Chris' Canoe, Part Two

I got this picture from my friend Chris. He finally launched his canoe after about eight or nine years of working on it. Launched it up in central Texas in the Hill country, on the Guadalupe River.

He called and told me that everywhere he went, people asked him; “Where did you get that boat? and “Did you build it yerself?” and inevitably also “….yer not gonna put it in this river are ya?”. You see, the rivers up there are shallow and full of rocks, sharp rocks which could produce gashes of monumental proportion on a fine wooden craft like that. Up there people only float plastic boats, and they all have the deep scars and gouges to prove it. But Chris remained undeterred. He was gonna put that boat through its paces, see what it could do. It’s his boat, and torpedoes be damned…full speed ahead! The Texas Hill Country is a fine place to christen a canoe no matter what. It is an especially fitting place to take a boat like this, a craft that is more a work of art than a vessel. I can imagine the sight of the boat framed by tall cypress and oak lining a river gurgling an inviting melody, the air redolent with the incense of cedar and moss, in the hot Texas day, a canopy of blue overhead. I'm sure it was a joy that made the tedium of construction all worth it.

The years that Chris lovingly studied the plans, worked the fragile wood, and assembled the craft with all the hope and care required a place as special as the hills and the crystal clear cold streams to bring it to life.

My friend Rene and I always get a kick out of Chris' single minded dedication, his attention to some inner song that no one but he can hear. The results are things like large areas of once scarred and abused land supporting lush vegetation and life, masses of unconnected people working together to share a common vision, and things like his canoe. Chris has the training of a botanist and the heart of an artist.

So he told me “I first put the canoe in Town Lake, in Austin, and it tracked as straight and true as you could imagine, turning heads wherever we silently paddled through the water”. “Later I put it in the river and floated downstream…in some places, in the whitewater, I could hear the hull scraping against the rock, and it made me cringe”. “We portaged it a few places, and even the canoe hauler was worried that I might fuck up my new boat.” “ So what, I built it and I could fix it”. “But…. there’s nothing like the sound of wood against rock”. When he took it out of the water and put it back on the roof of his car he noticed that there was not much damage, because he had used epoxy for a final coat, and the damage was in the epoxy layer, cutting down into the mat…not the beautiful wood that he used to create the planks.

Chris’ Dad was a sailor and a man of the water. The stories he tells me, tell me of a man who loved the sea, lakes and rivers, a man drawn to the liquid element. Chris’ Dad died when he was young, but I know that he would be proud of him today, on the day he launched his boat, on the day that he took the tiller of Le Menagerie and felt the power of the wind. Chris’ Dad died when he was young, when he needed him the most, it is a lifelong heartbreak and a cruel fate for a child. I always feel his loss, and know that deep inside he’s trying to please the man, somewhere far out there in the stars. Maybe that’s why Chris is so dear to our family, he understands that value, and is reciprocal to it. He’s learning to be a sailor, has constructed his very own boat, and is listening to the sirens song of the water. It is something that runs in him and through him…not so much now to please his father, but because…that is who he is.

The genetics that rumble along inside of him were given to him by the man, and now they’re being nurtured and developed, with a life of their own – and somewhere out there in the stars his father smiles.

He called me last night with a few questions about putting on another layer of epoxy over the sanded one, to fill in the gouges and dings. He’ll be bringing it over to the bay soon to chase the fall fish, and I can’t wait to go for a ride with him.