2010 Canoe Trip

NOTE: This should have preceeded the post on camping in the redwoods.

Last weekend I went the annual canoe trip with the Junior Woodchucks. This account is of necessity redacted and changed to protect the names and identities of the (sometimes not so) innocent. Sadly, there are no postable pictures, even ones of yours truly. The Russian river was its usual temperature and color (warm and slightly green), and the contingent of Woodcraft Indians was smaller than I would have liked. This year, however, lacked the swarming invertebrates of last year's trip. Luch was absurdly early, as usual, but that's the boys' call, not mine. The pullout for the canoes was a little too narrow and steep, and there was not quite enough shade. I pulled some water from the river, trusting in my iodine tablets.

In many spots along the river, there was choice: overhanging bushes where thhe current ran, or shadeless shallows where it did not. Fortunately, I had recently and finally disentangled my broad-brimmed hat (not a petasos, sadly) from my travel wallet, which had had remained in such condition since my return from the western Mediterranean, so the spiders in the bushes did not get in my hair.

There were the usual mishaps characteristic of a river trip, but my new dry bag held up admirably. I did not witness every rescue and recovery on the trip, but the two incidents in which I was involved were resolved satisfactorily. In the former case, all the equipment was recovered, and soon the spirit of the unfortunate pair recovered as well. The latter case was harder, since it involved a swift current and large branch; more than one person lost their grip during the operation and had to fight their way back upstream, but eventually the canoe was freed from the embrace of water and wood.

Some other campers had rather unsportingly taken some of our spots when we returned to our campsite next to the Pomo general store, but I suppose some people just don't have a sense of fair play. In any case, we adapted and consolidated and still had enough table for our food groups. The campfire that night was short, since the skits were done according to food group rather than patrol. Everybody already knew the traditional songs, so I was not as creative as I could have been, but I hope I made up for that on Tuesday.

On Sunday morning, we did not continue down the river, as we once did, but we did have a Scout's Own by the river bank. The seating was uncomfortable, but we had a nice discussion of the wildlife we saw on the trip, led by our own Daniel Carter. A stone skipping contest followed the Scout's Own. The swarming insects through which the stones were bouncing had a peculiar obsession with purely vertical movement which still baffles me.