Emily August

River photo from our trip to Portland.

This weekend we were four miles up-river, short two paddles, and losing daylight fast. We were rescued by a mountain man in star-spangled shorts who told us that if we didn’t get “rowing, and fast”, we would be in big trouble. Let me tell you how this happened.

The trouble started at the registration cabin. There was a girl, probably in high school, who had a very long Polish last name nearly identical to mine, and she took a liking to our group. She was very nice and it seemed like she was doing us a favor when she told us we could go farther than the sign said was advisable, and still make it back on time. “Oh, you won’t get charged anything,” she had said, “As long as you don’t roll up in here around eight p.m. (said with disdain), you’ll be fine!”

It was right around seven p.m. that the mountain man came to our rescue, gliding quickly and silently in his red one-man canoe, aviators and hunting cap firmly in place. He told us we’d be lucky if we got back before nightfall, and that it would take us a LONG time to get back to the beach rental from that point.

He yelled at us, “You have four miles to go. Do you even know where you are?” We didn’t.

We had not realized that rafters ought to have lots more paddles than we’d taken, or that we should have been rowing faster than we were for the first four hours of the trip. We were all a bit bewildered, wondering how this could have happened. I mean, we didn’t stop and get out of the boat very much, certainly not for more than two minutes at time. We assumed it was the girl’s fault back at the registration cabin, and we plotted things we would say if they tried to charge us extra for sending out a rescue helicopter or a fleet of army men in search for our bodies.

We started rowing.

I remember looking at our friends’ faces and wondering if it would get so dark we wouldn’t be able to see each other in the boat, let alone the rocks and bends in the river water. It might have been an exciting venture for some, but I was getting tired of sitting on the rubber seats, barely moving, and wondering when we’d see the elusive “second bridge” that signaled we would be nearing camp.

We got a bit nervous and giggly. The situation was either dire or not that bad, and we really couldn’t tell which. Regardless, with the aid of extra paddles from the mountain man, we got serious about paddling forward in a straight line. Portions of the river were very slow, seemingly still water that took effort to pass through. We held it together quite well, and picked up more speed as it got darker.

At that point, the only rafts and kayaks we were passing were either capsized or punctured… not a good sign, in my opinion. Our arms were aching. We switched seats a few times to try and figure out why we kept spinning in circles once we got our momentum going. The bugs started appearing in larger numbers, biting our legs or buzzing in our ears. The beer cans were empty and floating inside the raft along with discarded flip flops and a soggy bag of BBQ potato chips. We rowed and rowed and rowed, but things really didn’t look good.

Suddenly we saw another party with the rafting company slogan across the side. The kids were up on the cliffs, jumping daringly into the river below. The parents were yelling that they’d have to make their last jump, since it was getting dark. They seemed to know what they were doing, and Rory mentioned that after the jumping site came the second bridge and eventually the place we had parked our car.

We had made it. I felt like we were superheroes. In fact, when we got back our car was among about twenty others still parked at the beach. (Now that I think about it, many of the cars could have belonged to staff members, but that doesn’t matter now.) Other rafters and kayakers were rounding the bend and would make it in later than us. The crew said nothing about our being apparently extremely late, and we shuffled to the car in a daze, soaking wet and oily from bug spray and sun tan lotion.

I fell asleep in the car while Rory and Dan debated our late dinner on the drive back.

I am still tired, my palms bruised and forearms sore, but I feel pretty great. It was nice to go out and do something physical, surrounded by nature, and in the company of fellow city dwellers; drinking cheap beer out of oversized cans, and not caring where we were until we were yelled at by a grizzly adult wearing patriotic swimming trunks and speaking with an affected backwoods accent.

Who can ask for anything more?

Last night we sat in Van Vorst Park with a dozen or so other Jersey City residents and watched The Red Violin on a big screen set up just behind the gazebo. It was unseasonably chilly and damp, so I was glad we had each worn our sweatshirts.

There was a clown with a popcorn machine, handing out warm yellow popcorn in small, brightly-colored paper sacks. We sat on one of the benches and I watched the clown’s boy apprentice with the red hat, filling the paper sacks proudly, like an old pro.

Black plastic garbage bags were fitted over the streetlights scattered throughout the park, to block out the light. They reminded me of balloons or some kind of student art project about the elegance of light diffusion.

Our bench afforded us a good view. Others had brought folding chairs from home. Dogs and their owners filtered in and out of the dog run while urban kids rolled up on bikes tricked out with pegs, not sticking around to see the sex scenes, the violence, the human drama drawn out over a period of three hundred years.

A few dogs barked during the film. Kids played on the swingsets long past their bedtimes, while their parents enjoyed a few adult themes on the big screen. In fact, there were more than a few times that I had to glance at Rory with my eyebrows raised.

Overall a good film, though not one I would have chosen if we hadn’t just happened to be walking back from a dinner date when the film started.

We stayed for the duration of the film, at least, and left while the credits were rolling. I declare our first film night a success.

Truly home and settled now. The rest of the summer should move quickly.

My best friend just moved home from Arizona. He’ll be teaching English to high school seniors in southern NJ come September, which is something that he’s been working toward for years. A pilot program in Arizona allowed him to gain experience and get his foot in the door, and we’re happy to have him back within state lines again.

We have a lunch date planned for this Saturday, when I drive my car home to my parents house and commence the great experiment: What Is It Like To Live Without A Car? I’m going to leave it down the shore for a month and see if I can stand to sell the thing. I’d love to be an ecologically-friendly, cost-conscious full-time pedestrian. I know that its entirely possible to do this, since I live practically on top of one of the most extensive hubs of public transportation in the world. I just don’t know if I have the heart to throw away four entire years of car payments, since I’ll undoubtedly lose money in the process. Parking has been the biggest caveat to my car situation. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Hoboken has better parking than Jersey City (at least the cute, historic downtown area where I have been zoned for parking).

No creative projects in the works this weekend: Rory has asked me to start better organizing our work room, and I’ve still got vacation laundry to fold, hang, and put away. I have been going through some of my sewing patterns and need to decide if I’m going to do a Built By Wendy blouse, or a more simple A-line skirt with my branch fabric.

So, we have been back on the East Coast now almost a week, but I am still on West Coast time, and dreaming of a simpler life in general. Here a few moments from our trip.

POLAROIDS

AUTOPILOT — http://www.myspace.com/autopilotisforlovers

SOUTHEAST PDX

BEST GOODWILL EVER

HEADED TO THE MOUNTAINS

AND THE PACIFIC SHORES OF OREGON

ON MY BIRTHDAY WE WENT TO THE ZOO

Lots more on flickr! I was pretty shy with my camera on this trip. Most of these beautiful photos were taken by Rory (or at least with his camera). I’m still getting used to carrying around the expensive newer, bigger SLR I just got last month!

Originally, we had planned to rent a car and bounce from friend to friend to spend the week in various parts of town. However, Ethan simplified things by insisting we take his car on our scenic escape plans, and it was easiest to simply monopolize his floor, rather than hop on buses with all of our luggage to more remote parts of Portland. We really only got to see Jack briefly one night of the PopFest, and Adrienne one hot afternoon when her band played at a street fair downtown. We were extremely lazy on this trip, sleeping and playing lots of video games, walking a lot at first and then taking long drives, napping every night before Ethan got home from work so that we could defeat the time zone difference and venture into the night life.

Some of our favorite parts of the trip involved being out in the wilds of Oregon. It was so relaxing and pleasant. It was nice to come back into town, not worrying about traffic and being able to breathe actual clean air (this is an asthmatic’s perspective on why Portland is better than conjested NYC). The weather was about 20 degrees cooler and lacked the distinct mugginess and suffocation of normal city life. Rory thought it strange that Portland seemed so suburban, but I found it very comfortable.

I would still move there in a heartbeat if circumstances were wont to allow me.

I’ll be gone for a spell. Rory and I are heading West to Portland to stay with a couple of our friends, drive up to Seattle, and generally have a good time. Its also my birthday this weekend, so I’m super psyched. I don’t know if we’ll have internet access to check in, but I’ll have lots of pictures when I get back.

Cheers!