Trudging to the portage path, Pat’s legs bowed beneath the weight of her Duluth pack. With one hand on the gunnel to keep their canoe from drifting away, Bob hoisted another pack onto a rock being doused by waves. Lifting the slender watercraft by the bow, through the wind he heard, “Bees! Bees!” Bob looked up to see his wife pinned underneath the pack, unable to move. She had slipped, brushing a beehive. Bob bounded up the hill and hauled her to safety. The honeymooners kissed as they watched the canoe gliding in a gentle arc away from the shore.
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