Out of the Humidor
From the Print Edition:
Rush Limbaugh, Spring 94
(continued from page 7)
I have, since your premier issue, read with some wonderment, the trials and tribulations faced by your readers in their quest to savor a gentle cigar in peace. I have repeatedly been shocked and dismayed by letters from your loyal readers and contributors.
I, too, have been subjected to condemnation for simply leaving my leather cigar case on my desk at the office. The mere sight of your outstanding magazine conjures up all sorts of froth from associates. It is because of this constant abuse, this shared persecution, that I feel compelled to relate the details of a recent excursion to you.
Recently, I drove for nine hours through freezing rain to Algonquin Provincial Park. I counted nine serious car accidents as I made my way north, working around closed highways. A local resident just outside the park told me that if I made the last 83 kilometers down into the woods, I wouldn't be able to get out for three days, if the roads melted.
The Petawawa River was raging. Massive boulders were covered with ice. It was nearly impossible to jump from one to the next. The water was colder than anything I had ever tasted. That first dark, wet evening, alone in the freezing tent, my mind wandered to the newspaper reports of two campers killed by a bear in the park the year before. The bear would not give up the half-buried bodies. A ghastly rarity, I thought, sipping aged Canadian whisky and watching my breath blow across the tent.
In the morning, I was unable to light a fire or my propane burner. A rabid fox followed my hike for 20 minutes. The ambition of my trip, the 300-foot cliffs, was no less challenging. When I reached the top, after snapping a few photos, I reveled in the view. It was literally breathtaking. Gravity and fear pressed me into the rock ledge. The yells and singing of long-dead lumberjacks seemed to drift through the mist of the canyon. I imagined ancient Huron and Mohawk braves coming to that place to settle old feuds.
There, in subzero weather, I pulled out my Zino cutter, wooden matches and a Cuban Romeo y Julieta No. 1. A fine place for lucid thought and perspective. My only concern at that point was whether it been damaged by the cold.
Invariably, my friends, family and associates ask me, what would possess me to risk life and limb on such a dangerous solo excursion? Truthfully, I must reply (you guessed it!), "I wanted to enjoy a cigar in peace, with no fear of anyone staring down their nose at me."
Daniel B. L. Patterson
Whitby, Ontario, Canada
* * *
You must be logged in to post a comment.