A guide must:
Never show fear. He should be courteous to all, and always give special attention to the weakest member of the party. He should be witty and be able to make up a white lie on short notice, and tell it in a convincing manner. He should know when and how to show authority; and, when the situation demands it, should be able to give a good scolding to whomsoever deserves it.
– Conrad Kain, 1935
The enthusiasm was evident, although I’m not sure either of us knew just what to expect.
There we stood, on the banks of the Colorado River, admiring the new family asset – a used 16-foot Aire Jaguarundi cataraft with a shiny aluminum frame and Diamond Plate floor set up as the ultimate whitewater fly-fisherman’s floatation device. It was Father’s Day, and as my eyes wandered over the faded Grateful Dead “Steal Your Face” sticker affixed to the back of the rear seat, I couldn’t
help wondering if my father’s
acquisition came at the expense
of some suddenly more responsible inductee to the paternal order of former float fishermen forced to give up the pastime until his new child reached a more suitable
age.
Despite never having become a father myself, I understand that these things happen. Motorcycles become minivans and boats become baby strollers as the reality of family life settles in. I’ve witnessed it more than once.
This situation, however, was unfamiliar. Uncharted waters, so to speak, as Dad looked at me with thirsting eyes and asked, “OK, so what do we do now?”
I’d been preparing for this moment for a while – at least since he told me in April of his intentions to learn how to navigate the big rivers of the West so that he and my mother could further broaden their retirement experience. I had thought of it long enough to consider the sacrifices and lifestyle changes they had made through the years to give their kids an advantage in life. At this point, I realized, we were pretty much back to square one.
Sure, he had always been an active guy, but by my estimation, it had been more than two decades since Dad had even used the trailer hitch on his SUV to tow anything besides a U-Haul, never mind the rigging, rowing and reading of river currents that come along with his new pastime. In the years prior, he had pulled the catamaran out to the lake or ocean, maybe loaded canoes up on the roof so my brother and I might have the chance to enjoy and learn a bit more about the natural world. He was, you might say, my first guide.
With the seed planted at such an early age, I took it upon myself in those ensuing decades to continue my own wilderness education, spending as much time as possible outdoors, discovering new challenges and new rewards. As a likely consequence, I eventually found myself working as a river guide, acquiring a variety of elusive and subtle skills I had never even considered. As I considered them now, it occurred to me that I had been preparing for this moment my whole life. Unknowingly through the course of time, I had been taught to become the teacher.
The same holds true, I expect, in regard to fatherhood. Although both begin with the appropriate attitude, the skills separating the best guides and fathers are ultimately developed through observation and practice. Everyone begins as a greenhorn, but at some point the instruction manual is left behind and, with newfound faith in your judgment and abilities, you begin to function on instinct. I feel fortunate knowing such instincts have been handed down to me.
For that reason, I have confidence in my father’s ability to master this new task as well. It’s simply a matter of time. We rigged the boat together, then I handed him his oars and helped him through the hard stuff, just as he has done for me so many times before.
“I have to admit, my heart was beating pretty fast rowing into that first rapid,” he admitted afterward. “But then I just said to myself, ‘You can do this,’ and I did. That was pretty cool.”
Yes, Dad, you’re right. Pretty darn cool indeed.
Staff writer Scott Willoughbycan be reached at 303-820-1993
