Читать книгу Canoeing with Jose онлайн

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I passed out in the back seat of the van for a couple hours, then awoke to the sound of Kocher slamming open the van’s side door, nearly scalping me. He yanked the Duluth packs past my face and onto the grass. “Time to get up,” he commanded. “I gotta get home to the dogs, and I got a ton of work around the house before I go back to work.” I could tell Kocher was feeling bad about leaving us, and perhaps a bit envious.

I managed to slow him down somewhat. We ate breakfast in Fargo, then drove to a sporting goods store to score a new rain jacket for me.

Upon returning to the campground, Kocher remained in the van. He refused to snap photos and declined to help carry gear to the river’s edge. He didn’t even wave farewell after we loaded the canoe. He simply drove off before we paddled away.

The canoe was strikingly lighter without Kocher, but it would take some time for us to get used to the new balance. José rode high in the bow, and had to reach to get his paddle in the water.

It took two hours to paddle five miles into a warm wet headwind. When we reached Fargo North Dam, we portaged around the low-head, stepping precariously across a field of white retaining stones that slipped like basketballs beneath our boots. José carried a pack and the paddles. I carried the canoe overhead, the yoke burrowing into my shoulders.