by Vella Munn
“Is this what you expected?” Harry asked as he joined her beside the pile of belongings that had been unpacked beside the bus at the end of the journey.
For the second time since getting off the bus Michon took the opportunity to take in her surroundings. The barren, harsh desert terrain seemed an unlikely location for a river. Little in the way of plant life grew on the wind-sculptured hills, and what little sage and wild grass had managed to find a toehold was more gray than green, as if lacking in some essential nutrients plants need from the soil. The Service Creek Store they’d passed on their way to the campsite had struck Michon as a quiet, sometimes lonely, way for someone to make a living. She couldn’t help but wonder if the store supplied anyone other than visitors to the John Day River, although Harry had said something about there being a few ranchers in the area. What they could raise or grow Michon had no idea, although she had visions of rangy, wild cattle, and sheep with their coats matted with burrs, managing to stay alive only because their natural food was supplemented with hay by their owners. She wasn’t sure she’d ever want to live in an area this remote, but the contrast to the city atmosphere was like a shot of adrenalin. She lifted her head, drinking in the dry, clean, sage-saturated air.
“I picked up a book on Oregon history,” Michon said. “The flyer was named after a fur trapper and hunter. Apparently he got in trouble with some Indians, who stripped him and his partner of everything, including their clothes. The men almost starved before they were found.” Michon shook her head. “It wouldn’t take a man long to starve around here.”
“I agree. It’s hard to believe that some pioneers actually settled around here isn’t it? But it’s decent range land for those hardy enough to tackle that kind of life. We’ll be able to see some of the cabins the pioneers built while we’re on our trip.”
Excitement tugged at Michon’s senses. She hadn’t thought much about the expedition during the long bus ride, but now that they were actually here she found herself eager to begin. She wasn’t any pioneer or fur trapper, but she felt the need to prove herself to this wild, seemingly lifeless land.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Not beautiful in the usual sense. But there’s something truly magnificent about land that has defied man’s attempt to civilize it. There aren’t enough places like this left,” she said, indicating a barren bluff rising several hundred feet into the air. “I wonder what the first woman thought when she came here. When I think of women who were expected to give birth, raise their children here—” Michon’s voice trailed off as she gave herself up to admiration for a breed of women she thought might now be extinct.
Michon had little time to indulge in thought. Before long Chas’s truck appeared on the narrow, weathered road. He was hauling a trailer filled with canoes and large lumpy bundles wrapped in tarp coverings. For the first time since she’d met him, Chas was wearing sunglasses. His faded T-shirt and cut-offs were the only signs Michon needed to tell her that his truck wasn’t air-conditioned. Michon had never considered a man’s legs to be his best feature, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off the knotted cords of muscle defining Chas’s calves and thighs. The softly curled hairs were light and just thick enough to finish the picture of a mature male. Obviously he kept himself in physical condition for the work he did.
Harry and the boys hurried over to help Chas unload, but Michon held back. Was she ready for this? Now that it was too late to turn back, Michon found herself thinking of her warm, clean apartment, her soft bed, her safe, if boring, relationship with Paul.
What she shared with Chas wasn’t safe. Even if he didn’t want it discussed, she was all too aware of her reactions to him. It wasn’t going to be easy to keep up her end of the guidelines he’d spelled out—a relationship without involvement of the emotions. But it was what he wanted, what he believed in. She had no choice but to try to follow his rules.
“We’ll use tonight to test our skills at setting up and taking down camp,” Harry explained to the assembled group, once the ground near him was covered with the equipment needed by the expedition. “I already know how some of you feel about not being able to bring tents, but as you can guess by the look of the land, it doesn’t rain here very often. It’s going to get cold at night, which is why all of you were told to bring the heaviest sleeping bags you could get your hands on. There will be a certain amount of discomfort because we won’t be using tents, but on the other hand we won’t have to spend time setting them up and taking them down. They take up a lot of room in the canoes that we really can’t justify.”
Several questions were asked about who was going to sit where in what canoes, and then Harry turned the conversation over to Chas to give him the opportunity to explain what they could expect from the John Day. “Some of you may be wondering why we’re going in the spring, since, as Harry pointed out, the nights are pretty cold,” Chas began when he had the teenagers’ attention. “But if we waited until summer the river would be too low. Just before we came out here I called the Northwest Water Resources Data Center. The river’s c.f.s., or cubic feet per second, is measured every day. Currently it’s at twenty-four hundred, which is ideal for a group such as this that doesn’t have many experienced canoeists, since bars and beaches won’t be under.”
“Sounds like a piece of cake,” Roger broke in, flexing his muscles for the benefit of his female admirers.
“Not quite, I’m afraid.” Chas’s voice was serious, but Michon noted a slight tug at the corner of his mouth, as if he were amused by the boy’s reaction. “Harry and I are going to insist on our getting into the water early each day, since the wind comes up almost every afternoon. It usually blows upstream, and a canoe isn’t the same as a drift boat. It isn’t very stable in white water. It’s harder to handle when you’re fighting the wind. I’m not going to allow anyone in a canoe without a life vest on. No exceptions. I’d also suggest you confine your picture taking to when we’re on land or in very calm water. I’ve seen too many cameras wind up in the water because they’re expendable when you’re trying to keep from tipping over.”
“Are we supposed to wear those rubber-soled boots?” Michon asked. “Really, they’re not all that comfortable.”
Chas fastened his eyes on Michon, but because he was still wearing his sunglasses she couldn’t read anything in them. The wind was whipping his hair, lending an air of savagery to his appearance. “I’m sorry you don’t like the boots, Miss Lycan. You may find they’re the best friend you have. No, you don’t have to wear them unless weather conditions warrant it. Tennis shoes will do fine. I hope you brought along more than one pair. I can almost guarantee that the ones you wear in the canoe will not be dry by the end of the day.”
Michon reached into her pocket and pulled out the list Chas had given her. “Of course,” she responded airily. “Your instructions were thorough. If I’ve forgotten anything it’ll be my fault and not some oversight on your part.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Chas said, his mouth twitching again. “All right. One more thing. I’ve arranged with someone at the Service Creek Store to drive the truck and bus to Cottonwood Bridge, our takeout point. I’m afraid this is the last time we’ll be looking at modern transportation until the trip is over. If anyone is having second thoughts, this is the time to tell me.”
Chas’s words made Michon shudder. It wasn’t that she was afraid, just suddenly very conscious of how much she and the others would be dependent on Chas’s skills until they reached Cottonwood Bridge. True, canoeing on the John Day wasn’t the same as trying to stay alive on the Colorado as it tore through the Grand Canyon, but for a woman whose previous biggest adventure had been as a counselor for girl scouts at a camp complete with hot water and flush toilets, the Oregon river was as wild and primitive as anything she could imagine. Only by taking several deep breaths was she able to still the sudden excited pounding of her heart. Some time in every life a chance had to be taken, memories made. This was her opportunity!
Finally the portable stoves used for cooking were in place, the ice chests were in the shade, and two of the girls were getting ready to warm up some chili that had been prepared ahead of time. It seemed a minor miracle to have a camp actually take shape with her help. Thank heavens for some camping experience!
Since by then the sun was hidden behind the mountains, Michon wandered off behind one of the low hills where she had the privacy to change from shorts into jeans and pull a sweat shirt over her head. A few minutes later she walked over to the sandy but rocky beach where Chas and several of the boys were getting the canoes ready to put in the water in the morning. Chas, too, had changed to long pants but was still wearing his well worn T-shirt. He was squatting over a red canoe, running his fingers over its hull. Michon stood behind him, content to watch the play of the wind in his tousled hair until one of the teenagers spotted her. “Which canoe do you want?” he asked.
“Good grief, I don’t know, she admitted. “They all look the same to me.”
Chas straightened and turned to her. If he was aware of the change from shorts to jeans he didn’t show it. “They aren’t,” he said simply.
“I’d like to learn.”
“Would you really? Come here. I’ll give you a quick lesson.” He pointed at a line of canoes resting upside down, their round-, flat-, and V- bottomed hulls exposed. “First, they’re all about the same length. Most of mine run about sixteen feet. Two people and one hundred and fifty pounds of gear fit nicely in a sixteen-foot canoe.”
“Are all of them for two people?” Michon asked, wondering despite herself if she’d be paired with Chas.
“Not necessarily. A lot depends on the canoeist’s skill level. I usually travel solo. After all, there is an odd number of people on this trip.”
“Oh.” Michon felt her mood fall. She hadn’t realized until this moment how much she wanted to spend her days in the same canoe as Chas. “You’ll be alone, then, is that it?”
Chas nodded. “I’ll be heading the expedition. There will be times when I have to scout ahead. I have more mobility if I don’t have to communicate to someone else what I want the canoe to do.”
Chas’s explanation made sense, but because she had scant control over her thoughts where he was concerned, Michon couldn’t keep things to herself. What could she lose by asking? “I’d like to travel with you,” she said softly.
Chas’s eyes reflected the last of the sun’s light as he fastened his eyes on her. “Why?”
Michon’s thoughts tumbled, turning in uncontrollable circles. “I—Chas, please don’t laugh, but I don’t think I can handle a canoe. I don’t think it’s a safe situation for any of the teenagers. It’s been years since I’ve been in one and I don’t remember what it felt like.” She stopped, astonished. She hadn’t known she was going to say the words until she heard them in the crisp wilderness air.
But instead of laughing Chas only came closer and placed a patronizing hand on her shoulder. “I know. Or at least I figured as much. I was planning on giving you a lesson. Look, we’ve got a little time before dinner. What if I give you a quick lesson?”
Michon smiled sheepishly, grateful for the extent of his understanding. “You won’t laugh or make fun of me if I make a fool of myself?” she asked in an effort to lighten the mood. “I’m going to be a klutz. At first.”
“I won’t laugh. However, I might not be above a little blackmail if you’re a total klutz. A little under-the-table payoff, or I’ll tell everyone how you almost drowned us.”
“I haven’t done it yet.” Michon didn’t move. Chas’s hand was still on her shoulder, holding her securely within the force of his presence.
“True.” His hand dropped from her shoulder to her wrist. He held her hand up in the air, studying her fingers. “You’ve gotten rid of the paint on your nails, but they’re still too long. Those fingers of yours don’t look very strong. Believe me, you’re going to have blisters by the end of tomorrow. If I did blackmail you, how much are you worth? I figure I might as well get everything I can out of this.”
Michon couldn’t stifle a laugh. The change from Chas’s previous serious approach to life delighted her. “Don’t get your hopes too high. The best I could offer you are the keys to an unpaid car. I hardly think it’s worth your trouble. I do have a dog but his name is Worthless. That describes his value to everyone except me.”
“There go my dreams of instant wealth.” Chas squeezed her hand briefly before turning to the canoes. “Which color tickles your fancy, milady? If we’re going to risk our lives, we might as well do it in style.”
Michon’s hand was still tingling in reaction to Chas’s squeeze as she pointed at one of two wooden crafts. “That one. I love wood.”
Chas smiled. “That’s the first canoe I ever owned. I’ve tried them all—aluminum, fiberglass, polyethylene—but wood’s still my first choice. They’re resilient. Too bad they’re so expensive that there aren’t many of them being made anymore.”
“That’s your first canoe? It’s held up well,” Michon said as she knelt to run her hand over the smooth wood-grain side. “How long have you had it?”
Chas joined her beside the canoe, his fingers pointing out the small nicks and scratches from a lifetime of use. “I was twelve. Bear took me with him to Washington to see a man who built canoes in his barn. Bear wouldn’t have anything but wood. He said wood is soft and has the ability to absorb sharp blows. Wood requires more maintenance but, well, I’ve always enjoyed doing that.” Without waiting for her to reply, Chas gripped Michon around her waist and brought both of them to their feet. Momentarily they stood pressed together, Michon’s back nestled securely into Chas’s chest. She couldn’t be sure, but for a moment she wondered if Chas had buried his face in her hair.
Shaken, not trusting her reaction to continued contact, Michon pulled away. “I—you learned a great deal from Bear,” she stammered. “The house was only part of it.”
Chas nodded, his eyes soft in the dying light. Michon had to fight the impulse to put her arms around him. His eyes, she was sure, were revealing how much he missed the man who’d taken his father’s place.
“If I’m going to get a lesson we’d better hurry,” Michon said when she could trust herself to speak. “We’re not going to have light much longer.”
“I can show you in the dark just as well. But it’s going to get cold in a hurry. I’d hate to have you get sick before we begin.”
Michon stood back, watching as Chas demonstrated how to carry a canoe to the water by lifting it and rolling it over him until he had the center thwart resting on his shoulders. Once the canoe was in the river with Chas holding it in place, he explained that Michon was to grasp the gunwales on either side, step into the canoe, and lower herself into it with most of her weight on her arms, not her feet.
Michon grinned sheepishly, stepped toward the canoe and took a deep breath. Although the river edge was calm, she had the un
easy feeling that the craft would start rocking any moment. She was really going to do it! “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asked, stalling for time. “My father thought I was never going to learn how to ride a bike.”
“Get in,” was all he said.
Michon followed his instructions religiously, relieved that her weight wasn’t enough to lower the canoe more than a few inches as she dropped to her knees in the bottom of the craft. “Success!” she proclaimed and then caught her breath as Chas swung into the canoe and pushed it toward the middle of the river with a single fluid movement. “What are you doing? Where are we going?” she gasped, grabbing the canoe’s gunwales on either side of her.
“Relax,” Chas ordered as he handed her a maple paddle. “What you’re getting tonight is known as the Carson crash course. Okay, lesson one. We need what’s known as a well-trimmed canoe. That means it should be absolutely level in the water. Now, if you agree that I weigh more than you do, then you will probably agree that I shouldn’t sit as close to the stern as you are to the bow. That’s how we stay balanced.”
Michon turned her head so she could look back at Chas. “Don’t confuse me with this bow and stern business,” she teased, because she still felt unsure about what she’d gotten herself into and needed a light touch. “I’m no ship captain. Can’t you just say front and back?”
“Hey, whose ball park are we playing this game in anyway?” Chas replied, his amused tone belying his stern question. “Stern is back. Bow is front. And that’s the last time I’m going to tell you that, okay?”
“Yes, Captain,” Michon retorted, turning back to the deep shadows of the river they were heading toward. “Chas?” she managed, fear starting to build in her throat. “I can’t see where we’re going.”
“Don’t worry.” His laugh told her that he was all too aware of her mood. “This is a big old river. We aren’t going to hit the far shore. And there aren’t any crocodiles or hippos waiting out in the middle for us either.”