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Trolling for beer & paddling stories Author: mccrea (Mike McCrea)
Date: 1999/05/28
Forum: rec.boats.paddle


I had sent this to Jeepyak when we were sharing stories via e-mail, but thought I'd post it here to troll for beer & paddling tales...

My favorite "beer & paddling" story:

Last Call

In the midst of my radical paddlin' sabbatical I had canoed up into the Grand Canyon from Pearce Ferry. (A great way to enjoy the splendor and solitude of the canyon without spending thousands of dollars or waiting on a damn government list for decades) At one point a rafting party came downriver and, surprised to see a solo canoe in the canyon, engaged me in conversation.

They asked how long I was planning on staying and I told them that "In a place like this it seems inappropriate to think of time in anything less than a season" (stealing a line from something I was reading at the time) "...so I'll probably stay 'till my food runs out". And they then proceeded to shower me with all of their remaining victuals.

Having said that, I wasn't going to go back on my word, so I stayed several extra days, eating their food and rationing my few remaining beers. When I was down to three beers I was sitting in a campsite, writing in my journal with my dwindling supply of hoppy nectar submerged in the river. At one point I looked up and saw an "empty" can floating past in mid-river. "Jeez, some people", I thought "...who would litter in a place like this...". A few minutes later I look up to see another can float by "...Pigs...Slobs...Cretins..." I think. Minutes late another can lodges in an eddy in front of me and I amble down to pick up the *litter*.

Yup! Full! It took me that long to figure out that they were MY beers, having floated free from the mesh bag (I had neglected to cinch down the barrel clamp). My last 3, rationed, hoarded, precious, river chilled beers.

ARRRRGGGGHHHH! I jump in the canoe and race downriver, scanning the banks and eddies. They're gone. Gone, never to be found again.

That evening I ate hugely, managing to finish off all of the remaining provisions from my raft benefactors, savored my last beer, and paddled back downriver to Pearce Ferry that night, under a full moon, confident that the bars in Vegas never close.

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