Canoe Tales (Part 3)

So there I was...canoeing the North Fork River with Kim in the bow and me in the stern.  It was a chilly March day and the water temperature was numbingly cold.  We were coming to the end of our trip at a location called Dawt Mill.  This mill, now more like a general store, was established in 1866 and serviced farmers who came from far and wide to get their grain ground and their cotton ginned.  To create the water power needed to do this, there was a dam built across the river.  Over the years a small section on the top of the dam had deteriorated and a few brave souls would attempt to go over the dam with their canoes dropping the 6-8 feet in to the bubbling water below.  It was called, "Shooting the Dawt Mill Dam".  As we approached the area to pull the canoe out a sudden shot of testosterone entered my blood stream and the call of the Dawt Mill Dam was overpowering.  I changed course and picked up speed generating a serious look of concern from Kim but she knew it was inevitable so she started paddling faster.  Approaching the deteriorated section, I aimed for the center and Kim was soon suspended in mid air as my section of the canoe was about to clear the top of the dam.  Then it happened.  We came to an abrupt halt when the skeg of the canoe went hard aground on the cement dam and in slow motion started to tip over due to the force of the rushing water.  Our bodies and all of the gear we had in the canoe were dumped together at the base of the dam like laundry in a wash tub.  The water was shockingly cold and I saw Kim floating downstream unhurt so I started to swim for the canoe and all our belongings.  After getting everything to shore, I went looking for Kim and found her wearing some guys shirt who plucked her out of the river sitting next to a potbelly stove in the Dawt Mill store, still shivering.  I went back outside and pulled the canoe above the dam to try it again by myself this time.  Same thing happened.  Darned testosterone.

Canoe Tales (Part 2)

So there I was...canoeing down the North Fork River in southwest Missouri many years ago with a bunch of guys I worked with.  I was in the stern or back of the canoe and my buddy, Terry King, was in the front.  We were navigating some large boulders in the river and got wedged against one near the shore.  Terry started pushing us backward to free the canoe but unbeknownst to him he was pushing me into overhanging bushes on the side of the river.  Things live in such bushes so I calmly said, "Terry".  No response as he continued to push back.  A little louder, "Terry".  Again no response.  Then I came eye to eye with the large snake hanging on one of the limbs no more than 12 inches from me.  "TERRY",  I shouted and dove face first into the stream forgetting that it was only 6 inches deep.  As I'm flopping around like a beached whale my buddy, that term used loosely, is laughing hysterically from his place of safety.
     Then there was the time Kim and I were canoeing Bryant Creek, also in southwest Missouri.  Again, I was in the stern and as the creek narrowed we passed under the low hanging limb of a tree.  Kim, without saying a word, jumps from the canoe into the foot deep water and runs for the shore.  Bewildered at loosing my canoe buddy, that term used loosely, I look up to see the snake inches from my head.  She left me to be eaten.  Fortunately the snake wasn't interested.

Canoe Tales

So there I was...looking through some old files when I came across a booklet put together by Kim of paragraphed memories written about me by friends for my 40th birthday.  One friend, Terry King, had told of our adventures in canoes before we moved to bigger boats.  When I married Kim she came with a dowry, a seventeen foot aluminum canoe.  Terry and I would go fishing on nearby lakes in it using a cement block as an anchor.  Our wives eventually joined us on canoe trips, called float trips in the Ozarks, going down streams and camping overnight on gravel bars at night.  On one of these trips I was having to change outside behind the dome tent because it was too small inside for my 6' 2" frame.  Kim told me to give her the clothes I was changing out of and she would hand me the new clothes.  Then she reneged on the deal and walked away leaving me naked behind the tent.  I could hear other canoers coming down the river and they would be getting an appalling view as they rounded the bend.  Terry and his wife were standing on the other side of the tent enjoying my predicament.  They especially liked it when I picked up the tent and using it as a shield chased Kim all over the gravel bar until she finally dropped my clothes.  
I should have asked for a larger dowry.

Beware The Days After Christmas

So there I was...sitting in my car the day after Christmas in the middle of a snow storm in the middle of the Berkshires trying to figure out my next move.  The day had started with a hike around a reservoir with my longtime friend, John Chapin after he and his wife Jan were nice enough to put me up for the night in their home.  After much talk and enough exercise I headed to a previous place of employment to touch base with past coworkers since I was in the area.  At about 4pm I was off to the Berkshires, a two hour drive and one of my favorite small restaurants, Bob's Country Kitchen.  As I exited this establishment with a full belly and ready to relax I noticed the snowstorm was hitting its stride with winds whipping and visibility dropping.  I would stay the night at my brother's cottage on a lake close by with minimal heating but plenty of blankets and protection from the storm.  That is until I discovered that the key I had used for the last 20 years didn't work as someone had changed the lock.  Ever the adventurer, meaning I'm nuts, I set off into the storm headed for Rochester.  After several adrenalin rushes I arrived to 14" of snow and a snow plowed mound blocking the driveway at 4:30 in the morning.  Scared Kim half to death coming in the house since I was supposed to be in the Berkshires.  Two hours of sleep and I'm up clearing the driveway so Kim can get to work.
Several years ago, two days after Christmas, my buddy Garret calls in the evening asking if he could pick me up in a few hours to help him bring his new 43'  sailboat from New Hampshire to Connecticut.  Ever the adventurer, meaning I'm nuts, I agree and we drive through the night to arrive just before dawn to the boatyard.  We row out to his boat in the freezing water with a small dingy and slip our way into the ice covered boat.  Off we go using the small diesel engine into 10' rolling seas in the Atlantic Ocean.  There is nothing in the outside cockpit and helm station to protect us from the wind and sea water as it breaks over the bow of the boat.  We have rain gear covering layers of down clothing but the cold always wins.  When Garret would take the helm I would go down into the unheated cabin and hang my feet over the running diesel engine to thaw my toes.  It took three days to make it to Connecticut with one day lost because the fog was so thick coming through the Cape Cod Canal that we had to anchor and wait it out.  When I called my boss telling her I couldn't make it to work because I was caught in the fog she thought that was quite original and would work once.  Arriving home, a hot shower never felt so good.  
So after all these years, ever the adventurer, ever the nut.