RIVEr

I was beginning to forget this was work. I had the sneaking suspicion I was stealing people’s money. That I had somehow cheated the system to be able to do what I do. And for the first one hour and forty-five minutes of our two-hour river tour today, with Tom and Tammy from West Virginia—a damn cool couple just back from a trip to Greece—everything was pretty damn perfect. We took the falling tide down Cow House Creek as egrets and osprey took flight. We returned to the river and then up the side creek that I call Little Gator Creek, where sure enough little gators swam. Yellow-crowned night herons stalked the mud flats, too, and a six-foot alligator was sunbathing on the banks as we rounded into White Creek. Tammy and Tom and I talked of travel and family and kayaking—the conversation flowing freely on the open water—but I was beginning to worry about the water levels in the canal. Would we have enough water to make it through?
 
Long story short: we did not. I had checked the tide charts but had neglected to account for the drought. We didn’t have enough water in the canal to ensure free and easy passage, even though the tidal range was, well, supposedly within my range. I had to get out. I had to heave. I had to ho. I had to crawl on my belly in the mud like an alligator. I had to push. I had to pull. I sank up to my thighs with every step. So much for the gym this afternoon. By the time I got them into enough water where they could push-pole the rest of the way, I was panting like a pup.  
 
Thankfully, they were cool and understanding and patient. We agreed it was a pretty good story to tell. Which is all I’m ever after anyways. And even though today’s tour turned into work, and I’m plumb wore out, and it’ll take two washes the get the mud off my clothes and gear, I wouldn’t trade this job for any job in the world. 
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