Sarah Browning
Oh radiant happiness
A large man walks into Zig Zag River Runners on a Thursday afternoon, books a Saturday group trip. Name? Steve Drown. You’re kidding, right? Haha no. Scared of water, too. But—ya know—my conference buddies want to give it a go.
Saturday morning—as every Saturday morning—I stand by my boat holding my paddle aloft when Steve Drown comes up over the bank and spots me. Let’s get in Sarah’s boat! I just barely shake my head… as they come stumbling down to the muddy shore: six men and one woman, all white, middle aged. We’ll have an uneven boat, but that’s OK. I’ll manage.
On the slow, quiet stretch of the Wenatchee, we practice our strokes and my commands. We sit quietly a moment as the other rafts catch up. So, what kind of convention are you here for? Making small talk. A small silence. Then the lone woman chuckles: They’re in underground novelties. What, sex toys? One of the men: Haha—no, we’re undertakers. Longer pause—I’ve got a boat full of undertakers and their leader’s name is Steve Drown. I could not make this up. I will dine out on this story—as I do now, writing it—the rest of my life.
Haha—OK, then! And we’re off. Steve Drown slips off the boat twice—the only one tipped overboard all day—and twice I haul him in. I have grown strong, in this new way.
We stop for lunch above a small dam and as we eat, I learn where they’re each from: Des Moines, Minot, San Antonio. After we clean up our sandwich wrappers and chip bags and thank the Zig Zag support staff it’s time for portage—carrying the boat a few short yards around the dam, to hit the river once more. OK, four on each side, I direct, and grab the rope. Oh, this we’re good at! They bust out laughing all at once and just like that I get the joke, as they hoist the rubber boat to their broad shoulders—no remains, no burden—just our joy, one more glorious day on the river.