March 02, 2005
In my typical fashion, I have to start even before the beginning, just to include some other good stuff...
When I first married my first wife, we lived in a place we unaffectionately called "the Box". It was freezing in the winter, and scorching in the summer. One time while she was out of town, and I was ill, I'd had enough. I found an add for a rental on the Gasconade River. I went and talked to the landlord, and found it very inviting. When my wife returned from her trip, I showed her the S10 Blazer I wanted us to buy, and the house. She agreed with both immediately.
The area was gorgeous. Right outside our bedroom was the river, and we would spend weekend mornings drinking coffee and watching the wildlife. Our landlord had a small fiberglass Coleman boat with a 6 hp outboard. He said we could take it out so Flanders, Elizabeth and I set out one morning to make it to Boiling Spring, which we'd heard had some good fishing...
We pushed upstream with grand plans. We came to the first shoal, and while looking at the rushing water, we were making great headway. When we looked up at the bank, we were losing ground. We had to get out and drag the boat through the shoal. So, we weren't moving fast, but we were having fun. We say a flock of turkeys moving up the bluff that must have been 15 strong, followed by a tom turkey the likes of which you've only seen in the movies.
We kept going, and going, and going.... By 2:00 pm we were still not there, and dangerously low on beer. We pushed a bit further, and asked a passing boat how far we were. He said we were close, but he didn't know how slow our progress was going up stream. Finally we turned around. Never having achieved our goal.
Upon finally returning to the area outside the house. The motor his a stump and stalled. No problem. I'll just restart it. Unfortunately, there was a safety mechanism against inebriation. When I pulled the start cord, the motor dismounted from the boat and fell into the river. Fortunately, the pull start doubled as an engineering feature that Flanders calls "the engine retrieval cord", and we were able to get it mounted again, and make it to the house.
Soon after, a neighbor was selling a boat, and Flanders and I went in on it together. It was wonderful. That first time we tried to make it to Boiling Springs in the Coleman we spent six hours and didn't make it. The first time we took the 20 foot aluminum bass boat out with the 115 hp jet outboard, we made it to the Spring in 20 minutes. Yeah, well. We had fun the first attempt. Fortunately, there are many, many stories involving that boat. Best $5k I ever spent.
One day in late spring, Flanders and I set off up the river. He had come down from Columbia to do some seriousdrinking fishing. As we left, we heard a dog howling, but figured it was a neighbor's. After a great day on the water (who knows if we actually caught anything), we had drifted back down in front of the house. The dog was still whining and howling. While fishing a little, we determined that it was not coming from the side of the river the houses were on, but rather from the bluff.
This particular bluff was very old. It climbed about 400 feet above the water, but over the millennia (some geologists believe the Ozarks are some of the oldest mountains in North America), had crumbled in places to make it scalable. With the sounds of a hurt dog in our ears, we bent to the task of rescue. After a day on the river, our coordination skills were slightly impaired, though. The terrain wasn't much of a help. At one point Flanders pulled himself up by a tree that was... er... life challenged. It came out at the roots and he almost went down the bluff with it. Fortunately, a small tree presented itself for him to grab after a fall of only about ten feet. Note to self: don't use dead trees for leverage.
We continued following the sounds until... they stopped. We were close. By blind luck at this point, we came to an outcropping with a slight shelter under it. Under the rock, huddled and scared was a puppy. Someone had dumped him, and he had fallen a bit down the bluff, and was afraid to move further. We draped a jacket over him, and picked him up, wary of his response to us. He was very grateful. We slipped and slid down the hill with him, until we got to the boat. We docked, and went to the house with our new found friend. He was very happy, and was even accomodating when my comparatively mammoth of a dog decided to sniff his rear. Flanders took him home, and named him Cliffy, given the circumstances of his recovery. He couldn't keep him, but found him a great home. We can only hope that Cliffy is still living with people who care for him...
mountain climber... sort of...
When I first married my first wife, we lived in a place we unaffectionately called "the Box". It was freezing in the winter, and scorching in the summer. One time while she was out of town, and I was ill, I'd had enough. I found an add for a rental on the Gasconade River. I went and talked to the landlord, and found it very inviting. When my wife returned from her trip, I showed her the S10 Blazer I wanted us to buy, and the house. She agreed with both immediately.
The area was gorgeous. Right outside our bedroom was the river, and we would spend weekend mornings drinking coffee and watching the wildlife. Our landlord had a small fiberglass Coleman boat with a 6 hp outboard. He said we could take it out so Flanders, Elizabeth and I set out one morning to make it to Boiling Spring, which we'd heard had some good fishing...
We pushed upstream with grand plans. We came to the first shoal, and while looking at the rushing water, we were making great headway. When we looked up at the bank, we were losing ground. We had to get out and drag the boat through the shoal. So, we weren't moving fast, but we were having fun. We say a flock of turkeys moving up the bluff that must have been 15 strong, followed by a tom turkey the likes of which you've only seen in the movies.
We kept going, and going, and going.... By 2:00 pm we were still not there, and dangerously low on beer. We pushed a bit further, and asked a passing boat how far we were. He said we were close, but he didn't know how slow our progress was going up stream. Finally we turned around. Never having achieved our goal.
Upon finally returning to the area outside the house. The motor his a stump and stalled. No problem. I'll just restart it. Unfortunately, there was a safety mechanism against inebriation. When I pulled the start cord, the motor dismounted from the boat and fell into the river. Fortunately, the pull start doubled as an engineering feature that Flanders calls "the engine retrieval cord", and we were able to get it mounted again, and make it to the house.
Soon after, a neighbor was selling a boat, and Flanders and I went in on it together. It was wonderful. That first time we tried to make it to Boiling Springs in the Coleman we spent six hours and didn't make it. The first time we took the 20 foot aluminum bass boat out with the 115 hp jet outboard, we made it to the Spring in 20 minutes. Yeah, well. We had fun the first attempt. Fortunately, there are many, many stories involving that boat. Best $5k I ever spent.
One day in late spring, Flanders and I set off up the river. He had come down from Columbia to do some serious
This particular bluff was very old. It climbed about 400 feet above the water, but over the millennia (some geologists believe the Ozarks are some of the oldest mountains in North America), had crumbled in places to make it scalable. With the sounds of a hurt dog in our ears, we bent to the task of rescue. After a day on the river, our coordination skills were slightly impaired, though. The terrain wasn't much of a help. At one point Flanders pulled himself up by a tree that was... er... life challenged. It came out at the roots and he almost went down the bluff with it. Fortunately, a small tree presented itself for him to grab after a fall of only about ten feet. Note to self: don't use dead trees for leverage.
We continued following the sounds until... they stopped. We were close. By blind luck at this point, we came to an outcropping with a slight shelter under it. Under the rock, huddled and scared was a puppy. Someone had dumped him, and he had fallen a bit down the bluff, and was afraid to move further. We draped a jacket over him, and picked him up, wary of his response to us. He was very grateful. We slipped and slid down the hill with him, until we got to the boat. We docked, and went to the house with our new found friend. He was very happy, and was even accomodating when my comparatively mammoth of a dog decided to sniff his rear. Flanders took him home, and named him Cliffy, given the circumstances of his recovery. He couldn't keep him, but found him a great home. We can only hope that Cliffy is still living with people who care for him...
mountain climber... sort of...