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…the thought crosses my mind, it is just a beaver or something. However, as we round the corner I see it too. Through the mist on the edge of the water, a head pokes out just enough to reach the nourishment below. As we silently drift, it looks at me and I amazement floods my being. The odd shape of its snout and the points of the antlers coming off its head dripping water back into the river confound me. I can feel the grace flowing from him to me. Then, he steps out of the woods. As he does, the huge body supported by the awkward legs gives me a whole new perspective. His joints seem backwards and though he is still powerful and towering, I cannot help but feel the slightest wind will knock him over. Watching him walk reminds me of a horse getting up from a restful sleep. Yet at the same time, he moves with the grace of a dancer. Regardless, the scene teleports me back to a time when people were the rare and awkward species. When each meal was the focus of the day. Where animals looked at us as the graceful yet awkward creatures hobbling about on two legs and meandering through the forest.ReplyDelete
Letting that thought sit in for a few moments, I drift there exchanging glances with the primitive animal.
Slowly, I dip my paddle in and taking time to bask my strokes in the silence I think of those who navigated this river hundreds of years ago.
Slowly, I continue down the flowing path allowing the boat behind us see the same sight.
As soon as we round the next oxbow, Jimmy turns to me and asks, “so, was it worth it?
“Hell’s yeah.” Is all I can say.
We do eventually stop for breakfast, and huddled there around our pot of boiling water, the feeling of pure antiquity never leaves.
We saw fifteen moose that day, and let me tell you it was well worth it.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Jacob's Piece
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It's 3 A.M. and I want to sleep. We have been paddling for days and though I am in excellent shape, I need my rest. But, sleep is not an option. Herr Counselor beckons us with his bellowing voice to roll out of our tents. That is the warning signal. If not out in five minutes, we and our gear get a courtesy "shower" fresh from the mountain stream on which we paddle.
"Four minutes."
This countdown is not helping. I stretch and try to roll over to grab the last minute of available zs.
"Three minutes."
I groggily slither out of my sleeping bag and as I do, the crisp summer air of Northern Maine hits me like a wall. I recoil, but get up regardless (this is much less painful than the shower would be). We are on the west branch of the Penobscot, and in the middle of a two week whitewater canoeing trip. Today, the counselors implement the brilliant idea to wake up at 3, break camp, and get on the water by 3:30. They are crazy.
It is amazing how difficult it is to take down a tent when you are half asleep. The stakes which last night refused to enter the ground are immobile. I have to dig my fingers in the ground just to find the stake. Finally I find them. My mates are still in the tent. Yet, begin collapsing it. Hey, it is either that or the shower.
"Hey, What the…"
"Come on, we have to get on the water." I do not even give Jimmy a chance to finish his sentence.
"Yeah, You're right." he replies.
We finish dropping the tent, and Mike finds the door amidst the folds of billowing nylon just as our counselor arrives with a lobster pot full of fresh water.
"’Morning. When is breakfast, and what happened to the sun?"
I ask.
"The sun's not up yet, and breakfast is at approximately 5:30." He replies in an idiosyncratic fashion.
But…
"We are going to put in, and grab breakfast on the water."
“Great.” I am sure he can see the enthusiasm just seeping out of me.
“Come on.” He prods.
We pack up the boats, and I dunk my head in the water before jumping into the stern. The refreshing cold jolts me awake. Then, we shoved off.
The water is serene. Even though it looks completely flat, if when we lift our paddles, we drift at a good clip. The pungent smell of fir and pine hang in the air which is silent with stillness.
It is so quiet out, no one dares to speak. Even the kerplunk of the paddle entering the water rebounds off the mountains on either side of the river with a ring.
The stillness alone is worth waking up for. But there is more to come.
As we lazily navigate the river, I see the trees glowing with the light of breaking dawn. And up ahead, right before the next bend, I see my counselor giving the antler sign…
The antler sign was a signal we developed to let everyone know to be quiet because there was wildlife up ahead. In fact, it was quite hilarious and embarrassing. You pressed your thumbs to the side of your head and raised your fingers up pretending you had a set of antlers attached to your temples.