Hal emerges from his tent like a moth from its cocoon, his tongue feels like the backside of dried leather stuck in the sand.  Ignoring the sensation of having a desert in his mouth he looks at the sky first studying the rays of the day, then his eyes meander down to the river.  A smile cracks his face and he finishes his emergence into the new day.
    Standing slowly upright, his back screeching in protest and cracking like breaking twigs, he takes his first step towards the fire pit and the awaiting Almighty Coffee Pot.  At full attention like a solider the Almighty simply awaits its first command of the day.  Hal puffs the fire to life and when the bigger wood takes on the fire he edges the Almighty into the flames.
    "No need of waking Scooter," he thought, "He's a slug in the morning anyway."
    His thoughts go back over the years and the trips.  His gaze drifts to the Almighty.
    "Where had Scooter gotten that damn thing?  How long have we been using that?  Better not let that handle melt!  Where the hell did this come from?"
    Scooching the pot back he hears the morning grunts of his partner rousing himself.  A trumpet sounds, muttered words and the tent flap opens.  Hanging part way out of the tent Scooter murmurs some words.
    "What?" asks Hal.
    "Is the Almighty ready yet?" Scooter croaks as he works the gravel out of his throat.
    "Almost."
    Scooter crawls his way out onto the ground, much like a slug.  Rising ever so slowly to his full height he makes his way over to the fire.  Much like Pavlov's dogs Scooter begins to feel his mouth juices cutting through the crustaceans lining his mouth.  His eyes begin to focus to his surroundings through the lenses of his glasses.
    "Ahh, the Almighty!" he thought privately to himself, "My old friend!"
    The aluminum percolator begins its song.  Slowly building to a crescendo threatening to overflow with its joy.  Hal leans over and moves it back some, not enough to cool it but enough to bring its song to a constant rhythm.  The two look at each other and grin.  The Almighty is talking to them, their own private chat.
    It has become a tradition to include the Almighty regardless of the trip for, it is the third member.  The  morning coffee is a ritual and to mention disregarding it can bring instant pain and heartfelt verbal abuse.  The partners feed the fire and gently move the Almighty around the grill.  The longer perked the stronger the Joe, expresso doesn't stand a chance to a fresh perked brew from the Almighty Coffee Pot!

    When Hal and Scooter feel that the batch is ready they break out their mugs and begin the true start of the day.  Each feeling safe with a steaming cup of Java in their paws they begin packing.  In the midst of this they each wander back for a refill.  The Almighty is quickly emptied and the process begins again.  All is timed to have that last cup for the first paddle dipping in the river, cup perched precariously on the wanigan or the bottom of the boat, one eye on the river, the other on the cup, for to spill this black gold is a sin in the eyes of the partner.
    Camp is broken, canoes are packed, poles in easy reach with the extra paddle tucked near the knee.  The Almighty is the last thing to go into the boat, carefully washed and dried, for there is no easy way to pack it.  Instead of being stuffed away in a bag it has its own view of the the day, usually strapped to a pack or a hunk of rope.  Its cumbersome design was not meant for wilderness camping, yet it has probably seen more miles in a canoe then most people have.  The third partner never fails.  May the morning tradition never be broken and may the handle never melt!