Eagles Everywhere

Another day on the Miss, and the mood is entirely different. Where yesterday I felt compelled to paddle my ass off to placate Frank (who had expressed dissatisfaction w/my pace the night before) today he suggests we slow our pace. The rules seem open to change daily, hourly. I know Frank means well and I respect him. I try and keep up.

A white plastic chair has been following us downriver. It's kinda spooky. "The ubiquitous white plastic Wal-Mart chair," says Frank. "At least mine at home are brown." The white chair stands out in ghostly white bright contrast to the walls of forest to our port and starboard. It is the only sign of human life for hours.

Bald eagles are everywhere, everyday. This morning not a half hour out, one dives out from its low tree perch and right over our heads.

I groan and moan it seems with every other paddle stroke. This shit is killing me. Frank never complains. He admits fatigue now and again, but never a groan or an ouch!

The season is perfect for our journey: fair weather, no bugs, the colors of fall. But the river, for lack of rain, she isn't moving at all. When we stop, she stops.

We counted strokes for awhile, to keep a pace, to concentrate past the pain. While talking of endurance and who survives vs. who doesn't in life threatening battles with Nature, Frank speaks of Joe Simpson, the guy who broke both legs atop some 19K foot peak in Chile, I think it was, and lived after being given up for dead by his partner days later. He survived by counting rocks as he crawled boulder fields for days. Now I count breaths, in through my nose, out through my mouth.

I'm laying on my right side now in a bed of grass and leaves, my PFD (personal floatation device) as my pillow. The river stares back at me, laughing. The breeze makes her appear to be flowing north. She has become muddy in recent days, no more of the crystal clarity of 100 miles back. I bet she's muddy from here on out. Birds chirp. Frogs leap by in the grass. Leaves fall. I sieze every free moment available to write. This has been one. Frank and Clyde return from their midday walk and it is time to go. - RSM
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