Manweekend

Man Weekend 2002 officially started at midnight between Thursday and Friday when it was discovered that there was no more beer in Tobey cottage fridge. You’ve never seen such a group of suddenly wide-awake, sober, serious, and somber Men in all your life. Then Ty remembered about two cases in his van and, after the Men swore a collective oath to never let such a thing happen ever again, levity was restored. In accordance to tradition no one but Richard tried to get any sleep that night and in further accordance to tradition Richard was kept awake by the loud laughter of the other Men at his folly.

The weather was excellent and the lake level was high. Weeds, and therefore fish, were found on the other side of the bay but while several sizeable fish were sighted the catch was almost all of the smaller variety not worthy of further mention. There were several independent navigations of the Safari route. The boat situation was enhanced by the timely and almost accidental acquisition, by the Men of the Edgewood cottage, of the Red Rocket, a boat comparable to the Ty-tanic in all respects save perhaps in the area of cleverness of name. All boats ran wonderfully which does not bode well for next year. There’s nothing that angers the Boat Gods more than being pleased with one’s boat.

Uncle Bud served in the capacity of Senior Man. Other welcome First Men were Uncle Bud’s fucking new son Alex, Allen’s friends McAnus, Ian, Patrick, and (finally) Sean; Condom’s friend Rich, Richard’s neighbor Dennis (who made an afternoon appearance at Man Weekend 2001), and David’s son Justin and his friend Paul. May they always return.(Someone’s going to have to convince Justin that he really was here however because he doesn’t remember any of it.)

Glenn awed and amazed all of Highgate by simplifying his massive production of Man-worthy consumables and frying everything. The Man Mess starred two fried turkeys. As Glenn was packing up his frying infrastructure he carefully poured the then rather experienced oil back into the jugs from whence it came and promised to bring it back again next year. Thus is the stuff of Man Weekend traditions.

Returning Man Weekend 2001 participants were presented tee shirts with Allen’s “2001: A Man Odyssey” logo. The leading candidate so far for vintage 2002 tee shirts is Charles’ “Worried Turkey” logo. (“Worried Turkey” would be a great name for a whisky.)

After dinner the Men made the traditional sacrifice to the Boat Gods and took care of the rest of the Sea Nymph in the Ridge grill. Ned donated a quantity of kiln-dried hardwood scraps and was rewarded when Emma Gove thought that the whole hillside had caught fire. The butane lighter fuel explosion video is destined to become the weekend’s definitive documentary record. This year’s sacrifice produced pounds and pounds of melted aluminum nuggets in elaborate geometric patterns, as opposed to the few ounces produced last year. Already major metropolitan art museums have made inquiries to obtain specimens of these rare works.

Photographs of this year’s event will be posted you-know-where as they clear the Man Weekend censorship committee. The committee takes its work very seriously so those of you with unpublished imagery please forward it to the Man Weekend Webmaster with confidence. You can rest assured that only the most embarrassing and incriminating pictures will be made public worldwide.

Man Weekend 2003 will be held on the now-traditional weekend two weeks after Memorial Day. The theme, meat, and sacrifice are yet to be determined and suggestions are welcome. As always Man Weekend 2003 participation is not obligatory. We already have a catalog of stories (lies) to tell about any fools who fail to show.

Friday, June 1, 2001

2001: A Man Odyssey started promptly on Friday. Not willing to waste a single minute most of the Men showed up shortly after midnight, drank beer for a few hours, crashed around 3:00am, and got up around 8:00am to go fishing. Richard was first out on the water in his amphibious ATV (unimaginatively named “The Vehicle”) for a quick proof-of-concept spin around Shipyard. Allen diagnosed and repaired the weirdness in the HAM’s engine. The Ty-tanic was already running flawlessly.

This year the Men each contributed $20 to a fishing pool to be won by the Man who catches the biggest fish by Saturday night. As of Friday night Mike Mulcahey is apparently in the lead with a 17 inch small mouth bass. But where is the proof? Do digital images of the alleged catch exist? And what is the definition of “biggest”? Expect these and other deep philosophical questions (like, “Who will be most likely to be fishing at 11:59pm Saturday night?”) to be the topics of a spirited discussion at the Tobey porch this evening.

The lake level is lower this year than last and the weather today started out good and just got better and better. We caught infinitely more fish today than we caught all last year. Digital cameras are in abundance but for some reason this afternoon all of them were in the HAM. The Men of the HAM caught some fish that could be contenders for the pool prize and we hereby offer the proof to the world! Can the other boats do the same?

The Ty-tanic’s fishing was cut short by a call from a boat in distress. These guys from Connecticut boated from Alburg to the depths of Gander Bay where their engine conked out. They wanted to be towed back to Alburg. Ty towed them to Shipyard instead and drove one of them to Alburg while the other watched their boat. No good deed goes unpunished. The Men of the Ty-tanic caught the fewest fish.

During the apres fish period Richard amused the Men by offering calm, sedate ATV rides around the Camp grounds. The number of people who can honestly state that they’ve been driven up the path to the Clubhouse is dramatically larger than it used to be. Charles took some thrilling video footage that may at some point be available on a web site near you!

Saturday, June 2, 2001 OK Men, good job with all the digital cameras. Now next year let’s bring some batteries too! More fish were allegedly caught on Saturday, including several decent bass by Allen (tough luck Lance), but you couldn’t prove it in court.

The only reason the boats came in before dark on Saturday was for food. The Man Mess was celebrated in back of the Tobey cottage this year and featured a pork loin that was probably listed in the Guiness Book of World Records when it was cut. Going to the Edgewood fridge to look at it took on the trappings of a religous pilgrimage. Glenn churned out about 60lbs of fried pre-dinner snacks and then did his usual magic with butter and potatos. There was some discussion on how long to cook the pork loin. Some Men said 15 minutes per pound. Other Men said an hour per pound. David Bliss said to cook it until it starts to smell good which is what we did. An experimental cutting-in-half demonstrated that it was cooked to perfection. A few minutes later it was gone.

The big fish pool came to a happy ending when Mike, who held the pool money and claimed the largest fish, realized that he would face some friendly and spirited disagreement if he just said, “Thanks guys!” and so the cash was redistributed to the contributers. Had the 20lb channel cat made it into the boat then there would have been no argument. The pool money wouldn’t have been enough to compensate the poor winner for the trauma.

After dinner the Men amused themselves by setting Arthur’s old train light up on the ridge, making noise after 10pm with bottle rockets and fireworks, and testing the integrety of the ridge’s wood stove and verifying the melting point of aluminum. Shiny globs of aluminum became instant family heirlooms to be passed down from father to son for generations of Men to come.

Sunday, June 3, 2001 The Men got a surprisingly early start going home Sunday morning. The threat of rain starting around noon meant all the boats were in and secured sooner rather than later. Allen in particular felt the need to get back lest he not be able to get the skirt off next year.

At the end of the day all that was left were some strange, unattributed tire tracks in places where vehicles obviously shouldn’t go, a huge pile of ashes in the wood stove, and a lingering beery aroma.

Notice: The following information has been edited for content to avoid offending the delicate sensibilities of girlfriends and wives. This year the Men of Man Weekend celebrated the dawn of the 21st century by hunting and catching wild fish, eating the flesh of dead animals, drinking fermented grain beverages, and smoking tobacco in non-ritual settings. A decidedly environmental theme was created by the decision to buy a keg of beer instead of hundreds of bottles of beer. And because it is the 21st century the events of Man Weekend this year were documented on the internet at http://www.heurtley.com/mw2k.

A picture is worth a thousand words. Man Millenium began Thursday, May 18 when people started to arrive at beautiful and scenic Highgate Springs. It was cold, cloudy, windy, rainy, and altogether miserable. The lake was a foot above the official flood level (nearly to the second wood step down at the dock, for those who understand how high that is) and the fishing was expected to suck. Accordingly, more beer was purchased. The Men of the Edgewood cottage were particularly enthusiastic about Man Weekend this year because they bought Mike Mulcahy’s Boston Whaler, the “HAM”, over the winter. This means we now have our own f’ing boat and don’t have to go around begging for boat time like last year. Because the boat had been passed along from owner to owner with gradually deteriorating value over the years Richard wanted to rename it the “SLUT” but Allen had already created some cool swine-related stick-on graphics for it so the “HAM” it remained. (For those who don’t already know, the boat was originally named “CHAMP” but the “C” and “P” fell off.)

The weekend weather was expected to be clear but cold. You could distinguish those who brought warm clothes from those who didn’t. Those who didn’t tended to engage in hearty activity in the interest of future comfort. Those who did stood around and watched. The Men of Man Weekend are highly sensitive to the signs of nature. This sunset at the end of a day of crappy weather is very indicative. It indicates better weather for tomorrow. It also indicates that a long session of smoking and beer drinking in front of a roaring fire at the Tobey cottage is about to start.

The next day, Friday the 19th, dawned clear, windy, and cool. The available boats, the Ty-tanic and the HAM, were prepped for action. The boats were duely outfitted and brought to Shipyard where the Men discovered it was much colder and windier than up on the ridge. The lake was pretty rough, the water was cold, the Shipyard put-in area was littered with washed up logs, and the high water made the put-in angle awkward. After a serious attempt to unload the Ty-tanic with near hypothermia by Ty and Allen, and a scouting expedition of the Rock River put-in area, the consensus was reached to go golfing instead. Saturday morning was excellent. The sky was clear, the temperature was up, and the lake was like glass. The Men of the Edgewood cottage were up at 8:30 and shortly on the lake. We then used a cell phone to call the girls at the Tobey cottage and told them to finish putting on their make-up and get their ugly asses out on the water. The Ty-tanic showed up a little while later.

The HAM’s old 35hp engine ran well for about 10 seconds and then started acting like a trolling motor. Allen took the cover off and found that the flywheel rubbed against a spark plug wire and severed it. We hauled the boat to a boat repair place and got a new piece of wire. A repair operation commenced. It was discovered that the mechanic we had look over the motor before Man Weekend was full of shit. There were all kinds of wiring problems. Allen and Lance managed to identify and fix all of them. The HAM really hauls! The fishing this year really does suck. The crew of the Ty-tanic was out all day and didn’t get a thing (thus no pictures). Saturday is date of the Man Mess. This is Allen’s baby. All it takes to make potatos and mushrooms edible, according to Glenn, is an equal amount of salted butter.

It’s hard being hungry when the air, inside and out, is full of aromatic smoked fat particles. Ty attempts some distraction by checking out the latest Man Weekend 2000 web site update. Eventually everyone ends up huddled around the grill.

The Man Mess consists of the Man Meat, Man Mashed, Man Mushrooms, and Man Malted. An ambulance with a fully equipped CPR crew was standing by. The meal was eaten in ritualistic silence – except for muffled grunting and soft snorting sounds. After dinner everyone helped bury the grill and all the pots and pans in the back yard and agreed never to speak of this incident again. Some six year old kid fishing with worms caught the only fish all weekend: a nine inch long catfish. The Men traded a six pack of beer for it (lite beer suitable for a Man-in-training) and brought their prize back to camp. The tale was improved upon bit-by-bit over the night. See what we ended up with!