Date: 2004-06-13
From: Georgia

To: Maine
Miles today: 0.0
Weather: overcast clouds

Shenandoah RiverMidway along 75-mile tripThursdayWalked hardly a mile todayBut man o man did we have a blast. Right out a the tent and onto the river and straight into the mostgnarly rapids on this stretch of river this morning. Class 2? Class3? Maybe not that high, I dunno. But I can say with some confidencethat one wouldn't want to take a canoe over whitewater of any greaterintensity. "Stay to the right," some guy told us a while back. When you see thetrain trestle on the right, them rapids just ahead, if you're on theleft you're dead." Train crossing the high high trestle, iron, majestic, levitating in anopen patch of forest just as the early light of dawn sets a white fireto the haze of morning river. Long, long freight train of boxcars oldand authentic, like Boxcar Bertha and Kerouac and every hobo for ahundred years. I think of Thoreau and his crotchety bitchin' aboutthe iron horse invading his natural world, and us now, in the age ofcars and jet planes saying, "Wow!" at the sight of it roaring by,filling up the river canyon with sound of thunder. And those southern boys fishing off that bright blue pontoon boat,fishing quiet and we lolling by in empty beer can loaded canoe yelling,"Hey cow!" to some fat smelly fly-sieged clan of black cows standingbelly deep in the river, no doubt blowing it for those fisher boys, forthe moment anyway. And passing them Spiceman asks them what they'vecaught and it's nothing, just little things they been tossing back. But yesterday and now again today just up ahead giant fish leap fromthe water, flash in the sun and splash back down which only meanssomething bigger's chasing `em. We could just hold out nets as wecruise languidly north toward Port Royal, beer in one hand, and catchus a mess. And all the time thinking `bout where we should be, where we could be,up there walking the BRP through Shenandoah land, following the blazesfrom hot dog stand to vending machine. Ahh, who knows. that's justwhat I heard about the `doahs. Too civilized. Too many cars and roadcrossings. Out here on the green green river there is forest aplenty but partedfor us like Moses parts the Nile, a wide path of golden sun on churningwater, choppy, now calm but always moving making rowing an easy thing. Started Tuesday night when we put in near Elkton to Mike's wide-eyedamazement and childlike enthusiasm and spun the canoe immediatelyplunging backwards into our first small rapid with Mike passing by upon the bridge waving and honking and no doubt getting one hootin' goodlaugh out a that. Tuesday night about five river miles, easy and camping drunk and stonedat dark in some field. Wednesday another 25 miles perhaps and a stopin some hamlet, a ride to the store with two scary looking' butultimately harmless white boys full a muscle and big tattoos and drunkerthan us on any day. Me staying with the canoe in the rain, PG and avery stoned Spiceman going with and returning unharmed and bearing caseof PBR and three "special beers" tall pint-sized Yuengling lagers, abeer that claims to be the oldest in America. Then Spider Island thatnight and hacking out our place in the jungle, searching out dry timberin the bug and spider infested underbellies of fallen tree roots andunder logs where the day's rain hasn't reached. Big fire that night. And on the river great blue herons, turtles plop-plop-plopping fromevery exposed stone and branch sticking out. And we three cooking likelobsters and loving it after the dense and shady woods of AT ridgeswhere in point of fact the shade is gratefully enjoyed on heavy rompsin 90 degree heat and high humidity, trekking hard and fast all daywith Maine in the periscope spyglass of our downcast eyes, our trailfocused mind. Today then the end likely in Bentonville after another 25 miles or soyesterday and a dozen today. Yesterday weird with widened river goingshallow and lots a rocks beating out a jangling jungle beat on canoebottom and all of us hot and PG hotheaded not wanting any specialtreatment from Spice or me and finally just dropping overboard like asuicide and splashing in and feeling better, all of us feeling betterwith every swim and dip and swing from rope or drop from high treebranch into water. Water water water. Sacred water of life, even given that we wouldn't drink it to save ourlives and cows swimming in it and agricultural runoff, none of itappealing, but water, sweet cooling water. We jump in and it justdoesn't matter. It cools and the whiskey shines, flashing caramelbrown going down with knock-off cheap brand Cokes, the whiskey shinesand smiles and we are all high on the river, making miles and savingour poor beaten feet. Now it's shoulder pain and sunburns but all ofit beautiful and soaked through with the magic of Shenandoah, theriver, the floating trail where Spiceman, PG and me became fastfriends. -RSM For the full story of Rick's journey, visit Jigglebox.com