BWCA Spaghetti Dinner

 

BWCA Spaghetti Dinner

 

Paddling across Lake Polly in the BWCA, we were surprised that the island campsite was available. We beached our canoes and claimed the island as our temporary home for the next several days. Within an hour, camp was made; tents erected, kitchen established, hammocks strung between trees.

Our mini tent city was ship shape.

 

I began the business of preparing dinner for the portage weary crew. The two burner Coleman stove lit; boiling water for the spaghetti noodles and heating marinara sauce. 

 

The marinara aroma wafted through camp mingling with the campfire. Marina now sufficiently warmed and the noodles nearly done, I had good friend Paul tend to draining the spaghetti noodles as I readied the plates and cutlery.

What I heard was not promising. “Oh shit” is what I heard. Something one does not like hearing from a sous chef. Then a “Dammit!” I asked what’s up. “Nothing” was the reply as I looked over to see a heap of spaghetti noodles laying peacefully on the campsite floor.

 

One thing for sure about starchy pasta noodles; things stick well to it. And in this case, deep in the BWCA, what seems like the entire forest floor is now stuck fast to the spaghetti pasta noodles. Time for quick action. I relit the burner as Paul scooped the noodles back into the pot with nearly half the forest floor.

Pot of noodles and forest debris in hand, I waded bare foot out into Lake Polly submerging the pot to skim off dried pine needles, tree bark, lichen and moss. Most of which floated right off! Paul got a second pot and we spent time scooping and dumping into each pot of fresh Lake Polly water. It was a fine attempt to wash the dirt and fastly stuck forest debris from the starchy noodles.

 

Somewhat satisfied with our cleaning process, I reheated the already al-dente noodles, tree bark, pine needles and lichen. As it re-boiled, I swirled the concoction skimming off the remaining forest debris the best I could. Once done, the two of us carefully drained the now overly mushy noodles and small particles of forest debris. A quick dump into marinara sauce and I call out “Bon appetite!”

 

The four of us ate in silence and the mushy noodles took no time to dissolve into nothing. Each of us picking out re-hydrated pine needles, tree bark and lichen from our teeth. Now and then we spat out sand and other unidentifiable forest amenities that was stuck to the starchy overly mushy spaghetti noodles. We were tired; we were hungry. Nobody complained. Yet, nobody spoke either. 

 

I gotta’ say that pine needles are a poor substitute for Rosemary.

 

Stay tuned as Paul and I can’t find the coffee.