[Paddlewise] Paddlers helping others

I had the following happen on a 3-day early Spring trip on the Delaware, in
that section designated as a National Wild and Scenic River, the last three
days in April a few years ago. It was a dreamy trip in extreme slow motion.
My buddy Alan in his Chinook, I in his found-abandoned-and-rehabilitated
30+-year-old aluminum Aeorcraft, a Vietnam-era canoe with faded stars on
the port side and stripes on the starbord. By the peeling PA Fish Commision
decals we assume the boat had done this trip more times than we'd had hot
meals.



<snip>We drifted down through the curve that separates Matamoras, PA and
Port
Jervis on the N.Y. side, then at the turn N.J. is across the river, the
High Point obelisk monument above us. There began the shoreline we'd see
for the next three days, mostly farm fields, one old road on each side,
the occasional house, a boat landing, untouched woods.
 
 Soon the first islands came up, and with them the many fisherman in
their little flat-bottomed boats or wading from the shore. They were out
in numbers, as a matter of fact I hit shad festival traffic on the 
way up there from Washington's Crossing north, thousands of people in
the New Hope-Lambertville as well as Easton, PA in full-tilt shad mania.
We'd pass
them, mostly silently, all along the way.
 
 I was happy to be in the canoe, giving my muscles a chance to get
acquainted again with the motions of the strokes, while my brain drained
of everything except how to do them in the proper way. There was plenty
of room, as the Delaware here is as wide as a six-lane highway, and we were
the 
only paddlers out, being so early in the season. Rapids in this
stretch of river were only class I or I+, which is like driving over a
railroad track, no worry at all, especially in the weighty '65 Eldorado I
was in with all of the camping gear, I felt like nothing could do me any
harm.
There wasn't much to think about, just where we were and what was around
us.

After an hour or so we had become separated, Alan falling back in the
kayak to drift and explore, as would be his pattern. I reached the tiny
town of Milford, PA, fishermen everywhere in their little boats.  Just as
I approached the ramp, I was in the middle of the river, I saw two old
gents standing on either side of a trailered boat being backed down by a
little Chevy pickup truck. Suddenly it lurched and was buried in water to 
 the wheel wells, the boat shot backwards and floated towards me. I
thought it was cabled to a winch, as I'd expected, but the two old guys
stood there with their arms outstretched and quizzical expressions as
their boat drifted towards me and caught the current. The driver popped
his head out, he must've been ten years older than his pals, and said
through
 uncertain dentures, "Hey, I thought you fellas had the boat !".
 
 I laughed so hard, told them that was elegant, turned around, as none of
their fellow fishermen were even stirring to help, paddled over to catch
the bowline, lashed it to the thwart next to me and brought it in back in
to them, saying, "Now, the law of the river is 'finder's keepers', right
? I've always wanted one of these...Either that or a helluva towing
charge...". The elder driver climbed aboard frowning, instead of thanking
me said, "Hey, look at all this water back here !", at which we all laughed
even harder.
Then he did thank me, said I should come have dinner with them, as it was
venison. I told him they were talking to the wrong guy as I'm a vegetarian
and 
went on my way.    <snip>

The trip was also, at the end of the third day, capped off by one of those
incredibly stupid and funny moments that nobody saw, saving embarassment
for me, but that's a story for another topic and another day.


Happy paddling,


~~Paul H., Burlington, N.J.
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