The Canoes

The canoes were a constant temptation for the young boy. They sat there, metal hulls glistening in the hot Oregon sun, daring the boy to take one for a ride. Of course the canoes were off-limits for the kid; he was only 8 years old and the boats were for the older boys attending scout camp. He loved the water and was fascinated with the boats. It wasn’t fair that the canoes sat there unused most days and he wasn’t allowed to use them without a grownup around, even if he promised to keep close to shore. The adults were too busy taking care of the camp to take him out to paddle around and the older boys didn’t want to be saddled down with the poor little guy. The canoes called to him.

Early one morning, he crept out of bed and walked to the waterfront. He often awoke before anyone else and was known to roam about camp on his own. He wouldn’t be missed for quite a while. Despite his size, he managed to wrestle down one of the canoes and drag it to the lake’s edge.  Grabbing a paddle, he set off across the calm water into the morning sun.  He’d planned a short paddle around the small bay before anyone woke up and discovered him gone. Yet the smooth water of early morning practically begged him to paddle out just a little bit further. The aluminum canoe glided almost effortlessly across the surface of the lake and soon he was far from shore. Pausing for a quick break, he realized he was out of sight of the campground. Out of sight and out of mind, now was time to explore the lake more completely. Heck, they probably didn’t even know he was gone yet.

It took most of the morning for the young man to make it to the other side of the lake. As he made his crossing, boat traffic increased as fishermen came out to try their luck, yet no one stopped to question the child as he cut across the middle of the lake.  By this time he’d totally forgotten any consequences he would face when he eventually returned to the camp. It never occurred to him that not long after he started his adventure, someone noticed a canoe missing and a young man was nowhere to be found.

He felt much more confident after he reached the far shore. As he paddled along he came upon a public beach and thought it a good time to show off. After all, he’d just crossed an entire lake at the tender age of 8 years old all by himself, earning the right to some hard won recognition for mastering this fine watercraft. Hopefully he would meet some new friends and have a chance to display his new found abilities. Soon he was swimming around with the other kids and even swamped the canoe just for fun. In his mind, the day couldn’t be any finer. But like all great, albeit ill-advised, adventures, this one came to an abrupt end when his folks finally found him, still at play with new-found friends without a thought given to how or when he might head back.

I still remember the wonder I felt watching the canoe bobbing along in the wake of the powerboat my folks used to search for their missing son. I imagined how much fun it would be to be back there in the canoe instead of in the boring old motorboat riding with my fuming parents. I wasn’t too worried about the punishment I was about to receive; I was acquainted with the willow stick, and even though it would hurt, I knew in my heart that this adventure would be worth every switch I was about to receive. Only now as a parent, can I begin to imagine the terror my mother must have felt as she crossed that lake in search of her son. Yet to this day, I still smile with a sense of pride at navigating across that lake, young; alone and unafraid.