The Magic Aquifer: Treating the Political Stress Syndrome A Novel - John R. Krismer

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than a few scrapes and bruises, the three tired climbers cautiously peeked over the edge of the cliff, where they stared in awe at a large bowl of cascading rapids that seemed to be bubbling right out of the earth itself.

      “Oh my God,” Dave shouted. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my entire life.”

      As Ed and Bill pulled them self up to where they could see better, they both mumbled, “Oh my God - I can’t believe this.”

      “That has to be an aquifer,” Bill shouted. “That water’s coming right up out of the ground. I remember seeing one of these in Austin, Texas - it was called The Edward’s Aquifer,” he explained over the noise of the rushing water. “And look at that mist it’s making over the pond - it looks like it’s bubbling right out of the bowls of the earth.”

      “I’ve heard that rivers can travel hundreds of miles underground, but this is unreal,” Dave explained, pausing to take a deep breath. “So that’s where the lava silt and gold must be coming from. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if this waters coming from as far away as the Canadian Rockies. That’s the only way lava silt could be found in this part of the country.”

      Finally all three of them just sat completely silent, absorbing every detail of the remarkable phenomenon that was unfolding right in front of them under an equally spectacular sunset, and it soon became obvious that words were unable to describe any of their feelings.

      After several minutes had passed, the spell of the moment was shattered by the repeated clicking of Ed’s camera, as they finally decided to climb down into this huge bowl, where the water was wildly dumping into Dave’s magic stream.

      “All these cliffs must have been pushed up through the crust of the earth years ago,” Bill whispered, still out of breath, as all three of them awkwardly slid their way down to the edge of the churning water that was slowly swirling in a large circle. As they stood entranced by the power surrounding them, the cooling mist washed the sweat from their faces, and in a strange but magical way it seemed to offer strength to their tired bodies. The entire pool was at least twenty yards across, and as they cautiously walked along the edge of the pond, they felt as if they were in some strange hypnotic trance. The whole experience had left them with a euphoric feeling, but also an ominous respect and fear of the magical things that were noticeably overwhelming each of them.

       Those Indians must have known about this? Dave thought, as they worked their way around to the cascading stream rushing out the mouth of this most unusual pond that sat in what looked like a bombed out crater. Finally they walked to a more peaceful location down stream, where they could camp for the night, just as the sun was falling below the horizon and they all hurriedly collected wood for a fire that would provide their security for the night.

       Chapter 3

      Bear Claw was the Chief of the Ojibwe Annishinaabe Indians living on the Red Lake Reservation, which was located on the United State’s side of the boarder along the western shoreline of The Lake of the Woods. Both Canada and the United States had granted the Indians the sole right to net fish from this lake’s abundant supply of Walleye, and the Ojibwe tribe made much of their living by selling the fish they netted from the large open waters at the south end of this huge lake. Bear Claw, and his small tribe of Ojibwe Indians also maintained a fish processing plant at Wheeler’s Point, where the lake emptied into the Rainy River, which was only six miles north of Baudette, Minnesota. When the tribe was netting near the eastern shore, they always stayed at their smaller Canadian Reservation at the mouth of the Grassy River. On this Reservation, there was a single dirt road that took them south to Wheelers Point, which was about eight miles southwest from where Dave, Bill and Ed were camping at Split Rock Falls.

      “Please tell us the story about Kitchimanidoo, the children shouted as they pulled on Bear Claw’s deerskin pants leg.”

      With that Bear Claw smiled, as he casually sat down on a huge log bench near the fire.

      “All right, but you must promise me you’ll go right home and go to sleep when I’m finished.”

      “Yes, we promise,” they shouted in unison as they all snuggled close together, tucking their legs under them and leaning forward in anticipation of what was about to take place.

      Bear Claw was in his late seventies, and his face was tanned and wrinkled from the strong winds that were almost always blowing over Lake of the Woods. In fact his wrinkled skin looked much like the leather band he always wore around his forehead, holding back his long gray hair that was tied together behind his head. Bear Claw always enjoyed returning to their Red Lake Reservation after a hard week’s work, and the children always looked forward to hearing the Chief’s remarkable stories about their tribe’s history, which was of course a very special treat for them. Although his joints ached, he awkwardly moved each leg into a comfortable position where they could absorb the heat from the warm and inviting fire. As he lit his pipe, he looked up and blew a huge puff of smoke into the air, as if he was calling upon the Great Spirit Kitchimanidoo for assistance.

      “Many moons have passed since Kitchimanidoo, the Great Spirit, approached my father Chief Black Thunder as he and his hunting party slept on the eastern shore of the great Lake of the Woods.”

      Bear Claw usually spoke loudly as the Chief, but suddenly he lowered his voice to a whisper saying, “He came as a Ma’iingan,” raising both eyebrows and staring intently at each child sitting around the fire. “As you all know, a Ma’iingan is a great gray wolf.”

      With this the children’s eyes widened as they cuddled even closer to one another.

      “The Ma’iingan told Chief Black Thunder, that a great battle was about to be waged right on the very spot they were sleeping, and that many Sioux Warriors would attack their camp at the break of dawn.”

      “With that, the great Chief Black Thunder woke in a cold sweat as the great gray wolf suddenly disappeared from his dream, but he was sure that the Ma’iingan came to warn him of this great danger. Chief Black Thunder slowly looked around the camp, while the moon cast long frightening shadows from the trees that were blowing in the night wind. The fire’s glowing coals were almost out, as Chief Thunder silently prayed to the Great Spirit Kitchimanidoo. ‘Oh Great Spirit, tell me what I should do.’ He pleaded.”

      With that Bear Claw took his pipe and loudly hit it against the log, causing some of the children to shudder as they huddled even closer together. While knocking the hot ashes to the ground, he sat silently staring at the children. Then finally, after he slowly reamed out his empty pipe, he continued.

      “Black Thunder lay motionless for a while until the moon finally disappeared behind a cloud, and then he decided to slowly crawl on the ground to warn each member of his hunting party.”

      With this, Bear Claw hunched forward moving his arms as if he were crawling.

      “By morning, the Ojibwe hunting party had prepared for the attack by filling their blankets with leaves and brush to look like they were sleeping - and while they crouched in the deep grass that lined the shore, they all waited for the attack. Black Thunder knew the Great Spirit Kitchimanidoo had sent the fog for their protection, which had suddenly replaced the wind, but this created an even more frightening and eerie feeling for his hunters as the morning light began to show.”

      As Bear Claw spoke, he crouched silently as if he himself was waiting for the attack.

      “Suddenly Black Thunder and his tribe of hunters saw many shadows sneaking from the woods, with knives raised, ready to pounce on each sleeping figure.”

      As Bear Claw spoke, he drew his knife and raised it high above his head. Driving his knife into the log, the wide open eyes of the children starred in disbelief. Then after leaving his knife in the log, Bear Claw once again sat tall, before continuing.

      “As the Sioux drove their knifes into the blankets, Black Thunder suddenly let out a blood curtailing war cry, and each member

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