Читать книгу Canoeing with Jose онлайн

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I’d taken some difficult kids out on the water, but I’d never seen anyone show such disdain for Mother Earth. Kocher didn’t have to turn around to see my frustration. Per usual, though, his analysis was sage. “He’s creating his own little urban environment inside those headphones,” he explained. “It’s going to take time. You have to be patient.”

We stopped for the night at a city park in Abercrombie, North Dakota. There wasn’t much to the place beyond grass, an outhouse, a dock, and a lighted gazebo.

The rain returned, but we stayed dry under the gazebo while Kocher prepared a deluxe dinner from ziplocked ingredients. We had pita sandwiches stuffed with thick cuts of mozzarella, sweet heirloom tomatoes, spinach, arugula, fresh-squeezed lemon juice, and mint.

José fished from shore on his own, ignoring my request that he wait to wet his line until we had a fishing license, and disregarding appeals to help set up the tent or assist in preparing the meal. I was increasingly frustrated. When it came to expeditions, I knew only one way to behave, and it was based on an unwritten code I had learned from the trip leaders who first took me into the wilderness: