Friendship

by Sharon Anderson

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Ahhh, that word that reaches out its hands and holds mine, the core, the heart, the embodiment of a person called friendship; shown as one being a mother hen, a story teller, an organizer, a cook, a path blazer, a nature protector, one who laughs, someone who is downright crazy, and a paddler of many rivers. She’s a cake mix of goodies. Her name is Mary.

I used to wake up before dawn on a river trip, tired and wanting to close my eyes one more time. Outside my tent I’d hear soft voices from people stirring in tents and around the kitchen area. There would be pots and pans sliding across a camp stove where laughter was getting a little louder like a soft alarm clock luring me out of my bedroll. A waft of lip smacking bacon, popping in hot oil, drifting on a cool morning breeze, sifted through my tent. Sizzling eggs, wall-eyed and yellow-orange, stared at the cook with a blank look. Coffee was a brewin’ on the next burner, strong enough to make one’s nostrils flair as the fragrance entered with a deep breath. These morning aromas and sounds were enough to make anyone pack up a wet tent and hurry down to the kitchen area, no matter how cold, damp, wet, or sunny the morning presented its self. That crazy-sweet lady was always standing in front of a stove with a wide grin.

As soon as she saw me she’d yell, “Hi Darlin’, come on down. I’ve got some hot coffee ready for ya.” It was that smile and laughter that really started my day and the tribe of people who were there with me on the trip that made canoeing such a pleasure and of great interest.

Excuse me for digressing into memories of past canoe trips with Mary, for this is a story about the Fall 2005 Colorado River Trip. I noted several months ago that there was a celebration paddle put on by Fraser and Janice. Mary Z. would be joining them to continue a Dutch oven cook out tradition. Paul would be there to keep a mountain of gear organized while Mary cooked. I invited Logan to come along. To my surprise he did want to “get out of Dodge” for the weekend.

Packing consisted of listing gear then trying to find it. Late Friday night I repacked because I had way too much of everything. All of it had to fit into a solo canoe and kayak. Finally, I was packed and ready. Now, I just needed to get a good night sleep. BZZZZBZZZZBZZ4:00 0’clock alarm. Throw a few items in an igloo, get dressed, catch a weather report, and anxiously await Logan’s arrival so we could “hit the trail” on time.

I flew by Sealy, turned around after an 11-mile miss. We found the Whataburger, which was housing paddlers meeting up for breakfast. I wasn’t hungry but ate some high fat fast food anyway. New people and old friends were there. The excitement was stirring. The caravan started. We drove through fog with white headlights creating a chain of paddlers linked by light beams. We became the Illuminati.

Our group was the first to arrive at the put in. We unloaded boats and gear and became one with the mud. I packed my two boats on shore’s edge with Paul watching on the bank. I told him, “I don‘t think I can get everything in these two little boats.” “I always pre pack before a trip,” Paul said, smiling with a Woodcock grin. I could see that my gear looked bigger than my little boats, however; with a little confidence and a lot of perspiration, it all fit. I drove the shuttle.

Boats filed into the water with no regard for the lead boat or any instructions. People were ready to paddle! It didn’t take long for Fraser to gain lead of this Wild Tribe and become lead boat for a while. Like all trips, boats were strewn down the river, at times coming together in small groups for socializing. It was a beautiful day in Mother Nature’s neighborhood. The 16-mile paddle against the wind tired even the seasoned paddlers who sported toned cells. It was a long day, but full of conversation and beautiful things to see. Just before the campsite, an eagle’s head and tail flashed pure white in sunlight, as it rode the thermals just above us. Absolutely beautiful. We saw three eagles and one juvenile, a few catfish, herons, and the very bottom of the river more times than we wanted.

Once we landed, Mary set up the cook area. I put up my tent. I was a little nervous about camping so far inland. I went down to the cook area. Meat was already sizzling. Ron, Linda, and I cut vegetables. Robert’s daughter, Stephanie, helped me prepare bread with butter and garlic. Mary kept the Dutch ovens going. Sometime after dark, a wide semi-circle of paddlers formed around the fire sharing a glass of conversation. Logan helped Mary by keeping the fire a blaze. Beef stew was served in three large black pots. While the tribe ate, Mary and I made cherry rum cakes. I thought we would have to get out bows and arrows to keep the Wild Tribe at bay as the cakes turned a light tan color. The dessert disappeared to the last gram.

Fraser turned the cooking fire into a campfire. He had gone native in the mysterious moonlight during the twilight of conversation. As Mars loomed a red glow in the sky he became shamanic. Many of us were feeling we had influence in the spiritual realm. Bottles of access were ritually shared. The illuminati were lit.

Soon, people disappeared into tents after stargazing and hot air blazing. Mary walked over to me, held out her hands, and said, “Put your hands between mine.” I thought she was going to show me a trick or a joke. She clasped my hands and quietly said, “Thank you, thank you for helping me.” I was touched by her sincere gesture of gratitude. It works, if we all work together. Before we went to bed, Mary and I cleaned the cooking gear while other friends helped close down the kitchen for the night.

The next morning, before I was out of my tent, Ron had coffee going. People circled for breakfast like in the era of covered wagons, long ago. The Wild Tribe slowly disappeared off the land as gear was gathered and people paddled down the river towards the end of another great adventure. Mary and others cleaned up the morning kitchen area. They were amongst the last to leave camp, picking up forgotten items and things of their own. They left only their footprints. I don’t know when she rested. Mary never stopped cooking, working, smiling, talking, and cleaning.

One boat was baptized in cool water on the way to the take out. Cherished material goods sank below sight in watery depth. Never to be cherished again. Everyone helped each other with gear and boats at the final stop. The Wild Tribe dispersed transforming from river rats into camouflaged citizens, once again. Then all traversed home like a vanishing tribe.

Take care, do good deeds, and stay in touch.

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