Wind – v3

The paddle and I

Alone, on our own

Out in the middle of

The churning lake.

wind pushed the bow

Turning me around.

I pitched into the wind,

Back erect, leaning

Against the blow,

Wanting home

Warmth, comfort

Making for shore.

The paddle, 24 years old,

Fit comfortably in my palm

Familiar pressure, angle and form

Varnish worn and cracked.

The shaft and handle darkened

With my sweat, dirt, and age.

The blade narrow for river work

As it was on the Allagash

Split and chipped

From years of use.

A treasured momento

a wonderful trip.

The waves broke and pitched.

The canoe moved lightly

Like a cork on the water.

Paddle left, back paddle right.

Splash of the tawny water

As I fought to gain control.

Progress slow but real

Cutting along the edge of shore

Easy to measure

Foot by foot.

Away from shore again

Buffeted by the air once more.

Still an hour from home

Muscles taut

And cramped

Torso twisted,

Fighting the storm

As I contort

To steer my canoe.

Edited November 2, 2013

“Wind – v3”

Edited May 4, 2013

“Wind – v2”

http://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2013/05/wind-v2.html

July 9, 2000

“Wind”

http://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2004/02/wind.html

on Swain’s Lake

Barrington, NH+43° 11' 24.91", -71° 2' 30.18"

&

but see earlier poems

“The Ledges”

http://raymondafoss.blogspot.com/2004/02/ledges.html

Written July 14, 2000. It is based on a single night in the summer of 1977 when I was part of a group from Claremont's Stevens High School that canoed the Allagash in northern Maine.

Allagash Wilderness Waterway

It was the third and final major canoe trip I went on (Saco River in 1975 starting in Fryeburg, ME, Allagash in 1976-July-ish when it was warmer and slower). This trip was earlier, in May, when the water ran faster and the time was spent moving down river with the flow of the river. Nights were a lot cooler and the food was a lot different. Many of us had bad hypothermia the first night because it was a cold rain and none of us had unpacked our bags to pull out the foul weather gear. I remember well having to strip off all of my cold wet clothes and sharing a sleeping bag with another camper. The night written about here started innocently enough. We arrived at this particular campsite on Eagle Lake earlier than normal, because of the river's current. We all set up each tent and set the dinner fire going. I think it was fried bologna. We all turned in early. We were tired. The moon rose before 11. There were ants and black flies everywhere. One of the campers had to sit by the fire at each campsite to ward off the black flies. Anyway, one by one we all realized we weren't going to sleep any more that night. Before am, we were all pacing around, uneasy. The leaders all agreed to put out for the next camp. We weren't in any rush at am though. This was the way I felt about this night. After we put in mid morning at the next site, I remember the wonderful brook trout we caught and I can still taste it, twenty-three years later. I think these times, when I was moving from Massachusetts to New Hampshire, when I was canoeing the Saco and then the Allagash were some of the happiest of my high school days. On the 1976 trip, from Massachusetts, I found the canoe paddle I wrote about in the poem "Wind" I always talked about going back to the Allagash; but I have never gone back. It wasn't until 22 years later that I finally got my canoe again.

All of my poems are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013. All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss for usage. See all 26,300+ of my poems at www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com Poetry Where You Live.