Up a Creek…
I hope all of the past and present defenders of our great nation have a spectacular Veteran's Day.
Not long after the School Girl and I got married, we began partaking of outdoor activities. We both claimed to enjoy these things. On our honeymoon we drove the entire length of the Natchez Trace Parkway and even did a little camping. A few times we took outings with my sister- and brother-in-law that consisted of canoeing on the Buffalo River. I was very hesitant to participate and did much silent praying for a quick return home every time we got out on the water. I do this because canoes and me do not get along.
As a young boy, I was a member of the Boys Scouts of America. I used to love the outdoors very much, as I would go on camping outings almost monthly. I would thoroughly enjoy hanging out with my friends, building fires, sleeping in tents, etc. We would have these outings during all seasons of the year including winter. During the warmer months we would spend time near the water including lakes and rivers. I had a great time with everything we did, except, that is, with canoeing.
Now you really need to picture my Scout Leader, Mr. Maloney. As a small boy of 13 years old, Maloney seemed like a gigantic man. He was probably six feet tall and all of three bills (300+ lbs). He was not a spring chicken by any stretch of the imagination. I really have no idea how old Maloney was but I do know that he was a big baseball fan. His favorite team was the Braves…the Boston Braves. A phrase that I remember to this day because of him is, “Spahn and Sain, then pray for rain!” This refers to the pitching duo of Warren Spahn and Johnny Sain (who were very good) and then the rest of the starting rotation which was…well, to put it nicely, they sucked! Anyways, Maloney loved attending these outings with us boys (obviously since he a volunteer) and would participate in all activities, including canoeing.
Two major incidences really stand out in my mind. It is possible that these are the only two that happened and the thought that there were many more is a just a figment created by my fragile little mind. The first one happened one weekend while camping during the early fall sometime in the mid-1980s in the mountains of New Hampshire. I believe that we were camping near the Robb Reservoir. Now, the State of New Hampshire allows camping around reservoirs, as well as boating, as long as the boats are not motor powered. No swimming is allowed in Robb Reservoir either. This is due to the fact that this body of water is a source of drinking water for the southwestern part of the state. The other Scouts and I spent the good part of the late morning paddling around in canoes exploring the area. At one point, we floated up to tiny islands to pick blueberries. We would eat one, and then throw many at an “opposing” canoe. Later, after we prepared lunch, we decided that another foray in to the reservoir was imminent. This time; however, Maloney decided that he wanted to play too. It was decided that I would have the unenviable task of being Maloney’s boat-mate. We discussed it and it was decided that he would enter the canoe first then I would push off. In theory, this sounded great. The problem is that canoes are not very wide and are very unstable and to make matters worse, we were launching from a dock and not from the shore. Please remember when I tell you the next part that swimming is strictly forbidden. So, as I begin to enter the boat, Maloney was busy tying his personal floatation device (PFD or life-jacket, as you land-lubbers may call it), when all pandemonium ensued. My trailing foot must have caught on a board of the pier which caused me to lose my balance. In my uneasiness, I began reaching for anything to grasp a hold of so as not to pitch head-first into the chilled, calm waters. I was completely successful…in falling into the water…and tipping the boat…and dumping Maloney in after me…and breaking the no swimming ordinance. Ultimately, we were all fine and many people had an amusing story to relay when we returned home. Fate gave me a sign that day that I did not heed. Never tempt fate, as she always wins out in the end.
It was joked by the other Scouts and Scout Leaders that maybe I should try and earn my Canoeing Merit Badge. One year at summer camp I enrolled in the Canoeing class that would earn me my badge; however, I failed the final performance test and left camp embarrassed.
The second incident occurred approximately one year later. This time it was summer and the weather in New England was scorching. As a large group we made the trek to north east New Hampshire, very near Maine. We were going on water-water! Now, at this time I was still not fearful of the water or canoes (even though I almost drowned as a small child – thanks Uncle Roy for saving my life!). I don’t think I even respected the water. Do most young children? No, because we know it all. If you don’t believe that kids know everything, go ahead and ask one. Nonetheless, we made the trip almost up to Maine. This trip stands out because the town where we set up camp had a paper mill. Wheeeew-eeee! Who doesn’t love that sulphury goodness wafting into their nose for an entire weekend? We brought with us 2 metal canoes and many large semi-truck tire inner tubes. I decided that I would make my initial runs down the river on an inner tube. Please note that although I do not remember what class of rapid this river was, it looked pretty mean to me. I was not nervous though as you remember I know everything at this point in my life and am a little fearless and disrespectful of the river. I also, gained high acclaim as a top-notch swimmer per my summer camp exam. The first trip down the river and the entire first day was completely uneventful as far as injuries or mishaps are concerned. The run was exhilarating as I and my pals bounced around the river on these immense tire tubes. Fate did not rear its ugly head until the following morning.
The next morning was Saturday. We all traipsed to the river, chose our method of traversing the rapids and proceeded down the river. I initially was going to try the canoe for the first time with one of my buddies; however, at the last moment defered to someone else and snatched up the final tube but was promised that I could ride in the boat on the following run. The first run went off without a hitch and we all jumped in the van to take us back to the drop in point to begin our second run of the morning. I, of course, got into the canoe as promised. The water was calm at this location and all seemed right with the world. For one reason or another, I jumped into the front of the boat and waited to see who would accompany me on this second run down the mighty river.
Would anyone like to guess who walked up to my boat and parked his butt in the back of the canoe? Anyone? Anyone at all? I’ll wait…. Yes, it was big Mr. Maloney himself! Now, in my defense, I was a young boy of maybe 13 years and it never occurred to me that this situation was not looking too good. There were other adults with us that day that looked at this scenario and never thought twice about the fact the rear of the canoe was partially submerged with the nose lifted ever so slightly above the surface. Well, we shoved off without incident and proceeded slowly down the placid river. Approximately, five minutes later, the water began to rush a little faster across the rocks below the surface and some white water was splashing around.
The weather started getting rough, the tiny ship was tossed. If not for the courage…oh wait, that is a different story altogether. Unfortunately, the Harlem Globetrotters were nowhere to be found to knock some sense into us. It does seem appropriate that there was a large Skipper-ish fellow steering the boat and a young, bungling Gilligan-esque fellow in the front. So to continue, the rapids were flowing extremely fierce at this point with the waves crashing into the underside of the nose of the boat. This, of course, was the part where I was seated. It was at that moment I had realized, “Today is the day I will die”. I was not scared really. Not scared enough to cry and blubber like a child. An enormous blast of water, coupled with a large grouping of rocks hit the underbelly of our canoe lifting it nose over tail, catapulting me several feet into the air. I had almost no time to react. I remembered the survival tactics we were taught if we were to fall into the foamy water: lie on your back, keep your feet pointed in front of you, and keep your head above the water. Now the first two seemed like good advice that never crossed my mind. The last one was a no-brainer to me yet the toughest to accomplish. I kept looking towards shore as the cold water kept running over my head. I seemed to be drifting further away from my buddies on shore as they called my name. My only thoughts were on how I was going to get back to safety. My legs were cramping, my arms aching. I was bloodied from bouncing off of those huge rocks and gasping for air. Through my watery-hazed vision I saw the Scout Leaders and my friends forming a human-chain and wading into the fast moving water. Luckily, there were enough of them to reach me after what seemed like hours but was probably only 10 minutes. I never lost consciousness or completely lost my breath.
As I was coughing uncontrollably on the edge of the river, I said a little thank you prayer. I never got on the river again that weekend as you might suspect. The next summer at camp I attempted once again to thwart the canoe demons and try to earn that Merit Badge but it was all for naught. I left camp having failed a second time, never to be attempted again. My spirit had been broken, fate had won. I can’t remember traveling in a canoe again until after I married my wife. Strangely, I have never capsized since but there is one difference. I have a deep respect for the water and how fate can snatch me off of that river to show me who the boss rally is.
Not long after the School Girl and I got married, we began partaking of outdoor activities. We both claimed to enjoy these things. On our honeymoon we drove the entire length of the Natchez Trace Parkway and even did a little camping. A few times we took outings with my sister- and brother-in-law that consisted of canoeing on the Buffalo River. I was very hesitant to participate and did much silent praying for a quick return home every time we got out on the water. I do this because canoes and me do not get along.
As a young boy, I was a member of the Boys Scouts of America. I used to love the outdoors very much, as I would go on camping outings almost monthly. I would thoroughly enjoy hanging out with my friends, building fires, sleeping in tents, etc. We would have these outings during all seasons of the year including winter. During the warmer months we would spend time near the water including lakes and rivers. I had a great time with everything we did, except, that is, with canoeing.
Now you really need to picture my Scout Leader, Mr. Maloney. As a small boy of 13 years old, Maloney seemed like a gigantic man. He was probably six feet tall and all of three bills (300+ lbs). He was not a spring chicken by any stretch of the imagination. I really have no idea how old Maloney was but I do know that he was a big baseball fan. His favorite team was the Braves…the Boston Braves. A phrase that I remember to this day because of him is, “Spahn and Sain, then pray for rain!” This refers to the pitching duo of Warren Spahn and Johnny Sain (who were very good) and then the rest of the starting rotation which was…well, to put it nicely, they sucked! Anyways, Maloney loved attending these outings with us boys (obviously since he a volunteer) and would participate in all activities, including canoeing.
Two major incidences really stand out in my mind. It is possible that these are the only two that happened and the thought that there were many more is a just a figment created by my fragile little mind. The first one happened one weekend while camping during the early fall sometime in the mid-1980s in the mountains of New Hampshire. I believe that we were camping near the Robb Reservoir. Now, the State of New Hampshire allows camping around reservoirs, as well as boating, as long as the boats are not motor powered. No swimming is allowed in Robb Reservoir either. This is due to the fact that this body of water is a source of drinking water for the southwestern part of the state. The other Scouts and I spent the good part of the late morning paddling around in canoes exploring the area. At one point, we floated up to tiny islands to pick blueberries. We would eat one, and then throw many at an “opposing” canoe. Later, after we prepared lunch, we decided that another foray in to the reservoir was imminent. This time; however, Maloney decided that he wanted to play too. It was decided that I would have the unenviable task of being Maloney’s boat-mate. We discussed it and it was decided that he would enter the canoe first then I would push off. In theory, this sounded great. The problem is that canoes are not very wide and are very unstable and to make matters worse, we were launching from a dock and not from the shore. Please remember when I tell you the next part that swimming is strictly forbidden. So, as I begin to enter the boat, Maloney was busy tying his personal floatation device (PFD or life-jacket, as you land-lubbers may call it), when all pandemonium ensued. My trailing foot must have caught on a board of the pier which caused me to lose my balance. In my uneasiness, I began reaching for anything to grasp a hold of so as not to pitch head-first into the chilled, calm waters. I was completely successful…in falling into the water…and tipping the boat…and dumping Maloney in after me…and breaking the no swimming ordinance. Ultimately, we were all fine and many people had an amusing story to relay when we returned home. Fate gave me a sign that day that I did not heed. Never tempt fate, as she always wins out in the end.
It was joked by the other Scouts and Scout Leaders that maybe I should try and earn my Canoeing Merit Badge. One year at summer camp I enrolled in the Canoeing class that would earn me my badge; however, I failed the final performance test and left camp embarrassed.
The second incident occurred approximately one year later. This time it was summer and the weather in New England was scorching. As a large group we made the trek to north east New Hampshire, very near Maine. We were going on water-water! Now, at this time I was still not fearful of the water or canoes (even though I almost drowned as a small child – thanks Uncle Roy for saving my life!). I don’t think I even respected the water. Do most young children? No, because we know it all. If you don’t believe that kids know everything, go ahead and ask one. Nonetheless, we made the trip almost up to Maine. This trip stands out because the town where we set up camp had a paper mill. Wheeeew-eeee! Who doesn’t love that sulphury goodness wafting into their nose for an entire weekend? We brought with us 2 metal canoes and many large semi-truck tire inner tubes. I decided that I would make my initial runs down the river on an inner tube. Please note that although I do not remember what class of rapid this river was, it looked pretty mean to me. I was not nervous though as you remember I know everything at this point in my life and am a little fearless and disrespectful of the river. I also, gained high acclaim as a top-notch swimmer per my summer camp exam. The first trip down the river and the entire first day was completely uneventful as far as injuries or mishaps are concerned. The run was exhilarating as I and my pals bounced around the river on these immense tire tubes. Fate did not rear its ugly head until the following morning.
The next morning was Saturday. We all traipsed to the river, chose our method of traversing the rapids and proceeded down the river. I initially was going to try the canoe for the first time with one of my buddies; however, at the last moment defered to someone else and snatched up the final tube but was promised that I could ride in the boat on the following run. The first run went off without a hitch and we all jumped in the van to take us back to the drop in point to begin our second run of the morning. I, of course, got into the canoe as promised. The water was calm at this location and all seemed right with the world. For one reason or another, I jumped into the front of the boat and waited to see who would accompany me on this second run down the mighty river.
Would anyone like to guess who walked up to my boat and parked his butt in the back of the canoe? Anyone? Anyone at all? I’ll wait…. Yes, it was big Mr. Maloney himself! Now, in my defense, I was a young boy of maybe 13 years and it never occurred to me that this situation was not looking too good. There were other adults with us that day that looked at this scenario and never thought twice about the fact the rear of the canoe was partially submerged with the nose lifted ever so slightly above the surface. Well, we shoved off without incident and proceeded slowly down the placid river. Approximately, five minutes later, the water began to rush a little faster across the rocks below the surface and some white water was splashing around.
The weather started getting rough, the tiny ship was tossed. If not for the courage…oh wait, that is a different story altogether. Unfortunately, the Harlem Globetrotters were nowhere to be found to knock some sense into us. It does seem appropriate that there was a large Skipper-ish fellow steering the boat and a young, bungling Gilligan-esque fellow in the front. So to continue, the rapids were flowing extremely fierce at this point with the waves crashing into the underside of the nose of the boat. This, of course, was the part where I was seated. It was at that moment I had realized, “Today is the day I will die”. I was not scared really. Not scared enough to cry and blubber like a child. An enormous blast of water, coupled with a large grouping of rocks hit the underbelly of our canoe lifting it nose over tail, catapulting me several feet into the air. I had almost no time to react. I remembered the survival tactics we were taught if we were to fall into the foamy water: lie on your back, keep your feet pointed in front of you, and keep your head above the water. Now the first two seemed like good advice that never crossed my mind. The last one was a no-brainer to me yet the toughest to accomplish. I kept looking towards shore as the cold water kept running over my head. I seemed to be drifting further away from my buddies on shore as they called my name. My only thoughts were on how I was going to get back to safety. My legs were cramping, my arms aching. I was bloodied from bouncing off of those huge rocks and gasping for air. Through my watery-hazed vision I saw the Scout Leaders and my friends forming a human-chain and wading into the fast moving water. Luckily, there were enough of them to reach me after what seemed like hours but was probably only 10 minutes. I never lost consciousness or completely lost my breath.
As I was coughing uncontrollably on the edge of the river, I said a little thank you prayer. I never got on the river again that weekend as you might suspect. The next summer at camp I attempted once again to thwart the canoe demons and try to earn that Merit Badge but it was all for naught. I left camp having failed a second time, never to be attempted again. My spirit had been broken, fate had won. I can’t remember traveling in a canoe again until after I married my wife. Strangely, I have never capsized since but there is one difference. I have a deep respect for the water and how fate can snatch me off of that river to show me who the boss rally is.
posted by LeBlanc at 2:16 PM
3 Comments:
I am pretty sure you forgot to mention poor Mr Maloney's glasses or is that a different story?
That is right I forgot about that. Maloney did lose his glasses in the river. The mighty rapids ripped them from his face. The worst part about that is he had to drive all the way back home!
I am remembering George as I read this. I am sitting with his son, Mike. we are remembering him in the fashion he deserves. Thank you for the story. We appreciate your memories. Many of us have alot of them that we will never forget. I am 46 and could, and have, talked about many memories growing up with George. I would not give any of them up.
God Bless George,
Jay
Post a Comment
<< Home