November 1, 1998

Day After Halloween

Two weeks of a head/chest/throat cold put me down pretty bad, so Sunday's paddle is more an assertion of vitality than an exploration. Vitality yields to exploring, nonetheless.

A couple dozen pickups and boat trailers signal that the duck hunters are in high gear, with maybe one rig from other yakkers. Heading up the Clifton Channel into an eight knot breeze, coffee sloshing inside, it feels good to work the tissues. Why is this yak so tight? Oh, yeah, those ten pounds had to go on somewhere. Maybe if I put on enough weight, I can skip this wetsuit. Grumble, grumble.

Shotguns in the distance, blooping away. Turn left inside Welch, head for the slough passage cutting across the island, pausing in the rushes for food. No eagles. One hawk. Lots of widgeons and teal, all skittering away from me. Mallards jump up, gadwals following. Coots don't care -- they know they taste bad.

No hunters in the slough -- surprise! Up to the other end, opening onto the main stem of the River, turn left to a sandy beach. And, what a beach -- the dredge has added ten vertical feet of spoils here, almost squeezing out a goose blind, sunken into the sand. Wonder if the channel deepening will leave any of these areas alone.

Bagel and cheese, more coffee, rejected Halloween candy. All the important food groups!

Back into the water, upriver a half mile, and down Multnomah (Red) Slough, as the wind drops. Boat at the government float house, generator thumping, hey there! nice bunch of ducks! Yeah, we did OK. My old buddy Tom appears, admires the plywood surfaces of the yak, and we discuss how long a duck should "hang" before the meat is aged properly. These ducks look well-hung, in the metaphorical sense, anyway.

Sliding away from the float and the generator thump, back to the Clifton Channel as now the breeze becomes a tailwind. Swell too small to surf, too big to ignore, as the head begins to clear and the lungs whimper. Where did all these sore muscles come from? Oh, yeah, I forgot -- after fifty, if it doesn't hurt, it doesn't work. A Muehlbergism to remember.

Duck hunters returning to the ramp, two in poke boats, staggering across the channel, canoe paddles working like fury against the quickening current. One is losing this game, and slips into the eddy below the ramp's float. He is panting, but reaches the float only minutes after his partner. No, we did not get any, but we had fun, anyway.

Only six duck hunter rigs remain, but a new green SUV with yak racks is behind me. Wonder if that's Ken? He must have chickened out on the overnight for Halloween. Trick or treaters won't visit these islands! Peel the wetsuit, drink the coffee, back to town. Head and chest are better, mind is much improved. I think I like this stuff.

Happy Halloween, folks!
---
Dave Kruger
Astoria, OR

Copyright 1998 by Dave Kruger.
May not be reproduced or redistributed without author's permission.
Originally posted on Paddlewise mailing list on 11/1/1998.
Republished here with permission.