Down the Paw Paw without My Ma-Ma - Page 2

Down the Paw Paw without My Ma-Ma - Page 2

Wading in the Water

Late in the day, we waiting adults spotted a group of canoers camping on a sandy beach, not far from our vantage point. Wading through the Potomac in chest-high water, I ventured over to ask about our flotilla of scouts. "Sorry," I was told, "we haven't seen them on the river." "How was that possible?" I asked. "They put in the river about one o'clock today." "Mister, we started at 11 am and it took us over five hours, paddling down six miles of river that snakes through five horseshoe bends. With no wind and slow current, they might not arrive until nightfall." Egads! As we later learned, most of the day was spent in a rowdy ride down the river. Head plunging, tube flipping, and getting caught in rapids were all in the day's fun. Some scouts saw bald eagles soaring in the skies. Other lads lost shoes, drifted off from the group and lost sight of Neal, Steve and Pierre, the three adult leaders (one of whom spoke only French). Late in the day, those of us at the 'takeout spot' put Plan B into action. Claude headed back to his car for a flashlight, while Peter and I shouted to a fisherman on the opposite shore. This man agreed to drive up the far side of the river and came back with a report of some kids upstream. "Couple of them are walking with inner tubes thru the woods," he shouted back. It was getting dark as Alex and Alex, the first batch of scouts arrived: two water-soaked lads, shirtless and shivering, one without shoes. Soon after, came a group of outward bound canoers, who had also seen the tubers in disarray. Clearly, 'the tofu was hitting.' The outward bound cohort agreed to look out for the 'river rats', while I walked back, barefoot on the loose gravel path (having lent my tennies to the shoeless Alex). My other adult guides, Peter and Claude, stayed close at hand. The plan was for these two men to drive to the West Virginia side of the river, while I tended to the shivering lads. Back at the parking lot, we met another group of young adults, who called themselves The Delta Patrol. Assessing our plight, they volunteered to walk down to the 'takeout point' and assist with the waterlogged river rats. As they marched off, I asked their adult supervisor, "What is a Delta Patrol?” He explained that they were a weekend workforce from the Maryland Detention Center. Egads! "We've sent the young felons to assist the outward bound boaters to rescue the lost boy scouts." "Tubing...tubing...tubing on the river."