To Old Hill

I went out to the garage to get my cell phone and camera this morning. Yesterday Dean and I and one of his friends from work, Kendall, kayaked on one of the few streams with enough water, middle Eel River, and I left everything in the El Camino when I got home: muddy kayak and river boots, wet tee shirt and sweaty straw hat, kayak seat and life vest, cell phone and my camera in its waterproof case. In the dark garage, I noticed the interior lights were on because I left the driver's door open. I tooted the horn and made a rough assessment of remaining battery strength. I think it will start without a jump later today.

My own energies are depleted after the long run on the Eel River from the Center Point bridge to the Old Hill bridge and it is not just the equipment that was rode hard and put away wet. The recent lack of rain has put all of nearby creeks too low and even the Eel River, was barely high enough to float us. I scraped bottom several places and walked twice that I remember.

It is not the most picturesque stream below the Center Point bridge, there are several places where the corn fields come right to the bank and since we started at about noon, much of the day was spent paddling in the sun. We paddled slowly through the many curves before we passed under IN 59 and negotiated many fallen trees. I felt good to be able to judge the currents and to read the river and avoid all the hazards but I don't kid myself that I could have done so easily in faster current.

Below IN 59, the river is a lot straighter and there are few log jams to worry us. Sometimes we paddle three abreast and chat. Dean started a conversation about the blues, naming some of his favorites to get Kendall's opinion. He struggled with a few of the artists names and I was amused that he called Muddy Waters by Muddy Rivers but that is the effect of floating downstream in the summer sun. It puts your mind to rest. I thought of a road off the CA 78 that I used to pass on my commute many years ago when I worked for a living. The road was called Smilax and seeing the sign usually reminded me to SMIle and reLAX.

Dean continued to look for accordance in musical taste with Kendall and it drew me into the conversation and made me recall some of the blues players I had seen in person. I realized that most of that was when I lived in New Jersey and that was long ago when Judy and I were practically newlyweds.

I liked Kendall. He was new at kayaking on a stream but kept his balance when he got hung up on a submerged log and accepted my encouragement and advice. He back paddled and freed himself and was soon on his way.

Time wore on and, wordlessly, we all realized that we all would need to paddle faster than the 1 or 2 mph current in order to get home before dark. We picked up the speed and it became a workout. There were few sandbars where we might take a break or stretch our legs and we paddled hard and steady the last five miles. My kayak tracks better than the one Kendall was using and my paddles are more efficient but we were paced side by side for a long while. I asked when he graduated from high school. 94.

94!? It's hard for me to believe anyone graduated as late as 94. This young fellow was a Social Studies major in college and decided to go to law school and now works in the legal department as City Attorney. I figured and then told him that when I was his age it was 1968.

His turn to be incredulous. Really?

More blues talk and then we sighted the Old Hill bridge where we would take the kayaks out of the water and truck them to where Dean had parked when we put in. The take out was steep and muddy and laced with poison ivy and oak. It was 8pm before we started for home on IN 46 from not too far from Dietz Lake. I went north on 59 to 42 where I knew I would have a good cell phone signal and told Judy I could be home in a half-hour if I didn't stop to eat. Supper was waiting so I cruised on home not knowing I was so tired that I would leave the car door open when I got there.