It would be hard to detect now, but if you looked closely, you might be able to see the evidence. I am referring to a small, short lived war that occurred on the shores of Tim Lake in Algonquin Park. I was only a kid.
The story you are about to read is not for the squeamish at heart. That’s probably why you won’t find it in any Canadian history book. I assure you that it really happened.
I was there. I started it.
It all began with our annual father/son fishing trip into Algonquin Park. None of us wanted a war – we just wanted to fish ’till we dropped. We set-up our campsite on a very large portion of the island that you see (in front of you) as you exit the Tim River. It was flat and sprawling. This made it ideal for a large group like ours.
After camp was ready, dad and I explored the surrounding area. Behind the campsite was a hill. A trail led up to this hill and at the top of it you could overlook the campsite. The rest of the guys were sitting around a campfire. If you followed the trail further, you would come to the outhouse that ‘serviced’ the campers.
It would have been a great photo-op, but dad and I never intended to bring the camera with us. After admiring the view, I took a small step back from the side of the hill and something crunched under my foot...
I looked down.
I had just stepped in a big pile of crusty, aged moose pellets. Dad chuckled. Upon further inspection, we noticed there was a ton of them in various piles at the top of the hill. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe, it was because we held the high ground. Perhaps, I was still enough of a kid to think it would be funny. I grabbed a moose 'terd' and launched it toward the guys sitting around the campfire. I thought dad would take issue over what I had just done. Instead, he grabbed a couple of pellets and fired a volley.
That’s how easy wars can start.
It took a few seconds for the guys to realize what exactly was falling from the sky towards them. Their reactions varied from, “What is that?” to “WHO IS THROWING THE MOOSE POO?!”
Their payback was swift and quick. We were quickly dodging falling moose dung. I remember laughing so hard my stomach and jaw hurt. For about 25 seconds all you could observe were grown men, and their sons, diving and dodging to avoid being hit with ungulate pellets.
I was glad Dad and I held the high ground. We were spared from the guys’ full fury.
As quickly as it started, it was over. I think the reality of what were doing finally hit us. The sounds of war subsided except for various flare-ups of laughter. We all washed our hands (that was for your sake mom) and returned back to maritime civilian life.
The war was over. The battle became known as Moose Hill.
*This story is yet another import from my old blog location - for those of you convinced you have read this before.
