I built a canoe in my mother’s living room one winter. A story in Boy’s Life had captivated me. The dream was a big one with an outrigger, a sail… and Hawaii. That summer at Camp Fleischmann, I got the canoeing merit badge.
I discovered a kit for a 12’ wood frame and canvas canoe advertised in Boy’s Life. It was not in the section with the sea monkeys and x-ray glasses, so it had to be legit. A fortune, $25.00 plus shipping, REI Express. I could handle it with the remnants of my summer earnings and the income from my paper route.
Mail ordering anything was a leap of faith. When I was five I sent fifty cents to Laura Scudder Potato Chips for a miniature Whirly Bird helicopter. Seven years and five moves later I was still waiting for it to arrive. Never cared for Laura Scudder stuff after that.
Dad seemed to think REI Express was up to the task and Boy’s Life was reputable. I was reluctant, then realized I had leverage; powerful friends everywhere.
If need be, I could write to the local Scout Troop and use them to enforce the contract if my canoe didn’t show up. Boy Scouts had more reach and soldiers than the mafia. We flew beneath the radar and were worldwide. We outnumbered the Masons. To this day I bet you never heard about the Boy Scout network… our cover story was that good. Our enforcers were tough, and prepared. Who could resist a skinny, freckle faced kid in a rumpled scout uniform, determined to do a good deed?
One day after school a big green REI Express truck stopped in front of our house. A miracle. The kit was complete, and there was no damage. It was big. Since there was snow on the ground, the only logical place to work was in the living room. I had it unpacked before Mom got home.
Everything was pre-cut. It took my brothers and I several weeks to build it. I decided to go first class and finish the canvas with fiberglass instead of marine paint. I was banished to the back yard for that part of the project. I ruined a new pair of corduroy pants but everything else went relatively well. The fiberglass was heavy and did not go on evenly. There was too much weight on one side that made the craft extremely unstable. All you had to do to tip it over was turn your head.
It was time for the maiden voyage. My brother and I carried it down to the river by the old railroad trestle. It was early spring and the water was fast. We made it about 20 yards before hitting a rock and tipping over. The water was COLD! It was a good thing we wore life jackets. A canoe full of water is incredibly heavy. We finally got to shore and surveyed the damage. There was a big tear near the bow and a little bit of frame damage.
The canoe repaired easily.
I had to recruit a new crew. My brother was pissed. In addition to the wild ride, I had turned into Captain Bligh and clobbered him with the canoe paddle a couple of times to emphasize the urgency of a course correction. He had enough canoeing with me.
My buddy, Bill Bradley, was game. He and I had gotten the canoeing merit badge together.
Bill’s house was on the river, just above some very serious (class 3-4) rapids we called “slippery gulch.” The river travelled through a steep, narrow basalt earthquake fault and lost about 20 feet of elevation in about a quarter of a mile. The rapids ended in a 90 degree bend to the east and slow, deep water in the swimming hole under the Richmond Road Bridge. It was probably the worst stretch of river for miles. As far as we were concerned, it was perfect.
We launched in the slack water above the rapids, behind Bill’s house. We hit the first rock at the top of the rapids. The boat quickly swamped and we jolted from rock to rock as we descended through the white water gulch. There was nowhere to go but downstream. At the bottom of the rapids the boat rolled upside down as we hit the bend. Bill was thrown clear of the boat and held onto the rope at the bow as he swam to shore. He could not see me.
When Bill could touch bottom the canoe was upside down and very heavy. He decided to roll it over and drag it ashore, before looking for me. Out I popped as he turned the canoe, I had been jammed under the heavily damaged canoe by the floatation of the life jacket. My guardian angel had been on duty, again; I had not been under water for long.
We were freezing, it was March or early April. To add insult to injury, we had to go back into the river with the canoe and drift another couple of hundred yards downstream, through deep water, to a place where we could haul out.
The dream of canoeing was still alive, but well tempered with experience and a new found respect for water and rocks.