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river rat: All I see is sky
Traveling on the water is relaxing. A canoe silently gliding over the glassy, subtly rippled surface enchants my imagination and soothes my spirit. A long, john boat easing up stream evokes thoughts of a time when everything was slow and easy in the world of transportation.
The work of paddling a canoe or poling a boat has its charm for the paddlers and for the polers, however, true relaxation is at the pleasure of those lucky enough to ride emperor.
Riding Emperor was a term coined simultaneously by my sister Vicki and brothers Garth and Curt. The image for us was always that of a sultan or emperor effortlessly seated at his pleasure in the middle of a group of slaves whose sole purpose was to carry their liege to a royal destination.
Invariably a trip to the river with canoe, paddles, and life preservers in hand was accompanied by jockeying for the Emperor positions in the canoe. Front and rear positions of labor didn't quite carry the prestige and luxuriant decadence of an effortless ride. Riding Emperor is the equivalent of riding shotgun in a car, yet with a somewhat more pleasurable and intense interaction with the scenery than when driving down the highway.
Alternately first position in the canoe was a spot of honor to those of us silly enough to boast of our paddling prowess. Paddling a canoe around the river with three other bodies in the boat was an excellent workout. Who needs a gym when your workout is swimming and paddling along with walking through water for hours at a time playing your way to fitness?
As much as I love to paddle a canoe, riding Emperor is still the best trip for me. A good Emperor knows not to grind his position in too vigorously into the sweat of his bearers. Too much chastising can bring on a paddle propelled drenching with water coming from both forward and aft bearers should royalty get cocky enough to push the role to its dramatic limits.
To sit idly in the middle position of a low riding canoe, trailing a finger in the water as progress up or down stream glides easily and effortlessly to one's destination is the best way to pass the time. Bringing your own pillow is pushing it, though.
Of course everyone but the poler is Emperor in a john boat. I admit a certain twinge of guilt at riding in a john boat poled by someone I care about whose sweat is my pleasure in a manner of speaking. The ride isn't quite as sweet knowing how much effort goes into arriving at our destination; however a good poler makes it look effortless.
As a fellow Emperor, our somewhat adoptive little brother Frank was a pleasure to ride with. His un-jaded approach to fully enjoying the beauty of the nature around us was unequaled among all my friends. Frank drank in the spirit of the river, never failing to point out some detail I had long taken for granted such as the way ridges of rock always, always looked like either dinosaurs or whales surfacing or diving. I saw that as a kid, but had forgotten for the most part.
Frank spent many a night and day on the water with us. He learned to pole, becoming proficient at it almost immediately. We covered island after island exploring channels and swimming in cool, deep holes, losing track of days sometimes.
Frank's fresh look at the river entertained us and added to our life on the water. Despite his poling ability he wasn't up for the work at night however. Night poling is very treacherous for both man and gear. Hitting a rock can lead to broken bones for passengers and poler, as well as gashes in the hull of the boat.
The first time I can remember riding with Frank at night we were treated to the clear sky one can only find in the countryside--far, far away from the lights of a city.
Curt was poling us down stream towards town under the dim starlight. Our tiny town was lighted by a waxing moon with its few street lights twinkling at us through fully leafed birch and oak trees lining the shore. The town's boxy storefront style Front Street, lined with row homes appeared as a ghost town on the shore. From our silently gliding perspective on the water, the time could've been any day in the past 200 years.
Sitting in the front seat, that particular emperor was supposed to be on the lookout for ridges rippling under the water's surface that might create a stiff bump in our ride. Curt became pissed with Frank, the emperor, shortly into our trip. After the fourth or fifth frustrating minor crash, Curt cussed at Frank to watch the damn water more closely for rocks.
Frank had never posted watch at the helm and wasn't looking for the soft ripples or slight swirl of current that laps over a shallowly submerged rock. He wasn't looking for anything in the water at all.
Frank replied of the glassy reflection full of stars, "All I see is sky."
Following these simple words, in silence, we bumped our way to shore in awe of seeing our starry summer sky in the water for the first time since we were children.
