Sunday, June 24, 2012

Ramblin' On River Odyssey (Part II)






"In three words I can sum up everything I know about life.  It goes on."

~  Robert Frost ~


"The past cannot be changed, but the future is still within our reach."

~ AGHS Class of 1979 Motto ~


I, Eliot and the canoe inched along in total silence as we drifted aimlessly down the Missouri River.  There were no sandbars to navigate.  Nothing but open water and smooth sailing required that I occasionally only rudder the boat to maintain direction.  With my feet up and hands locked behind my head, I leaned back in total bliss, enjoying the moment as the morning sun danced off the ripples of the water.  And there he was.

In complete ignorance of the approaching foreigner, a young coyote came to the water's edge seeking food and water.  I came to full attention and tried ever so quietly to sit up, remove my camera from it's water-proof case, turn it on, adjust the settings and prepare for the shot.  After what seemed like minutes, but took only seconds, I turned to zoom in on this gorgeous creature.  But since the river was flowing at a blinding speed of just over 5 miles per hour, he was already a hundred yards behind me.  I did my best to twist in my seat for one last view of the coyote who was now standing on the bank in a puzzled stance, probably having never seen a long silver fish skimming the water.  In desparation I zoomed out to the limits of the lens and hoped for the best, grabbing one of three shots you see above.  And then it was gone.  The moment, the opportunity, the coyote, the experience....................vanished. 

I was on the final leg of my river odyssey before I became aware of two important additional life-lessons, free for the taking from the power of the Mighty Mo.   On day one, of course, I was schooled in the art of going with the flow of the river......of life.  Because of that vital lesson, I spent the next two days of the journey more relaxed, perhaps even more "in sync" with the river.  Sure, there were many more sandbars to navigate, rain and even a thunderstorm to escape, but I took them all in stride.  They were part of the experience and I had been reminded to quit fighting.  Some of my best memories of the trip are of being temporarily stuck on a sandbar and dragging the canoe to open water, or scrambling up the wooded bank of an island to seek cover from an approaching storm.  It was wonderful.

But on this day, my final day, as the coyote and his puzzled expression disappeared behind my relentless progress downstream, I was reminded of my next lesson.  While on this little odyssey, I had observed many wonderful things, animals and landmarks.  Some I stopped to explore.  Others received an idol glance as I floated by.  Yet every experience shared one very important characteristic.  They were behind me.....past......gone.  No matter how much I wanted to go back and relive each experience, it simply wasn't possible.  The river flows relentlessly downstream, remember?

It doesn't take a river trip to see where I'm heading with this.  It's life.  Directly behind my first lesson of life's flow, came the part I simply couldn't ignore.  As life flows, experiences pass.  And then they're gone.  The MEMORY of the experience remains (or at least it usually does), but you can't go back to relive it.  That's the beauty of living in the moment.  We hear about that a lot these days, don't we?  "I'm living in the moment."  Or, "I live each moment to the fullest."

But those are different aren't they.  EVERYONE lives in the moment.  It's not really a choice.  Each of us has only this moment in which to live.  Some of us just realize it more than others.  But I digress.  We were talking about the past.  You know, that thing that happened just seconds ago. 

Each and every one of us has "a past."  It's there alright.  It's there in the form of a memory, an experience, or maybe even a life lesson.  But that's all.  You can't go back there physically any more than I could paddle upstream against a strong current to linger a bit longer with my coyote friend.  And even if you could, it wouldn't be the same as when you left it.  Surely you've revisited your home town or old vacation spot thinking you'd be able to relive a past event only to find everything had changed.  Life flows.  Things move past us and then they're gone.

We have a choice, as so boldly pointed out in the quote by our loving Dr. Seuss.  "Don't be sad it's over.  Be happy that it happened."   And that's the truth.  We can spend our lives dwelling in old memories or struggling to relive them.  Or we can simply be happy they happened, add the experience to our inventory, and move on.  I can wish for more time or a better picture of my friend the coyote, or just be thankful I got to see him at all.  Because just like on that river, you can look back for a last glance, or even try paddling back, but life flows and just around the bend is your next experience, your past obstructed from view.

So let's be happy that it happened, shall we?  I know it's easier said than done and I have certainly failed miserably at being happy on more than one occasion.  But I keep moving forward, keep flowing and keep logging a new "past."   Be happy.

What's done is done.

  

    




Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Ramblin' On River Odyssey (Part I)



"Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it."
~ Norman MacLean ~

"On a river, life's most important lessons are right there for the taking."
~ Matt Leatherwood ~


Had I known that some of life's biggest mysteries could be solved by taking a solo trip down a river in a canoe, I'd have done it years ago.  The truth is, I DID do it years ago, but with other young boys in Boy Scouts.  There wasn't a prayer I'd even begin to grasp the significance of the river's lessons at that young age.  And even as an adult, I'm not sure comparing the river with some of life's biggest challenges would have been as obvious without my long trail of experience.  But the lessons are there alright.  And they're obvious if you know where to look.

Maybe this trip wasn't so much about learning NEW ways to look at life as it was about reinforcing those things I'd learned and forgotten.  Like most people, I learned a few things from my parents.  Well,  at least they TRIED to teach me a few things.  To some advice I listened.  I ignored others and insisted on ambling along lifes path learning things on my own.  That's a little painful, but as it turns out..........necessary.

This 75 mile trip down three rivers close to home was actually over 35 years in the making.  It didn't take that long because of the intricate planning or training involved.  It took that long because, for all those years, I had made other parts of my life more important.  And as it turns out, that's exactly as it should be.  Everything, as we know, happens as it should, when it should. 

The bridge 1/4 west of my childhood home offers passage over Salt Creek, which from there, flows approximately 10 miles to the Platte River.  From the mouth of Salt Creek, the Platte flows (sometimes faster than others) about 35 miles to the Missouri River.  From the mouth of the Platte, the Missouri leads eventually to the Mississippi and then to the Gulf of Mexico.  My trip ceased at Nebraska City, Nebraska, some 30 miles from the mouth of the Platte River.  If my math is correct, that's 75 miles.  It took me just under four days.

With the help of a friend, I loaded and launched my trusty canoe (The Ramblin' On) under the bridge where I had spent so many hours exploring as a child.  Accompanied only by my trusty sidekick, Eliot, (a stuffed Harley Hog given to me by my daughter) I set off down river to parts unknown.  The emotion of actually doing something that you'd only TALKED about doing for so long is difficult to describe.  Surreal probably comes closest, yet doesn't quite explain it fully.

Taking time away from work and family and other worldly expectations doesn't come without a certain level of guilt for me.  I'm working on that.  I didn't actually ask for a sign nor did I expect one, but within 200 yards of leaving my launch site, a clear sign is exactly what I got.  Two fabulous Red-Tail Hawks began circling directly above my head and repeatedly screamed at me with the sound most people only hear in the distance of an old western movie.  They weren't trying to scare me off.  They weren't threatening.  They were welcoming.  It was the most comforting feeling I've had in some time.  I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

For several miles the trip went as planned with only minor navigational issues and short periods of dragging the canoe over shallow waters.  It wasn't until near the end of the day, after basking in the glow of this amazing adventure, I discovered I'd been protected by tall trees on both sides of the river from a fierce wind.   With only two miles (that's an estimate to be sure) remaining to the mouth of Salt Creek, I was met by 30 mile per hour gusts that made navigating the loaded canoe impossible.  No matter how hard I paddled or ruddered, the wind blew the bow of the boat in whatever direction it chose.  I went sideways and backwards more often than I went forward and the wind unwaveringly pushed the vessel towards the opposing shore.  Like a pilot flying "dead stick", I was completely helpless.  Or so I thought.

After nearly an hour fighting the wind, I decided I'd be better off just dragging the vessel downstream.  I dismounted in an attempt to tow the boat downstream and immediately sank to mid-thigh in mud.  Initially disheartened, but not defeated, I struggled another 1/4 mile downstream taking one agonizing step at a time.  And then I did something I would never have considered 10 years ago.  Maybe even 2 years ago.  I gave myself permission to accept the fact what I was doing wasn't working.  I moored the canoe, grabbed my bed roll and took a nap under a shady Cottonwood.

It was a relatively short snooze and when I awoke, I took a leisurely hike down the shoreline to see if I could spot the Platte River.  It was still out of sight and the wind was still howling.  And then it hit me.  "It's easier to pull a rope than to push it."  In other words, there's nothing in the canoeing manual that says you have to paddle from the back.  I rearranged my gear and paddled from the bow of the boat.  Problem solved.  And therein lies the first and probably most important lesson I took from the entire trip.  Luckily, I learned it (or perhaps RElearned it) on the very first day.

Life is EXACTLY like that.  You're coasting downstream, aglow with the happiness of a life well-planned....well-deserved.  It seems impossible the smile could EVER be removed from your face.  You make one little turn around an unknown bend and WHAM!!!  the wind hits you in the face, blowing you completely off course.  And I can't speak for you, but so many times I have done in life precisely what I did in that canoe.  I fought.   I paddled harder.  I leaned fast on the rudder.  I dug in.  I pressed on, knowing what I was doing just wasn't working.  I became tired, frustrated, disheartened.  But just like on that river, I realize now I have a choice and it's a very good choice.  I can stop what I'm doing...........I can actually do NOTHING and wait for a new perspective. 

Many times I've hoped the new perspective would be calmer winds.  But the truth is, calmer winds won't always prevail.  A new way to navigate those winds just might.  I could have kept fighting the wind which was clearly unconquerable.  I took a nap instead.  With a new perspective, I was able to move forward.  But I learned something else too.  Even as the wind blew and it seemed I was making absolutely no progress, I actually was; steady progress in fact.  You see, no matter how hard the wind blows or how shallow the water gets, the water still flows.....always.  All that time I thought I was getting nowhere, the flow of the river was carrying me downstream ever so slowly.   

And therein lies the lesson.  Life flows.  You can fight it or you can go with it, but make no mistake;  it flows.  No amount of turbulence in the form of trial and problems will interrupt the flow.  You may not recognize it.  You may think your "wind" has stopped your progress altogether.  Take a nap.  Change your perspective.  If you look downstream it will appear as though you're getting nowhere.  But if you look to the shore right next to you, you'll discover you're moving.  You can't HELP, but move.  It's what life does. 

The end of Day One found me at peace, in a small tent without stakes (which I apparently forgot), looking out over the Platte River as the sun set, it's orange glow reflected off the rippling water as I reflected on my day.  Life flows.  Life has a rhythm.  You can go with it or you can fight it.  It's your choice to make.  But whichever you choose, it WILL move on and you will move with it.  Remember that sometimes doing nothing is exactly what you need to be doing.  If you get hit with a high wind and you're tired of fighting, take a nap.  It'll change your outlook.  The river is going to flow anyway.

Lean back.  Lock your fingers behind your head and kick your feet up on the side rails.  It's gonna be ok.  Just go with it.