Someone else's business

Two things about the brothers' father: He is borrowing the boat; he does not know the river. Knowing that the boat is borrowed, the boy in the striped shirt infers that the father knows less than enough about how to use it, or drive it, or whatever it is you call the operation of a small aluminum fishing boat. Already he'd watched and been asked to help, and tried to do so but only uselessly hung on to the gunwales of the overturned boat as the father heaved it by the stern backboard off of the back of the pickup, righted it, and then dragged it across the gravel and down slick clay bank, the three boys hanging off of it as it slumps down to the water. Then the boy in the striped shirt scrambled back up the bank for safety's sake, turning around expecting to see his friends beside him only to watch them whooping and heaving themselves into it. The father is already back at the truck hoisting the outboard motor up from the truck box, and then lugs it down the bank.

The boy in the striped shirt simply doesn't believe that this exuberance will end well. The Spring run-off has swelled the Pembina such that it is obvious even to this inexperienced skeptic that it is running fast. Too fast for all this nonchalance. But the father and his sons complete their preparations, load their rods and the picnic lunch into the boat and call out, finally, to him to "C'mon, let's go!"

He inches and slips down the bank, gingerly grabbing at and following the gunwales as he gets to it. Once he climbs in, the father pushes them into the water and hops in himself as the current catches the boat and moves them offshore to the centre of the river. The boy watches with concern as the father climbs past him and over benches to reach the stern. He lowers the propeller into the water and pulls the starter cord three, four, five times before it sputters to life. Drifting with the current now the boy says, above the put-put of the motor, "Is this the direction we want to go?"

"Yup," he says, smiling. "We'll drift down with the current, then tool back upstream and drift down again." The boy tries to return the smile. "It'll be fun right boys!" the father says. "We'll follow the river and catch some fish." The boy in the striped shirt wants to be this romantic. That would not be the word he'd use, not at this age, but he'd understand the sentiment that living in the moment would be a less troublesome way of managing this day, or any day, but he'd have no facility to get there. At least not at this time. In fact, not for another 20 years would he have this facility. In fact, the gravity of this unlikely knowledge weighs on him. It's like a mission. It's like he must be about someone else's business.         

Ride report

in:       16'C wind 25ks SE

out:     27'C wind 50ks SE