forget carrying anything up the slope: The challenge is to get someone up the slope so he can help the others. The last time I was there, a large tree was growing on top of the hill, and one of its roots was exposed through the red clay. The trick was to hold on to that single root of hope and try to pull yourself up to the top of the hill. It is no small challenge: Perhaps your most agile member should take on the task. Even though I was far from the most agile member of the trip, I always wanted to do it myself, probably because I wanted to see if I could still do it as I got older.
Once on top, my bowman handed up each piece of equipment, one at a time. Last, he lifted the canoe up to the level where I was standing and I pulled it the rest of the way. “Put the paddles in the bottom of the canoe!” rang out across the still wilderness each time a canoe came up the hill.
Once one boat was up on the hill, I helped my bowman up by presenting him with the blade of a paddle while I held on to the handle. Supposing a trip of four boats, this cumbersome process had to be completed four times. For some reason, everyone always forgot to put the paddles in the bottom of the boat when lifting, so “Put the paddles in the bottom of the boat!” rang out again and again. Once all the boats were on top, the portage was so short that you could drag the canoes across and then down the slippery slope on the other side. That was easy enough.
It is amazing to think that it could take over an hour to make essentially three or four yards of progress. But that is the nature of obstacles that sometimes present themselves on a canoe trip, and teamwork becomes essential. A lot of sweating and swearing take place on a portage, and sometimes bugs try to chew on your neck the entire way across a swampy expanse, but the true spirit of our experience involves using teamwork, along with grit and determination, and then laughing when it is all over. Ha! Just try to defeat me, you crazy portage!
Thanks for the memories, Greased Pig Portage. You have ruined many an otherwise peaceful morning in the Canadian wilderness.
Pat Ecker is a Kooch-i-ching alumnus living in Louisville, Kentucky. He is the author of “This Place Is Full of Memories,” the definitive history of Camp Kooch-i-ching.