Snomobiling at Saxon Harbor
In February of 2002 my good friend Mike Carr invited me to join him and a friend for a five-day snomobile expedition to explore Wisconsin's snowbound shoreline on Lake Superior just below its border with Michigan's Ottowa National Forest. We had talked about doing this for the past two or three seasons so I was delighted when the opportunity finally presented itself.
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The tale is best told through Mike's article on the trip which was featured in Illinios Snomobiler magazine the following year, and through my brief journal which I updated every night. However, one particular incident deserves elaboration. On our fourth day on the snow, we ran into a checkpoint where the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources forced travelers to stop and produce their state papers to show that they had purchased the government's permission to recreate in such a manner.
Being rather old school, I have always felt that public servants are to follow orders not originate them. I am not from Wisconsin, I did not own the snomobile on which I was riding, and I have very little patience for miniature, self-proclaimed gods who imagine themselves a public authority while producing nothing and living off the income earned by others. So as we approached the government roadblock, I was in no real mood for conversation.
Mike and our companion, Layne, had already paid off state officials and received government permission to operate their snomobiles. But since Mike lent his regular sled to me, his papers were not yet affixed to the back-up sled on which he was riding. So in the confusion of sleds and humanity at the checkpoint, they quickly sped through without stopping to pay homage to the edicts of the Department of Natural Resources. After all, they had already purchased all the necessary papers and didn't want to bother explaining why they weren't yet affixed to their sleds, and then endure the inevitable hassles and interrogations that invariably accompany interaction with all things bureaucratic.
Layne was leading, Mike was second and I was riding last. Layne and Mike successfully zipped through the governmental gauntlet unscathed, but I was caught by a female DNR officer whose acute unfriendliness and incompetence have apparently made her unfit for employment by anything other than a government agency. She demanded to know if I was riding with the two people who had dared to defy their god-like status by riding through their roadblock without showing state papers. Since speaking to state agents is rarely a productive enterprise, I avoided the question. Her Esteemed Loftiness then ordered me to "catch up to those two and bring them back here to me. And when you get here, I want to see your driver's license. Have it ready." Fortunately she had no further justification to attack me since my sled - Mike's regular mount - already had state papers affixed to it in compliance with state threats.
I told her that I couldn't chase them down... if she wanted to apprehend the the aforementioned threats to humanity that the DNR would have to do it themselves. Stunned at my failure to recognize her absolute supremacy, she made the mistake of hesitating. With a look of momentary stupification lingering on her surly face, I nailed the throttle and took off in fast pursuit of Mike and Layne who also happened to be speeding away from the scene of the crime at about 70 mph. After putting several miles between ourselves and the annoying nags whose existence our society for some inexplicable reason chooses to tolerate, we rode back past the now-abandoned checkpoint a few hours later and posed for some rather funny photos of our imaginary arrests by the Snomobile Nazis.
Since this was our only interaction with the DNR, and since the enjoyment of a given pursuit is inversely proportional to the sum of government red tape necessary to its execution, we had a wonderful time enjoying the snow, the beauty of America's northern forests, and good company.
Being rather old school, I have always felt that public servants are to follow orders not originate them. I am not from Wisconsin, I did not own the snomobile on which I was riding, and I have very little patience for miniature, self-proclaimed gods who imagine themselves a public authority while producing nothing and living off the income earned by others. So as we approached the government roadblock, I was in no real mood for conversation.
Mike and our companion, Layne, had already paid off state officials and received government permission to operate their snomobiles. But since Mike lent his regular sled to me, his papers were not yet affixed to the back-up sled on which he was riding. So in the confusion of sleds and humanity at the checkpoint, they quickly sped through without stopping to pay homage to the edicts of the Department of Natural Resources. After all, they had already purchased all the necessary papers and didn't want to bother explaining why they weren't yet affixed to their sleds, and then endure the inevitable hassles and interrogations that invariably accompany interaction with all things bureaucratic.
Layne was leading, Mike was second and I was riding last. Layne and Mike successfully zipped through the governmental gauntlet unscathed, but I was caught by a female DNR officer whose acute unfriendliness and incompetence have apparently made her unfit for employment by anything other than a government agency. She demanded to know if I was riding with the two people who had dared to defy their god-like status by riding through their roadblock without showing state papers. Since speaking to state agents is rarely a productive enterprise, I avoided the question. Her Esteemed Loftiness then ordered me to "catch up to those two and bring them back here to me. And when you get here, I want to see your driver's license. Have it ready." Fortunately she had no further justification to attack me since my sled - Mike's regular mount - already had state papers affixed to it in compliance with state threats.
I told her that I couldn't chase them down... if she wanted to apprehend the the aforementioned threats to humanity that the DNR would have to do it themselves. Stunned at my failure to recognize her absolute supremacy, she made the mistake of hesitating. With a look of momentary stupification lingering on her surly face, I nailed the throttle and took off in fast pursuit of Mike and Layne who also happened to be speeding away from the scene of the crime at about 70 mph. After putting several miles between ourselves and the annoying nags whose existence our society for some inexplicable reason chooses to tolerate, we rode back past the now-abandoned checkpoint a few hours later and posed for some rather funny photos of our imaginary arrests by the Snomobile Nazis.
Since this was our only interaction with the DNR, and since the enjoyment of a given pursuit is inversely proportional to the sum of government red tape necessary to its execution, we had a wonderful time enjoying the snow, the beauty of America's northern forests, and good company.