Gunpowder Redux Re-do
by Mike McCrea
Saturday 8/24, Masemore to Sparks
Masemore at dawn, in a long absent downpour, thimble-sized raindrops splattering the foliage accompanied by the rumble of distant thunder. A solo canoe, a solitary paddler, a river to call one's own. Couldn't be finer.
A nice flow and getting better, as freshets of water cascade down gullies and folds too long dry. The drumbeat of rain on the leafy canopy obscures all other sound and the morning mist curtains the view.
Soundless passage surprises a young doe; standing in the grasses
of a small island, facing downstream, no scent, sound or sight
alerts her until the bow of a canoe slips alongside, mere feet
from her flanks, into her peripheral vision. She bolts, crashing
through the water and brush, only slightly more startled than
her unannounced visitor.
Spinning into an eddy beneath the York road bridge a wave of
water surges forward within the boat. Time for a sheltered smoke
break and bit of bailing. Rain glorious rain.
Off again. Meandering, dawdling, ruddering downstream in a silent
passage, a ghost in the mist. A beaver, seemingly little perturbed,
slips beneath the surface and porpoises with undulating tail
alongside for a moment before bidding adieu.
The dawns early light brings bankside birdlife into view; sodden Turkey vultures, perched sullenly in the rain, indignant Kingfishers, chattering complaints, disreputably attired Great Blue herons, feathers damply askew, and Mallard hens, content to watch warily from the eddies.
A fawn, motionless in faded camouflage, feigns invisibility in the Jewel weed. The rain slackens for a moment and pours down with ferocious intensity. The sound of the river's first plunge is unheard beneath this pluvial onslaught, and remains hidden in the mist ahead until the canoe slices through, clean and straight and without sound.
Another bridge eddy, sheltering beneath the Big Falls road
bridge. Time again to bail and light a pipe. The quarry rapid
emerges and flashes past as the mist clings thicker.
The rain slackens, then ceases and soon only dollops of leafy
drainage plunge from the branches spreading overhead. The mist
begins to lift as the sun flashes though for the first time,
and a sudden breeze shakes loose a shower of diamonds, falling
from the treetops, each drop bouncing slightly from the river's
face before joining the flow.
Another plunge, another bridge and then Little Falls chimes in,
flowing fast, carrying a flood of messages from her free-flowing
children upstream First through Fourth Mine Branches, Owl
Branch, Bee Tree Run. Time now to dawdle, float and rudder quietly
in appreciation.
The boat grumbles onto a cobble bank at Camera Rock Rapid, a few hundred yards above Monkton road. There, on river right, an inverted T of fallen timber beckons and a hidden treasure is cached for some fellow paddler recover.
Even harried Monkton Station passes quietly and without intrusion. The NCR trail appears again and a single bicyclist passes without a glance downward. Happy trails to you too. And the river flows on and on. A riffle, a rapid, a drop and then time enough to linger in an eddy.
The NCR trail looms overheads again and a tandem cycle passes overhead with a wave as peddlers and paddler continue on their respective ways. The Corbett and Glencoe bridges appear and disappear. A final cobble bar calls for a visit, a stretch, and morning swim in the water's bracing chill.
Sparks road, and a beautiful woman waits to shuttle me home as the rest of the world awakes.
Couldn't be finer.
Mike McCrea's hair
can finally be explained by his latest canoe trip through Baltimore.
The Gentlemen's Leonid meteor observation expedition 2/00
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