Chop Chop

At 16 I canoed down the Albany River to Hudson Bay.  One early evening, setting up camp, I went to chop firewood.  It had been raining and my razor sharp ax glanced off of a tree and buried itself into my left ankle.  We were 100s of miles from the nearest town.  The section head had to sew up the wound with a fishing hook and fishing line, he gave me a stick to bite on so I wouldn't scream.  My best friend carved a cane for me whole the rest of the group looked on.  The scar is wide.  It was a great summer, 1,200 miles of whitewater.