Retracing our steps back to the place where Lorna and I had beached the canoe was a relatively simple task. Although we had wandered freely for a time through the rolling dunes, the distance (as the raven flies) from the point where we had stopped paddling, beached the great white canoe, left most of our belongings (including our shoes), and began walking, could not have been much more than a mile. I was certainly quite familiar the terrain of this semi-desolate strand, having spent some time here before; however, I was quite surprised when, having steered us back to where I calculated the canoe should be—
There was no canoe to be found.
We were both a little surprised. Especially me. As I have a very good, stable compass on board. That is, I was born with a terrific sense of direction. It essentially never lets me down.
My first rapid-fire series of thoughts were: I must have misjudged the distance… it must just be a little farther… or perhaps I overshot the location… there are no footprints here in the soft sand at the edge of the river… no signs of us beaching and dragging the canoe to higher ground…
We looked at one another with, not exactly alarm, but, something more like mild surprise, mixed with curiosity. Patient wonder, perhaps. The unspoken question flashed between our eyes instantly—
Now what?
Lorna smiled softly with a slight furrow of her brow and a gentle tilting of her head, as if to say: naughty boy, what have you done now… or perhaps… naughty canoe, where have you gone to…?
Hmmm. I may have ventured.
Hmmm. She may have quietly responded.
Immediately. And with calm assurance, I climbed to the highest point I could find and looked back up the river from where we had paddled. And
then, down the river in the direction of the mouth from where we had just walked. I could see a fair distance upriver, as there were no major bends for quite a ways. Perhaps five hundred yards? And I could see almost as far toward the mouth as well.
But, I could see no signs of the great white canoe. And, as large and bright as that canoe was… It should have shown up easily…
But. For one thing.
In the time we had wandered; then, sat and rested, and become deeply enmeshed in conversation. A light wind had risen up. And with it a slight, but thickening fog had begun to push inward from the ocean. In fact, it had been the changing atmospheric conditions which had finally drawn us out of the fine net of conversation, and sent us upon our return journey to find the canoe.
As I stood upon a softly shifting, sandy peak of dune grass, at the vanishing edge of a silently flowing river, gazing up river and down river, with slowly rising heartbeat—
The world gradually went white.
It was at this point in our afternoon expedition that I approached Lorna with the empirical supposition that “our canoe” must have indeed carried on without us.
Do you think someone took it? Lorna pondered aloud.
Of course, there was the remote possibility that someone had stolen “our ride”… “my fine white charger”!
And, Humboldt County, of course… being what it is… one of those kinds of “wild western” outlaw settings where horse rustling is not unlikely?
Possibly. But no. I surmised. I don’t think it was stolen…
What I think happened was this:
1. During the time we were absent, the tide poured into the river mouth.
1. During the time we were absent, the tide poured into the river mouth.
2. The river rose considerably higher than I calculated, when I pulled the canoe up to what I thought was a safe location, upon the river bank.
3. The river water level reached high enough to dislodge the canoe from its resting place.
4. The tide was moving quickly inward at that point and so the canoe began moving swiftly upriver.
5. The wind began to pick up from the usual prevailing northwesterly direction, as it does most afternoons here, further propelling the light, large, wind grabbing vessel in the most likely direction… upriver.
3. The river water level reached high enough to dislodge the canoe from its resting place.
4. The tide was moving quickly inward at that point and so the canoe began moving swiftly upriver.
5. The wind began to pick up from the usual prevailing northwesterly direction, as it does most afternoons here, further propelling the light, large, wind grabbing vessel in the most likely direction… upriver.
Therefore. I conclude that the great white canoe, with all of our stuff. Including our hiking boots!! Has embarked upon an inward, upriver adventure without us.
Nice work, Sherlock. Lorna grinned on the verge of laughter.
Uh, yes… I took a slight bow.
So I suppose we start walking? We both agreed simultaneously in amused silence.
Just so. The second leg… Or, is it the ever-awkward third leg?!
Our overland journey began—
We walked calmly upriver.
Peering through fog drifts.
There were no hopeful signs of a brighter whiteness.
Peering through fog drifts.
There were no hopeful signs of a brighter whiteness.
Within a mottled shroud grey.
Great whales appeared to weave themselves.
Miraculously.
Upon a silent loom.
Of fading day.
Great whales appeared to weave themselves.
Miraculously.
Upon a silent loom.
Of fading day.
We walked calmly upriver.
In deep’ning glimmers of reverie.
In deep’ning glimmers of reverie.
The brightness of a whiter whale we longed for.
Lost to all the world.
Nowhere to be found.
Each alone.
And yet together.
Nowhere to be found.
Each alone.
And yet together.
We walked calmly upriver.
Away from the roaring river jaws.
Our firm backs to the sea.
Away from the roaring river jaws.
Our firm backs to the sea.
Well. You’re getting the picture… almost?
We trudged on barefooted for hours. Keeping as close as we could to the banks of the river in hope of finding the missing canoe. We were perhaps three miles distance from the car, which we had parked around noon, near the public boat launch, on the Arcata side of the Mad, from whence we had embarked upon this afternoon pilgrimage to the “Holy Land”.
We crawled all-fours through thick stands of snarling pussy willows.
We crept betwixt alder light-and-shadow thickets.
We slipped and slid along pesky mudflats.
Barefooted we were.
Lightly attired.
For better and worse.
We crept betwixt alder light-and-shadow thickets.
We slipped and slid along pesky mudflats.
Barefooted we were.
Lightly attired.
For better and worse.
The day eventually brightened. With tired calves and sore feet, we reached the boat launch. Finally.
We both appeared undaunted. Unscathed. And in good moods.
Lorna had certainly passed the test. If this was one? That is to say. If she really was... caught in the violent grips of terminal cancer after all—
She certainly had fighting spirit!
Physical endurance. Mental focus and determination. Fundamental grit. And a great sense of humor! Not to mention… saintly patience.
All of these personal traits can be highly useful around me. Even without advanced cancer.
Especially when I invite you upon… the eternal quest for enlightenment.
Anyway. We were standing at the cement boat launch peering across the river one last time. Wondering whatever became of—
The great white whale…
When all of a sudden, I said, Look!! Do you see that?!
There!! Through the trees across the river. Up high. There it is again!!
Yes! she exclaimed. I saw it!!
Didn’t that look like the canoe to you?! It appeared to be traveling in the rear of a white pickup truck!!
Yes, she agreed, with excitement equal to my own.
Well, I’ll be damned… I muttered.
Let’s go!! she said urgently. I know where that is!!
Ok, I agreed. And we hopped into my Mercedes wagon.
Apparently, the unmistakable, long white canoe was making its getaway in the rear of a white pickup truck… heading down School Street toward the 101… on the opposite… Mckinleyville side of the river.
We headed onto the 101N in a rush of adrenalin. Crossed over the Mad River bridge to Mckinleyville. Caught the School Street exit and turned left back over the 101 heading west toward the ocean and river.
Lorna was indeed familiar with this area. She took us directly to Roger’s Market on the corner of School Street and…? I was unfamiliar with the area. We scrambled straightaway into the tiny, country convenience store, up to the front checkout counter, and asked the store keeper, breathlessly
Did you see a big white fiberglass canoe in the back of a white pickup truck go by about fifteen minutes ago?!
Yes, I did, the calm store keeper said.
Wow!! We were both thrilled.
Do you have any idea who it might have been? Or where they were going? We both asked anxiously.
Yes, the calm store keeper said.
Oh boy! Oh boy! We were excited! This was almost too good to be true.
Uuuuhhh. We were about to ask the next question… when.
The store keeper held up one hand in a gesture which implied—
Hold on a second.
And then, with his other hand, passed me a cordless telephone.
I put the phone to my ear. A calm voice said:
What color is the canoe?
I said, WHITE!! IT’S A SEVENTEEN-FOOT WHITE STANDARD WENONAH FIBERGLASS CANOE WITH WOODEN TRIM!! AND IT HAS TWO PADDLES, TWO PERSONAL FLOATATION DEVICES, TWO PAIRS OF SHOES
Yes. Yes. The calm voice interrupted me. That is correct. A woman who lives on the Mad River saw the canoe at the base of the bluff in her yard. She became concerned that someone may have drowned. This happens quite often. Missing boats, that is. And she called us,— the Arcata/Mckinleyville Police Department. We found the canoe, dragged it up out of the river. And we’ve taken it to…
Such and such a storage yard in such and such place Arcata. Write that down. Thanks!!
Right. We were back on our way in no time! Back over the Mad River bridge heading south. Back to the Arcata side of the river where all of this began… more or less. We followed the scribbled directions to the place where lost stuff gets put. To the city tow yard. And
Lo and behold!! There was the white whale!!
(Or… “thar she blows!”… as any healthy-lunged seaman is want to say when he spots the elusive object of his heart’s desires).
We were both giddy with relief. As one may well imagine. We collected our lost stuff with joy. Put on our badly missed shoes. Heaved the whale onto the roof of the old diesel workhorse. And then Lorna said
How would you like some poached salmon? I think we’ve both worked up a good appetite by now. What do you say?
Salmon!? Salmon!? I blurted. Nothing could be more enticing right now than a nice thick, juicy hunk of poached salmon!! Dang girl. Now you’re talking my river language!!
Hahaha!! We both laughed.
Funny thing is. We had met at the river at noon. We had both brought our own cars. So we had to return once more to the boat launch on the Arcata side of the river. Collect her Toyota Yaris and…
It turned out that. She lived in an apartment right behind Roger’s Market!
That’s right. Directly behind the little country convenience store where we had seen the dastardly canoe making its getaway.
Anyway. She not only whipped up a wonderful poached salmon. She also boiled up some nice new potatoes. Irish-style. “Al dente cooked, then cover them with an Irish linen dish cloth and wait 5-10 minutes”. And. By the grace of Bacchus!! She produced a decent chardonnay to go with!!
This lady was a keeper!!
I was. We both were, in well-earned protein heaven!
And. There was one more thing I didn’t mention.
When we were at the lost, stolen, confiscated, towed, dragged… and found!… pirate’s booty storage yard. Before the kindly policeman released our naughty property to us. He had me repeat aloud to him a solemn declaration of precisely what was left in the canoe. I went down the list by heart as he nodded…
And he said, Ok. Sounds like it’s all yours alright. Leading me over to the canoe.
When I looked into the canoe with him. Just as he was departing… I shouted. Hold on a minute!! And he turned to look at me.
THERE WERE FOUR LARGE ROUND ROCKS IN THE FRONT OF THE CANOE!! WHERE ARE THE ROCKS!?
He shook his head…no way Jose… kind of disgustedly.
We dumped those damn rocks in the river, he said, with expressive finality.
And so. As we ate the heaven-scent, tender… perfectly poached, translucent pink salmon, and downed the sun-filled noble grape juice
I pondered.
So. It took… All of the Five Elements!
The sand, the water, the sun, the wind, the great open outdoors…
ALL OF THE ELEMENTS WORKING IN UNISON!!
Plus the Arcata/Mckinleyville Police Department!!
To finally get rid of those damn rocks!!
Allah be praised.
Halleluia, brethren.
And so it is written… upon water.
Peace.
Shalom.
Amen.
Namaste.
. . . . . . . . … . . .
We skipped a light fandango
Turned cartwheels 'cross the floor
I was feeling kinda seasick
The crowd called out for more
The room was humming harder
As the ceiling flew away
When we called out for another drink
The waiter brought a tray
And so it was that later
As the (healer) told his tale
That her face, at first just ghostly
Turned a whiter shade of pale
Procol Harum
