I dreamed I was working on the river last night. I was spinning my sidewinder through the cold water breaking up a boom and chasing down loose logs outside of the booming grounds as they sped downstream where a violent waterfall waited. Even as I was dreaming I understood this dream was about my own mortality. The death of Ron Lancaster has got me thinking more about my own end more than any of the early deaths of people roughly my own age.
I am not joining any of those motherfuckers soon.
Many of the characters I met during my time on the river were there. The one-eyed man selling salmon from his stinking boat. "I'll give you a deal if you buys a couple." The tugboat skipper with his cup of sick, strong coffee. "How are you Beer, you dirty cocksucker?" The one-armed man with the cigarette hanging out of his bitter face and a bottle of whisky in his remaining hand muttering, "You sons of whores." And on the river's distant bank a singing woman on her back porch hanging clothes on a line. She sounded a lot like Anne Murray.
3 comments:
As an aside.. is a sidewinder one of those tiny boats with the prop in the center on a rotating shaft? I took an insanely fun, wildly drunk spin (literally) on one of those late one summer night in about '92 thanks to an insane, drunk log dude from the pub. After a Pittsburg/Chicago game in the final. Burgoyne Bay. A highlight reel memory for me... although the memory is somewhat spotty.
That is a sidewinder alright. I have had a few wildly drunken spins on sidewinders myself. The log sort is still active in Burgoyne Bay I believe but I could be mistaken about that - all the closures in the forest industry have been difficult to keep up with. Hope you did not do anything on that sidewinder I would not do.
Jesus, I miss some of those old timers. It is a mixed consolation to know that I am some kid's old timer.
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