THE OLD MAN AND THE RIVER
It was an late afternoon in May on the Wakulla River outside of Tallahassee. An absent friend had given me the use of his house and boat for a long weekend. The families, groups, and couples who canoed, rafted, and tubed down the river had drifted past the dock on which I was sitting and, by now, were at the pull-out point a couple of miles downriver. Across from me, and just a stone?s throw away, was an old man drifting with the current as he fished. The day was winding down. It was a peaceful, contemplative time. It was not to last.
I noticed a stream of beer cans being gently urged downstream by the current. Upriver and around the bend could be heard the sounds of raucous laughter and splashing water. Soon a large raft with eight college boys appeared. The raft consisted of four 4x8 sheets of plywood roped together on top of a bunch of inner tubes. In the center of the raft were coolers filled with beer. Once filled with beer anyway.
One of the boys asked the old man how long it would take to get to the landing. The old man said, ?It depends.? ?Depends on what?? asked the boy. ?It depends on whether or not you pick up those beer cans you threw in the water or I pick them up.,? said the old man. ?What?s the difference?? asked one kid. ?If you pick them up it will take about 30 minutes for me to tow you down the river to the landing. If I pick them up you will likely spend the night on the river. It won?t be a pleasant night.? said the old man.
The boys responded in a belligerent manner. They said they didn?t need a tow. They said that they would get down the river soon enough on their own and if they got there a little late that was all right because they were seeking adventure anyway. They told the old man that he could pick up the cans. They didn?t say any of this nicely.
The fisherman cranked up his engine, maneuvered to pick up the beer cans, and then idled in to make a few casts under my dock. I asked him why he had said that the boys were likely to be spending the night on the river. He said, ?Son, this river slows down and sometimes comes to a stop when the gulf tide comes in at the mouth of the river. Those boys will be lucky to make it around the next bend or two. Soon they will run out of beer and fun. There will only be a small sliver of moon out tonight. The night will be ?can?t see your hand in front of your face? dark. The only light will be from the eyes of river animals, gators and such. The cool evening will turn to cold night. Bugs that like college boys will come out and eat them alive. They will get their adventure and then some.?
A little later, with the raft and college boys still in sight, I went back to the house, showered and dressed, and went into town for dinner and a movie. It was shortly after dark when I returned. I had been thinking about those boys. I filled a large thermos with hot chocolate, grabbed a flashlight, bug spray, and some towels, went to the dock, got in the boat, started the engine, and slowly made my way downriver. I turned off the flashlight and boat lights for a moment just to get a feel for how dark it was. It was as the old man had said, ?can?t see your hand in front of your face? dark.? In the black night the water and the woods were alive with glowing eyes. The contemplative peace and quiet of the day had been replaced by the eerie sounds of animals calling to each other. I liked it. But then, I was full from a good meal, warm, and, most of all, able to leave at will. I turned the lights back on and continued down the river.
As I came around the bend I heard a shout for help. There, up against the densely wooded bank, were the boys on what was left of the raft. All the misery in the world had deserted the other places it had been that night and found those boys. Not a one was entirely dry. All were cold and under attack from mosquitoes. Most of all they were scared.
As I was trying to figure out how I could get them all into my boat at one time without capsizing I saw a light come around the bend from the downriver side. It was the old man come to the rescue.
After seeing that the boys were properly rescued I learned that my night had not yet ended. The old man had a notion that we should go back up the river and pick up inner tubes, sheets of plywood, and other sundry items left behind by the shipwrecked crew. His notion was good enough for me and we spent the next two hours cleaning up the river in the middle of the night. And had fun doing it.
I don?t know about those boys but I learned a little about respect that night. Respect for our waterways and respect for old men.
It was an late afternoon in May on the Wakulla River outside of Tallahassee. An absent friend had given me the use of his house and boat for a long weekend. The families, groups, and couples who canoed, rafted, and tubed down the river had drifted past the dock on which I was sitting and, by now, were at the pull-out point a couple of miles downriver. Across from me, and just a stone?s throw away, was an old man drifting with the current as he fished. The day was winding down. It was a peaceful, contemplative time. It was not to last.
I noticed a stream of beer cans being gently urged downstream by the current. Upriver and around the bend could be heard the sounds of raucous laughter and splashing water. Soon a large raft with eight college boys appeared. The raft consisted of four 4x8 sheets of plywood roped together on top of a bunch of inner tubes. In the center of the raft were coolers filled with beer. Once filled with beer anyway.
One of the boys asked the old man how long it would take to get to the landing. The old man said, ?It depends.? ?Depends on what?? asked the boy. ?It depends on whether or not you pick up those beer cans you threw in the water or I pick them up.,? said the old man. ?What?s the difference?? asked one kid. ?If you pick them up it will take about 30 minutes for me to tow you down the river to the landing. If I pick them up you will likely spend the night on the river. It won?t be a pleasant night.? said the old man.
The boys responded in a belligerent manner. They said they didn?t need a tow. They said that they would get down the river soon enough on their own and if they got there a little late that was all right because they were seeking adventure anyway. They told the old man that he could pick up the cans. They didn?t say any of this nicely.
The fisherman cranked up his engine, maneuvered to pick up the beer cans, and then idled in to make a few casts under my dock. I asked him why he had said that the boys were likely to be spending the night on the river. He said, ?Son, this river slows down and sometimes comes to a stop when the gulf tide comes in at the mouth of the river. Those boys will be lucky to make it around the next bend or two. Soon they will run out of beer and fun. There will only be a small sliver of moon out tonight. The night will be ?can?t see your hand in front of your face? dark. The only light will be from the eyes of river animals, gators and such. The cool evening will turn to cold night. Bugs that like college boys will come out and eat them alive. They will get their adventure and then some.?
A little later, with the raft and college boys still in sight, I went back to the house, showered and dressed, and went into town for dinner and a movie. It was shortly after dark when I returned. I had been thinking about those boys. I filled a large thermos with hot chocolate, grabbed a flashlight, bug spray, and some towels, went to the dock, got in the boat, started the engine, and slowly made my way downriver. I turned off the flashlight and boat lights for a moment just to get a feel for how dark it was. It was as the old man had said, ?can?t see your hand in front of your face? dark.? In the black night the water and the woods were alive with glowing eyes. The contemplative peace and quiet of the day had been replaced by the eerie sounds of animals calling to each other. I liked it. But then, I was full from a good meal, warm, and, most of all, able to leave at will. I turned the lights back on and continued down the river.
As I came around the bend I heard a shout for help. There, up against the densely wooded bank, were the boys on what was left of the raft. All the misery in the world had deserted the other places it had been that night and found those boys. Not a one was entirely dry. All were cold and under attack from mosquitoes. Most of all they were scared.
As I was trying to figure out how I could get them all into my boat at one time without capsizing I saw a light come around the bend from the downriver side. It was the old man come to the rescue.
After seeing that the boys were properly rescued I learned that my night had not yet ended. The old man had a notion that we should go back up the river and pick up inner tubes, sheets of plywood, and other sundry items left behind by the shipwrecked crew. His notion was good enough for me and we spent the next two hours cleaning up the river in the middle of the night. And had fun doing it.
I don?t know about those boys but I learned a little about respect that night. Respect for our waterways and respect for old men.
