Muddy waters

In the afternoon I met Will in Charlottesville for an evening canoe trip down the James River. The river was high and muddy from recent rains to the West, muddying our plans for fishing and fish watching in the usually shallow crystal waters of late summer.

Despite it all I'm happy just to be on the river. It feels good to have space on open water, to feel a current under your feet, and gaze on the textured greens, yellows, and creams of the riverbank trees. The sycamores are my favorites, each one's speckled paper bark and raggedy leaves is like a piece of wild art. Unbelievably, from the murky silt waters Will caught a monstrous fish that nearly broke his line before finally getting away. There is nothing worse than this for a fishermen, and no creature can be as fantastically grand in a fishermen?s mind as the one that got away. We ruminate on this and crack open another beer.

By sunset we arrived to our destination, Scottesville, a tiny country town on the banks of the river. By the time we got the other car and loaded the canoe up it was twilight and the cicadas were droning their night song. Singing a lullaby to the slow muddy river waters tumbling down to the sea.