The Rhythm of the River

Our daily routine, wake, eat, pack, paddle, eat, paddle, unpack, eat, sleep has swept over me. Life on the Mississippi has encompassed my body and soul. I awake in the morning to the sound of birds and emerge from my tent to a bowl of steaming gruel (oatmeal, or 10 grain, and on special mornings Brian's amazing pancakes). We pack our belongings and begin our journey downstream, several bald eagles grace us with their presence, deer hidden in the grasses either stand perfectly still or run snorting loudly in warning as we disrupt their peaceful grazing. We pass turtles sliding into the muddy river, hear the sound of beaver slaps, and watch as muskrats swim before us. We observe the loons, the crazy loons with their cackling laugh, their beaks shuttering in reverberations as they dive through the water.

 

We paddle onwards, over the rice grass, under trees, around rocks, through lakes, and under clouds. The wind, the rain, and the sun pass over us. There is a feeling I get 30 minutes into paddling, when the creaks from the night before fade away and the ache of hour six in the boat has yet to hit. A feeling where I become one with the water, with my boat, with my paddle. My body moves with efficient ease and I am enraptured in the moment of now.

 

It is only later, several hours into paddling when the mind begins to wander away from the present, when the thoughts start hovering like vultures, circling and waiting for the grips of boredom to take hold before swooping down that it gets dangerous. That's about the time I paddle up to Brian and ask him to tell me a story. He complies most of the time :) and recites Robert Service poems or tells fantastical tales of the Boy Who Kayaked Around the World or the King who Hoarded Gold. When the stories do not come, the philosophical discussions begin, and when the conversations run dry, I return to the moment of studying the details of the surrounding scenery. My saving grace on a few of our longer days has been my IPod. Escapism at it's utmost, an out of body experience of sorts as I remove myself from the surrounding landscape, into an alternate reality, rocking out in a kayak shut out from the experience of what is going on around me...but it does save you from the Vultures.

 

Boredom is not a familiar feeling to me, there is always something to do in my "normal" life and it is rather an interesting experience to explore, to ponder it's existence and it's formation, but alas I digress...

 

Lunch appears on a gravel bank or a small beach and as I have taken on the role of Lunch Lady I enthusiastically spread Peanut Butter (too much for the boys) and Jam (too little) on bagels before handing them out. Sometimes we have Hummus on tortillas. We get back in our boats and fight off the post lunch siesta that calls to us. Blinking slowly, hoping that our boats stay straight if we just close our eyes for a moment....

 

We joke that we know we've reached camp if there's mud, mosquitoes, a steep bank, and it starts to rain. The weather this year is unusually cool and wet which I am grateful for. It creates good paddling weather-no overheating, no fear of dehydration and in my mind assists in lowering the bug count by a few degrees (helping to prevent us from being forced into hysterics like migrating Caribou gone crazy from the harassment of the Mosquito). Our camps, while mostly accessible only by river or ATV, are almost always within ear shot of a road and I find it strange to be in the "wilderness" while a parallel universe of civilization exists within a stone's throw.

 

At dinner, (usually an ethnic feast created by Brian-a veggie curry, or other deliciously spiced assortment of carrots, onions, potatoes layered into a bed of Quinoa, rice, or ramen) we eat our fill. Tonight (Day 13-Scott's Rapid and one of my favorite) a soft mist enshrouds the river as it flows through the remaining patches of gleaming sunlight. I sit on a rock and a swarm of gnats tickle at my nose. I consume the rice and curry, ravenous after a long days paddle. The smell of citronella wafts from behind my ears and wrists, it's one of the first evenings I have not shrouded myself in my mosquito veil.

 

The following morning the air sends a slight chill and when the wind blows it showers down large pellets of water remnant from the previous evenings rain. The leaves are an iridescent green and I wonder at the majesty of what it must look like when the fall colors hit.

 

I must be hungry today for I consume a second helping of 10 grain cereal. It is usually a struggle for Brian to get us to finish the heaping portions of deliciousness he creates. I have a secret feeling he's trying to fatten Kevin and I up only to slaughter us one night in our sleep and sell us on the black market. I hear fattened Kayakers bring in a hefty price :) This morning I attribute my appetite to the cold. My body's essential survival need to stockpile for the coming winter arising.

 

I run my fingers over the hardened blisters on my hands and smile. Onwards we go....

 

The river flows by, muddied by the erosion of cows and industry. This is not the pristine little brook we started down, through the meandering paths of rice grass. The quality, the temperament of this water has changed, it has begun to age, and like my own maturation I look forward to observing the evolution of myself and the river and the river within myself as we traverse toward the Gulf.