A friend and I
Went on a
63 mile hike down
The Suwannee River
We packed our gear
And
Hitched a ride to a place
On that mighty waterway
Called Big Shoals
Not far from the
Georgia line
North East
Of
White Springs Florida
I tried to make my pack
As light as possible
A few canteens of water
Matches
Light weight food
A raincoat
Because in the dead of winter
Staying dry
When it’s 30 degrees
For hours on end
Could mean
Not getting hyperthermia!
A hatchet
And
A Swiss Army Knife
Topped off my list of
Must-brings
And
Must-brings are everything
When everything
That keeps you alive
Is carried on your back
The one thing I didn’t bring
Was a tent
I knew it would add
Much weight to my hike
I gambled on
Not encountering rain
But that was a gamble
I would soon regret
Dropped off in
The middle of nowhere
A calm
Quickly draped over me
It lay softly on my shoulders
Reassuring me
I was in a far better place
Than the busy streets of the city
No cell phones
No reminders
Of the outside world
Except for the occasional Jet
Dividing the baby blue skyline
With its smoky white trails
That hug there above us
Like stick clouds of cotton
Long after the Jet
Disappeared from sight
That night
The fire was soothing to my cold hands
The soft sand by the river
Was as good as any bed
I had laid in before
At least it felt that way
After a day of nonstop walking
Sometime during the night
I woke to the sound
Of something close by
I shined my light
And
Scanned the river bank
I couldn’t see
What was making the noise
But
I did see
What looked like
A thousand eyes
Staring back at me
It was hundreds of spiders
I had never seen something
So amazing
Their crystal like eyes
Glowed like diamonds
In the beam of my flashlight
I clicked my light off
Hoping
They had somewhere else to be
Than crawling on me in my sleep
The next morning
I saw what was making
The mysterious sound
Raccoon tracks on
Each side of me in the
White sugar sand
It had made its way down
To the river to drink
Exactly where
I was going to do the same!
The water was stained
From
Thick Bottom Cypress
That grows near the river’s edge
Their gnarly roots pierce
The water’s surface
Like dull daggers
Jutting upwards to make
A forest of water stumps!
After filtering the water
I drank
It was bitter but good
We packed up and started
To walk once more
At midday
I saw a man near the trailhead
Dressed in a white robe
His bearded face was dirty
And
Lined with an
Expression of many hardships
Lived in his life
His eyes wore a rugged stare
On his shoulder
Was an aluminum cross
Plenty large enough to crucify
A grown man!
He was dragging it step
By
Agonizing step
The cross’s exterior was dressed
With writing from top to bottom
Scriptures from the bible
Written with
The utmost conviction
Bold lettering that
Screamed from the silent voice
Deep from within!
We passed one another
Never saying a word
Yet
In some way understanding
One another’s plight!
Once
the burning sun
Had fallen from above
And
Disappeared behind the tree line
The day’s walk was over
Bats had awoke for the night
They darted around us
As we made camp
On the edge of a lake
We shared a cold can of spaghetti
Then slept on the ground
We were too tired
To even take off our shoes
About five in the morning
I woke to the sky opening up
Cold raindrops stinging my skin
We grabbed our packs
And
Made our way to an overhang
By now
My friend was running a fever
We were roughly
26 miles from his truck
Which had been dropped off
The week before
We knew if we rented a canoe
We could make it
To his ride by sundown
Then drive
To the nearest town for medicine
Walking up to the canoe outpost
Our faces dropped
With heavy disappointment
When we saw a sign
That read
“Closed for the month of January”
We sat on the porch out of the rain
And
Thought of what to do next
Suddenly an old truck
Spotted with rust
Drove up in front of us
A man stepped from the cab
His skin was burnt brown
From years
Under the hot Florida sun
He was one of the shop owners
After we explained our situation
He was nice enough to rent
An old canoe to us
If we promised to bring it back
We did
And
Off we went down stream
In the drizzling winter rain
Dripping ice water
From the sky
6 hours and 26 miles later
We arrived
Weary and worn out
On the banks of
Suwannee River State Park
After setting up camp
We made our way into town
For medicine
And
A hot meal
The cars and lights
Seemed so foreign
After 8 days
Of
Living off the grid
They blinked and glowed
With
A lush luminous luster
After getting supplies
We
Stopped at a pizza joint
As the waitress took our order
A woman with eyes wide
And
Constantly combing over us
Walked over
And
Handed me a coupon
“You boys need this more than I do!”
I guess we looked homeless
We hadn’t had a bath in a week
And
Had been sleeping
On the wet ground
Sick
Tired
And
Dirty
None of it mattered
For
We were free for eight days
From the constant
Whirlwind of the civilized world
And
Had survived
That shadowy river
Called
The Suwannee
From my book, When The Cedars Shade Your Grave
