The pack launches for its seemingly suicidal traversal of the river. Immediately, Tatonka asks an early-teen boy from another party on the river: "How old are you?" Upon hearing the answer, he sighs: "Oh [deflated] ... I thought maybe you were 18."
...And we're off, folks!
Dragging Ass in 60-Degree Water Stenson paddles furiously -- yes, I am aware that it strains credibility to describe a Homo thundrian stensoni as doing any physical activity "furiously," and maybe it was the Tecate, but that is what I saw. Meanwhile, his mate Woodcutter meditates at the front of their ship like a communist Buddha. Tatonka, not content to be dragged by the fates and trade winds, pulls himself taut so he can straddle the Good Ship Stenson like a dancer at the local Call of the Wild.
The Pack soon encounters its first turn, or "rapid," of the day, and immediately my fears for this party are reaffirmed. Not one, but two, of the lead ships capsize, taking two of the three rookies with them. The Doctor loses his glasses -- "No worry, I suture by taste, anyway" -- and despite holding a death grip on the horizontal branches, Sloppy Rob is dunked by his partner The Greater, who tipped their vessel in a fit of flea-scratching. The Govna sagely assesses these accidents as "sacrifices to the river gods, which will ensure safe passage for all." But the loose, non-revenue-raising nature of this Pack's unorganized religion leaves me suspicious of his explanation. And, of course, the already drunken Dominik was clearly fumbling for his Bloody Mary when he sent The Doctor into the drink, sans glasses.
Liquid Break #7 Progress is slow. The Pack makes frequent pit stops related to beer input, and output. Sometimes they stop to cool off in the water. Or in Tatonka's case, to thaw his ass on the sunbaked rocks.
But as the Pack makes one stop to consume greasy, congealed fried chicken, it occurs to me that one pairing, Fisherman Mike and K-Feld, rarely make these stops. Most importantly, this is the pairing that is allegedly to provide "dinner" that night -- assuming the safe passage that The Govna prophecied.
So in accordance with the prophecies, where is that pair, anyway...?
The Deadliest Catch Ah. Of course: hard at work, away from the noise, catching the "40 fish" Fisherman Mike advertised for that evening's meal.
And what's this? Five miles into our trek, K-Feld remarks, "That's the Loading Zone where we put in last year."
Now last year's migration, which did not include a shady fisherman nor a Tatonka Tow, was apparently 14 miles. Is it really possible that 5 more miles have been added to this year's float by the Cruise Director -- unbeknownst to the rest of these slothful beasts? My confidence wanes with each passing hour.
'The Fish I Almost Caught was THIS Big...' Lies, damn lies, and statistics. As the day wears on, I start to get hungry and begin to doubt not only our chances of safe passage, but also our chances of eating once arriving at camp.
Though the fisherman largely keep to themselves -- "so as not to disturb the fish with the rest of the group" -- I am alarmed by their down faces and apparently empty stores. Suddenly the brash outdoorsman Fisherman Mike -- who, it must be noted, has wowed the group with tales of great hauls and predictions of a feast rivaling Jesus' sermon on the mount -- has begun to make pre-excuses about the possibility of not delivering any fish at all.
"I've never seen 'em refuse to bite like this," he says with enticing double entendre. I only hope he's talking about the chiggers.
A Hoagland Conspiracy?
Alas, the rest of the Pack are blissfully unaware of the Fisherman and K-Fed's follies. In happier times, two even pause for an artfully posed beefcake shot taken by White Noise. In this piece (above left), The Govna and The Greater are seen possibly plotting political backroom dealings, such as the entrance of a straw-man candidate known as "Schottzie" into the next Captain's race. Such strategery makes me think that maybe I have misinterpreted the purpose of this migration after all, and it's actually a relaxing retreat where world resource domination is discussed -- as harmless as Bohemian Grove or the Aspen Institute.
The Day's Catch Or maybe not. My original fears are confirmed: These foolish savages couldn't shoot fish in a barrel! After 10 hours and 19 miles, who-knows-how many casts and how many stories about outdoorsman conquests, they return to camp with nothing. Nothing!
Thundrians Pause, the Gods Chortle "Surely just a couple miles to go."
Naturally, to make matters worse, the skies open with rain. The river gods are taunting these ill-equipped homo "thundrians" with a taste of real thunder. Some in the Pack miraculously have rain gear to keep themselves dry...
Monk Anti-Rain Dance: Woodcutter Meditation
...While others, particularly the monk Woodcutter, prefer to meditate the clouds away.
"If control of the means of production were somehow shared among the proletariat..."
Leader in Crisis: The Govna Alone with His Thoughts
Whenever I raised fears about my survival during the pre-briefings for this backwoods adventure, my bosses always assured me of one thing: When things get bad, stick by the wise one, The Govna, and he will ensure your safety.
Well, here I am trusting The Govna and his charges, yet as the rain continues, I'm struck by a sight I never thought I would see from a man of some social standing: The Govna has left the rest of the Pack to be alone and consult with his "bat wings." While I had heard rumors that these thundrians sometimes talk to their reproductive organs in times of duress, it's frankly something I never expected to catch a man of The Govna's political prestige stooping to.
Yet, perhaps this is a sign of how dire the conditions have become: The Govna is talking to his thing; K-Feld and Fisherman Mike catch one, measly minnow that our high-resolution camera could not even capture; the Woodcutter is meditating on the next Five-Year Plan; Tatonka is courting little boys again, under the mistaken impression that his restraining orders don't apply in southern Missouri; The only Doctor is blind and guided by a drunken, cross-eyed driver; Stenson is huffing and puffing hauling Tatonka's freezing carcass; White Noise is emitting enough gas to power the outboard engine Fisherman Mike is legally barred from using; Sloppy Rob is trying to keep his driver, The Greater, from reaching beer number quince; G is fighting off the urge to vomit in his ship; and Decoy, the Eagle Scout, is telling the rest of the Pack that their chances of survival are "50/50," which in Decoy speak means, "We're all dead."
But miracle of miracles, the Pack did survive. In the wee hours of the darkest twilight, they reached base camp and were spared "the Deliverance treatment" by the backwoodsmen who picked them up off the river. Fisherman Mike even pulled a Jesus-worthy miracle by producing enough fish and "knuckle sauce" to heartily feed the whole group -- all from the one four-inch fish he and K-Feld wrestled out of the water with their bare hands. On the way home, "the best ice cream in Missouri" (Warning: may contain Mike hyperbole) was consumed by those of a suitable lactose tolerance. Against all odds, this migration of ogres went off successfully after all.
And without even one daredevil fight over a Modello.
Comments (1) for "Part II: The River"
It has taken me a couple of days to get to the recap (I've been busy talking to my thing), but it was well worth the wait - classic! Great job working with less raw material than last year - I think the fact that K-Feld was gone fishin' all day Saturday combined with the lack of funghi took away from the admittedly difficult-to-match levels of hilarity from 2006. Thanks for taking the time to ensure that this year's events have been recorded for posterity.
As you may have noticed, the site has changed. Sampa, the free-site host, did a version 2 of some sort.
Despite an FAQ that made it sound like allowing one's site to go through v.2 surgery would be okay, there were several flexibilities that surprisingly disappeared with the click of a button. (e.g. I cannot believe sidebars like this one are even narrower than before.)
And I'm told -- miraculously! -- that the conversion cannot be undone. Truth be told, I'm actually quite pissed. But free is free. Sampa has otherwise been good to me.
So I need to sort through site "features" to see how I can make do. Except that I don't have the time at the moment, in the middle of graduate classes and Lighthousehockey.com. (btw, I've removed that Lighthouse RSS feed so that you're not clogged with random Islanders hockey gibberish).
But I promise to touch up the accessories when I get a chance, and return to irregularly scheduled blogging.
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Comments (1) for "Part II: The River"