In some respects those days are gone forever, yet in many other ways they will always be with me.

Vacationing in the northwoods, I think of old-time Minocqua of Woodruff, of my mother and dad, of my brother Patrick, my sisters Nora and Sue.

I think of Aunt Betty, Aunt Laura and her doughnuts. Those doughnuts, why they were awful, but we all ate them and told her how wonderful they tasted. I can still remember the old gravel road that led to the old cabin that sat alonside Lake Minocuqua.

I think of that kerosene lamp and all the trouble we had getting it lit. Then when we opened the cabin there was that musty smell as we hauled in our blankets and gear, getting ready for two weeks of fishing, hiking and adventure. Now, many years later, and long after many other adventures have passed through my life, I can still remember those happy days in northern Wisconsin. Those were the days, the good times, lived now on memory lane.

Life's experiences and the wisdom of age have taught me that getting ready is at least half the fun of any experience. So it was no sooner than my dad announced we were all going north for a two-week vacation that we began to prepare. Of course, the lion's share of the work and planning fell on the shoulders of my dad and mother, but in my small world and in my mind it all seemed to depend on me.

I had lots of things to do. I had to be sure that my fishing rod was ready, the gears in my Pfleuger fishing reel were oiled, the reel had a new line, and that my hatchet was sharp. Everybody, of course, thought the same as I did, so we all scurried around, "getting ready" for the days ahead.

Our trip north was an adventure to remember. First we drove to Fond du Lac where we picked up my and Laura and her tub of doughnuts. Thenm we drove to Oshkosh and alongside Lake Winnebago to Appleton where we crossed the bridge and saw those huge rafts on the Fox River. And all the time we were singing "Old MacDonald" and "I've Been Working on the Railroad."

And the cars back then sure weren't like the cars today. Sure enough, we got a flat tire. But my dad could do anything. and he fixed the tire and away we went, my Aunt Laura and the four of us, bumping along that old highway for two wonderful weeks in the northwoods.

Once past Appleton the crowded cities and busy two-lane highway gave way to open spaces, farmland and smaller places like Hortonville, Weyauwega and New London. When we drove through Clintonville our dad said, "And here's where I lost my first million." Nobody knew what he was talking about, and nobody asked either.

"It's time for another doughnut," said my Aunt Laura, and we all nodded dutifully. But I saw my sister Nora make a funny face.

"I sure hope that forest fire won't wreck our vacation," said my dad. "I'm sure it won't; everything will be all right," replied Laura May, my mother.

Then we came to the Indian Reservation, and those wide-open spaces gave way to forestland and the air had the fresh smell of pine trees. We were in the north country now!

We passed through Antigo, and then we drove past Pelican Lake as visions of giant muskies filled my head. "Boy, I sure would like to catch one of those big ones," I said to myself.

And now, almost before we knew it, we were in the land of legend and history and a thousand and one lakes and rivers. Here was where Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox lived. Alongside the road were the burned-out hulks of huge white pine trees. There's Lake Tomahawk, there's Minocqua, and now there's that faded old green-and-white sign, "Woodruff."

It's been many years since I first traveled there, but as I think back on those happy times of long ago, my heart still skips a beat or two. True enough, they are gone, those days of youth, yet they are also remembered forever, those days and times when no challenge was too great and no enterprise too difficult.

Our Cabin in the Woods

Between Woodruff and "Our Cabin in the Woods" were five miles of gravel and dirt roads. Along the way we passed unplowed and weed-choked fields, unpainted barns a few drab-looking farmhouses. Back from these fields was unbroken forestland of spruce, scrub oak and an occasional soaring white pine tree.

It was an impoverished landscape for sure. But such were not my thoughts that day as we drew ever closer to our destination. I was thinking of the big fish in Lake Minocqua and of all the fun we'd soon be having. Later in life there would be deeper and more serious thoughts of the world around me, but today it was time to enjoy and anticipate the good times ahead.

When we turned onto that sandy and rutted road that led back to the cabin, everything seemed to get dark and cooler. The close and surrounding trees shaded out the sun and heat of the day. The, suddenly, we were there - our home for two weeks of outdoor fun on our "up north" vacation.

The old cabin was located on a slight hill and overlooked the lake. Off to one side was a slough, a place for frogs, turtles and mosquitos. An outhouse stood about 60 yards away, and there was a well and pump close to the cabin. As for the cabin itself, it was a well-built structure with one big room, a large porch and two side rooms off the big room. In that big room was a huge combination wood-burning stove, oven and water heater.

On the porch overlooking the lake was what every young boy could hope for, a double-decked bunk. I was bigger and older than my brother Patrick so I took the top bunk. My Aunt Laura and my sisters took one room off the bigt room and my mother and dad took the other.

"And now that we're all here together," said my Aunt Laura, "let's have another doughnut."

Rescued by Sylvester

My dad, mother, sister and Aunt Laura left to pick up some supplies in Minocqua. My Aunt Betty had come from Milwaukee to be with us for a few days, so along with my brother Pat, we all decided to do some fishing.

There was a spot about 200 yards out from the cabin where we almost always drop down to about 6 inches from the bottom. I then proceeded to bait another hook on a handheld line. So as not to lose my rod, it was my custom to anchor it with my foot, just in case a big one hit. To make a long story short, I didn't do it on this day and, sure enough, without any warning, over the side went my rod and reel.

Lickety-split I cut the hook off my other line, put on a couple extra sinkers, dropped it to the bottom, then tied a red-and-white bobber to the line to mark the spot.

But what now? I couldn't dive deep enough to get the rod, but I also knew what would happen to me when my dad found out that my good rod and reel were on the bottom of the lake. Besides my dad, the only other person I knew who could get that rod was Sylvester.

Sylvester lived in one of those old farmhouses, about a quarter of a mile down the road from our cabin. Back to the shore I rowed, then hiked and ran down the road to find Sylvester.

Here was a man who, like my dad, could do almost anything. He seemed very strong, and I sure wouldn't want to get him mad. But he was also understanding, and when I told him what had happened he said he'd try to help. So together back to the cabin we hiked, into the boat and back to the spot I had marked with that red-and-white bobber.

Sylvester jumped out of the boat, dove down and then came up saying he couldn't see a thing. I begged him to try again, so down he dove, this time coming up with the rod and reel, with a big perch on the hook. My day and my hide were saved!

By now I had become an expert at taking a reel apart, and that's what my dad found me doing when he returned from the shopping trip in Minocqua.

"I thought you had cleaned and oiled that reel earlier," he said.

"Oh, I just wanted to make sure," I replied. "It was running kind of rough." My Aunt Betty gave me a big wink.

Needless to say, I gave a mighty prayer of thanks for Sylvester for coming to my rescue.

Fishing on a Starry Night

Dawn breaks early in the summertime up north. And with is breaking the outdoors fills with the busy chitter-chatter of the surrounding forest. Chipmunks and squirrels and a hundred other creatures of the forest made merry as they went about their early-morning tasks. As for me in the top bunk, I just stretched out and gazed across the calm lake. Off in the distance came the haunting sound of a loon. It was, indeed, a great day to be alive in this land of enchantment, tall pine trees and deep waters.

"Rise and shine, time to get up and get going!" came the stern voice of my dad.

My early-morning chores were to fetch the water, chop some wood for the stove, and then clean up for a breakfast of hot oatmeal, milk and an apple. Then, for both Pat and me, it was time to explore that slough and its frogs, to check on the boat, pitch some horseshoes, and take a hike with my dad and sisters. There could be no idleness in this busy family of ours.

"I want you boys to take a nap this afternoon," he said, "cause we're going out there tonight." How slowly those hours seemed to pass as we waited for the sun to set. Eventually, it was time to go.

"It can be dangerous out there in the dark," announced my dad, "so you girls will have to stay here with your mother and your Aunt Laura. Just the boys and I will be going out tonight."

If you have never been in the middle of a darkened lake in Wisconsin's north country, you have missed a slice of beauty that you simply can't imagine. Back in those days we didn't need running lights on our boat, and we found our way by dead reckoning. That dark, hulking island could be seen even in darkness, and our trolling would be between our cabin and that island. It was deep and calm out there, and the clear night sky seemed filled with a million stars.

"There's Cassiopeia, and there's the Big Dipper. Can you see that little star up there? If you can it's a sign of good eyesight. And there's the North Star. It stays the same and all the other stars go around it. And look at the Milky Way. What a beautiful night!"

But our reason for being there was not to look at the stars, it was to catch fish. My brother Pat sat in the front of the boat; I sat in the middle and rowed. My dad was in the backseat. Our hooks were baited with some big shiny minnows that my dad bought at the hardware store in Woodruff. Suddenly Pat hollered out, "Hey, I got a big one. Look at my rod bend. Wow, this one is really big."

And with that his rod straightened out and the line went slack. When he reeled in the big one, it was an empty hook.

"You dummy," hollered my dad, "you pulled the hook right out of his mouth. You should have waited to set the hook."

There were no more strikes and there were no fish to show for our night out. About two hours later we headed back, beached the boat and put away our gear. It was time to rest up for another day of adventuring on our "up north" vacation.

"You should have had one," said my dad. "We should have had one."

Today

Time has passed swiftly since those up north vacation days of long ago. Change, of of life's certainties, has come upon those scenes and places where I spent many a happy and carefree day of my boyhood. Father Time has taken away my mother, my dad, Aunt Laura and Aunt Betty. And where is Sylvester now? Where is the old hardware store where we bought our minnows and supplies? Whatever happened to that old train and the depot at Woodruff?

In one sense they are all gone, yet in a deeper sense they are with me forever as I think back on those adventures. As for Aunt Laura's doughnuts, why I'd give a million dollars for one of them today.

Of course, the beauty and the adventure of the northwoods is still there to know and enjoy. The starlit nights, the call of the loon, the slap of the beaver tail and the howl of a lonely coyote are still there to see and hear and experience.

Along the roadside is an old faded sign that reads, "THESE WOODS ARE YOURS; TAKE ONLY MEMORIES, LEAVE ONLY FOOTPRINTS."