You Can Really Tell Who Your Friends Are, by Bev Hall A collecting trip is the perfect opportunity to find out which members of your Bonsai Society are really your friends. Many years ago, I was very fortunate to be invited to go collecting in the northern reaches of Ontario by several senior society members - people whom I consider to be some pretty friendly folk - gentlemen you couId even say. In preparation for my first collecting trip, these veteran collectors supplied me with a list of all the essential equipment and necessary outdoor clothing to make my first collecting trip a pleasant experience. No detail was neglected - they even recommended the right ingredients for a nutritious Iunch. Maybe this was done to ensure that I would have enough energy to not only carry out my own collected treasures but perhaps some of theirs as well! These considerate folk also supplied me with a travelling companion to accompany me during the the 3 hour trip northward. I guess this young lad's job was to keep me from falling asleep at the wheel and to lend assistance if had car trouble along the route. In order to get an early start on Saturday morning, we left Toronto Friday afternoon. I remember how excited I was as I listened to many collecting stories that were told late Frlday evening over a few beverages. The tollowing morning we had a large breakfast at a local eatery and set off in several vans to the first collecting site. As I remember it, the weather was beautiful that day - slightly overcast but warm. After several hours of vigorous activity we finally stopped for a brief lunch. In the afternoon we moved to another collecting area in the same vicinity. In this area we had to walk a fair distance through a mixed forest until we came to the shore of a shallow inland lake. We walked along the shoreline through mud for a distance, but eventually, to get to the really prime collecting areas, we had to cross the lake. Waterproof boots are essential because you are walking on a slimy limestone base that is covered with muck and silt and about 6 inches of stagnant water. Actually, the water is so clear it's difficult to judge exactly how deep it is or whether there is a firm footing under it. More on this later. Several hours later the group decided it was time to carry what we had already collected back to the vehicles. With 5 trees tied to my back pack and a tree in each hand, I slowly began the walk back to the van. I remember how excited I was. Having already walked successfUlly across the inland lake several hours before, I began walking through the water without a care in the world. After rounding a peninsula I could see the shoreline and the mixed forest that led to the cars. Suddenly and without warning, just 20 feet from dry land it happened. The innocent looking mud grabbed hold of my front boot, and then, as luck would have it, my back boot also became stuck. Now being off balance and immobile, my knees buckled and I fell backwards into the swamp. Of course, my first reaction was to put my hands behind me to cushion the fall, I'm sure you can visualize the image of a helpless figure in a crab like position, holding herself just a few inches above the surface of the water so that she wouldn't get wet. Actually, the opposite happened. This apparition, with 5 trees in the water and the muck, gradually started to sink. My boots filled and I couldn't get my hands free. The more I pushed with my arms, the deeper I sank. This definitely had the potential for becoming very dangerous. Fortunately for me there were a couple of gentlemen near me. After much laughter and apologies for not having packed their cameras, one brave man, wearing hip waders, decided to venture into the bog to rescue me. For a short moment he, too, panicked as he also became caught in the quagmire. Having more strength then I, he was able to dislodge his feet and wade through the spongy debris to where I was stuck. After untying the straps on my back pack I was able to regain my balance and stand up. Using two hands I was able to pull each foot out of the muck. With a newly developed respect for the powers of this inland lake I carefully walked the remainder of the way to dry land. Continuing in their considerate, polite manner, there was no shortage of offers from the men to supply me with dry undergarments or supervise me as I peeled the wet clothing from my body. I knew then and there that I belonged. I was one of the guys. There is a lesson to be learned from this experience. First, never go into the wild, or collecting, by yourself; bring a buddyl A further important word of caution to those of you who will be hiking off to the wilds in search of whatever you are searching for: watch out for those deceptively shallow pools of water because what appears to be firm ground is in reality boot-sucking mud! It can render you immobile in a fraction of a second and before you know it, you are up to your dufus in muck and stagnant water. That's when you really find out who your friends are ...and it's not those who first take pictures before they help you. Trust me.