Playing Hooky

I canoe–Can you?

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Canoes and I have never had a great relationship.  I must be some kind of a masochist though, because I keep returning to that relationship for more abuse with barely a thought given to our sordid past.

I canoed for the first time when I was 12.  It was the Spring River, and I was assured that it would be a leisurely day of fun in the sun and that I would get to experience God’s creation with my church youth group.  I nearly died.

This was 30 years ago, so the details are a bit fuzzy, but the gist is that we were nearly to the end of this trip down the river and, at that point, had been the only canoe in the group that had not tipped over yet.  We encountered a minor waterfall that was maybe a three-foot drop just before a bend in the river.  No problem, right?  We landed fine, but as we tried to negotiate the bend, another canoe bumped into us and sent us headlong into a dirt bank on the side of the river.  Over we went, and our title as the most reliable boat on the water rushed away in the current, along with our cooler, flip flops, sunscreen, and my favorite hat.  I wasn’t aware at the time that my hat was gone because I was too busy drowning.

My foot got caught between two rocks in the river bed when I went under, and because I was 12 at that time I wasn’t tall enough to keep my head above water.  I began taking water into my lungs and I was in serious trouble.  My youth pastor swam under, dislodged my foot and hauled me to the surface.  I coughed up the water from my lungs and lived to fight another day, swearing I would never canoe again.

I went back the next year.  And the year after that.

I attended summer classes after my sophomore year at Ouachita Baptist University, and someone in one of my classes got the bright idea to blow off a day of class and go canoeing on the Caddo and Ouachita Rivers.  I reluctantly agreed to go, forgetting that I hate canoeing almost as much as it hates me.  I was warned that the rivers could be somewhat angry, so I really dreaded this trip.

There was good news and bad news when we got there.  The good news was, we weren’t going to canoe.  The company was out of canoes and told us our only option was inner tubes.  When I heard that, I figured we would cancel the trip and go back to the dorm.  The bad news was, we didn’t cancel the trip.  The decision was made to inner tube these rivers in succession that day, with our final destination being the OBU dock on the bank of the Ouachita.  Since I didn’t have a car, I had no choice but to participate.

Thinking I was going to die on one of these two rivers, I said a small prayer, mentally willed my meager worldly possessions (three pairs of faded jeans, a Sony Discman, and 200 CDs) to my little brother, and set out on what I was sure would be an aquatic funeral.

The trip was boring.  I mean, soul-crushingly boring.  The Caddo was so low that we wound up walking most of that leg of the trip.  The Ouachita, while plenty deep, was so slow moving that we had to paddle our arms off–in inner tubes–just to move forward on it.  What was supposed to be a 3-hour trip wound up taking 10 hours.  We walked up on the bank of the Ouachita at OBU well after dark, praying we wouldn’t be bitten by snakes.  I again swore I would never travel a river again in anything that didn’t have a motor attached.

If you’re at the Spring River this coming August, be sure to wave and say hello to me.

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