"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.
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