One
A light mist was gathered over the river, causing the willows which
overhung the opposite bank to appear ghostlike. Above it, the sky was watery
blue as the sun, not yet risen above the rolling hills, brightened the eastern
horizon. A bittern boomed into the stillness of the morning and for the first
time in as long as I could remember, I smiled.
The bank was steep but not high and I pointed the canoe out over it, so
it hung in the air before pivoting nose first into the water while I tried to
steady it from the back. The canoe slid down in amongst the reeds, which were gently
swaying in the current. I used the bright yellow, nylon painter to tie the
canoe to a branch while I scrabbled back and forth up and down the muddy bank,
loading it with all my gear for the week. Most of my things were already
packed into two bright blue plastic barrels, each fitted with a screw-top lid
to keep them water-tight. The tent, sleeping bag and all my other camping
supplies were stowed in a bigger drum. All three had been acquired from the
back of takeaway restaurants and one of them had originally contained capers,
which left a lingering vinegary smell no matter how many times I’d scrubbed it
out.
My battered, blue Ford Fiesta was parked in a layby just on the other
side of the field and before embarking on my journey I trudged back over to it
and without opening the doors, cupped my hands to peer inside, checking nothing
obvious had been left behind or on display for thieves. For the final time, I crossed
the field to the river and slipped my keys into the dry-bag I’d left on the
bank, along with my wallet and phone. They were all things I wouldn’t be
needing for a while.
I leaned out over the water’s edge and swung the dry bag into the canoe
behind my seat, before untying the rope from the tree and pondering how I’d get
in without wetting my feet. The only way I could see was to take one big
stride and hope the canoe didn’t slide away and dump me comically into the
river.
Planting one foot as close to the middle of the boat as possible, I
balanced as best I could before swinging the other leg in after it. The canoe
rocked violently, but quickly settled as I planted both hands firmly on the
gunwales and dropped to my knees, shuffling my backside onto the webbing seat
with my legs tucked underneath it.
The mist lent an ethereal stillness to the morning; nothing stirred until
I lazily dipped the paddle. There is no sound more beautiful than the paddle entering
the water on such a morning. Almost silent, it slips into the river followed
by a faint gurgling as it breaks surface again; a soft flurry of dripping as water
slides from the blade. Somewhere nearby a fish jumped; a dull thud and splash,
a much louder noise than I was making, but no less pleasing to the ear.
Within two strokes I was in the middle of the river and turning the
canoe to point downstream. The flow was strong, yet gentle, and carried me along
so all I needed to do was keep the boat pointing in a straight line by means of
an occasional, lazy dip of the paddle. The blue barrels were stowed neatly in
the middle of the canoe, leaving me enough room to stretch my legs out in front
of me if I needed to shift position to make myself comfortable.
From here on in there was no timetable, no deadlines, just me, the
river and any passing wildlife which might happen to glance my way. I chuckled
to myself. Already my face ached from smiling, a sure sign the muscles there
hadn’t been used nearly enough for far too long.
The stretch of river was by no means wide and was crowded on either
side by thick reed beds where bulrushes grew tall. In parts where the current
was slack, lilies grew in great swathes, leaving only a narrow channel, just
wide enough to navigate. White and purple flowers, pastel in the mist, faced
upward to catch the sun in their petal cups.
I took a deep breath. The sun’s rays were already warming the top of
my head, but the
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