River of Memories

Tom Matchett walked over to them, saying, “We’re startin’ down river, lads, get yer gear.”   The white-water crew threw their peaveys into the skiff, jumped in, poled away from the shore, and started down river.  Within a half hour they spotted rapids. 

“Pull in just above the rapids, ordered Tom, “looks loike logs are already tanglin’ up around those boulders.”  He pointed to a narrow opening in the water.  “See that small sluiceway on the left side of the jam?  Get around her quick before she clogs up.”  His intense eyes surveyed the scene.  The jam was piling up fast, extending 50 yards upriver; ties were protruding 30 feet into the air.  Dozens of logs wedged tightly together were twisting, grinding, and chafing from the relentless water pressure.

 “From the look of things, we’re gonna’ have a doozy of a pileup, lads.”  Tom shifted his weight to face the boys, waved his hand, and shouted, “Get the boys ta shore.”  The boatmen quickly maneuvered the skiff ashore; the boys scrambled out.  “O.K., let’s start breakin’ her up,” commanded Tom.

The boatmen started poling the skiff; surging water pummeled the small craft but the boatmen deftly maintained their balance by swaying in rhythmn with the boat’s rocking.  Fighting the current, they edged closer; with one last heave of the skiff, they sidled up beside the jam.

Uncle Mike and Tom immediately leaped from the boat onto the logs.  Teetering, both shifted their feet to get their balance, then nimbly skipped over the logs and started to work.  Positioning their peaveys, the men clamped the hooks into the jammed logs and began loosening them.  Their arm muscles bulged as they strained to dislodge the ties; perspiration dripped from their faces.  With a screeching sound, some logs broke loose, were snatched up by the rapid current and hurled down river.   More were released.  And more.  Time passed.  They worked silently, their keen senses locked into the subtle movement of the logs; their ears attuned to that familiar sound, that roar that would warn them the jam was letting go.

Suddenly, an eerie howl filled the air.

“She’s goin’, Tom!” screamed Uncle Mike.