“You haven’t been around lately. Where have you been?”
“Up north.”
“Where up north?”
“Canada.”
“Where in Canada?”
“Here.”
“Hey, that’s beautiful. Where is it?”
“I’m not telling.”
“Why not?”
“Because then everyone would go there and the beauty of the place depends upon its isolation.”
“Is it hard to get to?”
“You tell me. The first portage is three-quarters of a mile. The next is half a mile and the third is half that. The third is the hardest, an uphill scramble through the trees and over big rocks. Not easy when you are wearing a sixteen foot aluminum hat.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“That’s the point.”
“But it is worth it.”
“Looks isolated.”
“It is. It’s why we go there. You wake up in the morning and realize that you and your friends are the only ones around for miles and miles.”
“Did you catch any fish?”
“A few walleye.”
“And enough lake trout to make trout burgers.”
“Nothing is better than that.”
“Except maybe a little whisky and fresh wintergreen that we found in the woods.”
“And a quiet sunset.”
Almost Iowa 
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