Between Two Shores

My spirit was telling me that I was nearing the end of my travels on the Colorado River. I couldn’t tell you then, nor can I tell you now, how it is that one can come to such a conclusion without empirical proof, but somehow I knew it. I felt stronger than I ever had that day, paddling and paddling. I did not take time to allow my body to rest or for the canoe to simply drift down river.

No, I paddled for much of my worth and I enjoyed the sensation it gave me.

There were signs as I continued towards my goal; a boundary mark here, a fence there, each telling me that Mexico lay jus’ beyond. Now my goal was not to enter that country, as I didn’t wish to deal with the Federales again, so I made certain I remained on the U.S. side of the line.

As evening set that day, I felt a sense of disappointment drop across my shoulders. I was so sure that my trip was to end before the sun fell in the West – but I still hadn’t found where the two nations met for that final time and as I put ashore, I found myself weeping uncontrollably, emotions I had not exercised in a long while. Once I got everything out of my system and my soul felt cleansed, I set myself to establishing a camp, a fire and made ready for a good nights’ sleep following dinner. As I fell asleep, I dared not allow myself to imagine that the next time the sun shone across the distant mountains in the east, it would be my last day upon this river.

As the morning broke, I was slow to put out. While my spirit was willing, my body felt numbed. I prepared a small bowl of beans and some coffee. And as I sat and ate, I looked up and down the river and wondered why I had even done any of this and I concluded that I had again made a rash and highly irrational decision.

Quietly, I cleaned out my bowl and cup, put them away, poured water on my fire, stirring it until it was cold to the touch. For some reason I felt let down and I had no idea what had caused it, perhaps it was having been around people and yet having had no contact. Maybe it was the general notion that some grand adventure was coming to a close. At that moment, I didn’t know and I really didn’t care as I put out once more.

My desire to continued paddling as I had the day before, ebbed. While my strength was there, the desire was lacking and I ended up drifting down river more than paddling. For a good length of time, the only reason my paddle touched the water’s surface was to maintain my position closest to the east side of the river. I didn’t want to stray into Mexico and find myself being detained.

It was jus’ afternoon when I saw a warning that told me I was more than close to the end point of this journey as I drift by an upright pole in the river, holding sign that warned that Immigration and Customs patrolled the area. Somewhere ahead was the border, and suddenly I felt invigorated as I stroked by that sign.

As I slipped around a slight bend that took me for right to left, I saw in the distance the looming features of a dam. I had no idea that there was a dam this far down on the Colorado, not once did I realize that this man-made structure would be the end of my river adventure as I paddle closer and closer to it. As I drew nearer, I continued to stay on the eastern side of the river, close to the Arizona side and not stray into Mexico’s water way.

There, up on a man-made dyke I could see the name, Morelos Dam. It was the end of the road for the time being as I drove the canoe into a marshy at the base of the structure. One more time, the final time, I dragged the stolen canoe up onto dry land where I shouldered my rucksack and climbed the dyke’s steep embankment.

For a couple of minutes I looked south and into Mexico, realizing what I’d done. A long ago memory suddenly popped into my head; a story read to my third grade class, “Paddle to the Sea,” about a hand-carved canoe toy that made it from Ontario to the Atlantic. I smiled, thinking how such a journey might be ‘impossible now days given all the  impediments’ that could be in the toy’s way.

My spirit soaring once more and my body with it, I turned east and walked from the dyke and then northwards on what the locals call ‘Cooper Lateral.’ Somewhere ahead was a crossing that would allow me access to California and the Salton Sea. Perhaps I might find some work to trade out for a resupply of rice and beans and a new disposable lighter. The thought of such small things gave me sense of joy and it was always the small things.