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by: Scooter Heavy clouds line the sky, the wind is stiff blowing down the river, and a mixture of snow, sleet, and rain lightly fills the air as we carry the canoe to the river's edge. The fifteen foot Mansfield looks small against the backdrop. Chunks of ice speed past the put-in ranging from snowball size to floes a dozen feet in diameter. Dressed in the fashion of explorers from the past Scooter and Hal carry their gear to the boat. Thick wool pants are tucked into felt boots that stomp through the snow and mud. Leather gloves are the norm and various headgear top off their wardrobe. Their only concession to modernization is synthetic coats to repel the weather. Apprehensively they and push off from the shore. Paddling isn't necessary today, the river is swollen from melt off and rain. A dip of the paddle is all it takes to put them in the right direction. The wind also favors them this day, blowing downstream pushing us forward. Their destination is Seawalls Fall Boat Ramp, several miles down. The bowman fully spins in his seat so the partners are facing each other. They banter the time away until the see a large ice floe cruising ahead of them. On a previous trip they had breached ice and felt confident doing this. Picking up speed they come to the floe, hit and slide forward. The keel stops their progress and tips them to the side. This landing makes them change their mind about standing on the ice floe. Backing off they snuggle up to the edge of the floe and drift with it. The sternman looks downriver and they suddenly appear. Sweeping down from the opposite shoreline two bald eagles make their appearance, close enough to see their white skulls against the gray hue of the sky, following each other in whatever quest the are on. Words are passed. The two paddlers follow the flight with their eyes, trying to etch the moment into their memories. The decision to be on the water this cold February day has paid off for them. They slip out from the sanctuary of the ice floe and let the wind and current move them forward, downstream, trying to keep the eagles in sight. They are too fast and are quickly gone around the bend. It is good to share the river. Soon they come within sight of the rapids above the take-out. They pull to shore and take a break, stomping feet to get circulation going and enjoy a snack of jerky and dried apples. More talk, mostly about being canoeing in the winter months. They agree that this is worth their efforts. Under the thick clouds darkness comes early. A short set of rapids is between them and the take-out. They decide on sticking to the right bank and push off into the current. They are in choppy water with rocks visible just below waterline. The bowman sees that a collision is unavoidable. Shouts, paddles pull, and another set of rocks. They hit and the canoe tips to the left, teetering on the brink of capsizing, the gunwale dipping under for a second. The sternman watches as water ships into the boat and he corrects. Several inches of icy cold water collect at his feet and he tells the bowman to make for shore. The canoe is unstable and sluggish. The bowman, not realizing the situation says to move on to the take-out. The sternman repeats his request, ready to slap his partner in the head with his paddle as his partner turns. Seeing the water in the boat and suddenly feeling the handling of the boat the bowman paddles for shore. They beach and their first collective thought is to look upstream. They should have shot the middle of the river. Sewalls Falls Bridge looms nearly overhead. They empty the boat and place it in the diminishing froth at the bottom of the rapids, take one last look upstream and head for the take-out. Spring flood is coming and more trips are in the making. With that thought in mind they dip the paddles and push on.
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