A Peaceful Easy Feeling

I Would be grateful if you would read

One of These Nights

for context.

All participants are at least 18 years old. I swear.

This is the first time I have used an editor post script. See if you notice a difference. He who shall remain nameless was a huge help. I am keeping him to myself for now. We hope you enjoy the ride. DoP

I like the way your sparkling earrings lay

Against your skin so brown.

And I wanna sleep with you in the desert tonight

With a billion stars all around.

I get this feeling I may know you

As a lover and a friend.

But this voice keeps whispering in my other ear

Tells me I may never see you again.

While Pete was upriver tending his hives, the tune by the rock band the Eagles kept replaying in his head. The bloom was over, the melons were set. They were just babies, the size of a tennis ball, but not for long. Warm nights and easy access to water would soon change that.

Pete considered his next moves. He could let the colonies dwindle and put them out in the sage. The honey had a strong flavor; not a popular seller, but it did have a niche market.

A 1-ton dually pulled up alongside him with another idea. Russ Odell, another beekeeper from Moab, had a proposition.

"Bubba. How goes it?" he asked.

"Big bubbles, no troubles," replied Pete.

"Looks like you did a good job pollinating the melons." said Russ.

"Estimates are at 95%. The melon heads are satisfied. So, yeah."

"Very nice. What kind of shape are the colonies?"

"They're on the wane. The queens are laying about half speed."

"Just right. I want to ask you a favor."

Pete just watched Russ's face for clues.

"I'm thinking of heading for the almond groves in SoCal. Would you lease me your hives?"

That gave Pete a start. His babies. "How long?" He asked.

"A month. Six weeks max."

Pete knew he would not see the bees that were in the boxes now again. "Let me think on it," Pete said.

"I'm here to pick them up now. I want to leave as soon as I can load up."

"What do you think they're worth?" asked Pete.

"Tell you what. I'll pay your rental, bring your boxes back and add 5 new hives."

"They'll need new queens."

"And new queens."

"Deal," said Pete. At least his honey would go out with a flourish.. "Let's head to the house. We can load the hives at dusk." said Pete.

Enola was in the kitchen soaking some wild asparagus when Pete and Russ walked in. Pete squeezed her waist and kissed the back of her neck.

"Enola, this is Russ. He wants the bees." he said.

"You serious?" Enola asked. "What will you do without the kids?"

"The Green is booming. Pickle's been after me to swamp with him. With luck that would keep me busy through the fall."

"Good idea," Enola said, then turned to address Russ. "Will you join us for dinner?"

"That would be great."

Pete handed Russ a cold beer. Together they sat and chatted, scrubbing potatoes while Enola prepared a simple evening meal.

They sat down for a nice meal of roasted potatoes and steamed wild asparagus. The asparagus was vey fresh; picked earlier that day. It squeaked when Pete bit down on it, and smelled like snakes

Some chukkar ptarmigan Pete had caught coming to water on the Green completed the menu.

Enola paused for a moment and put down her fork. When she spoke her eyes were somber. "Dr Lahara called. Aunty is not doing well. I need to make a trip to the Rez."

"That old doll is tough as boot leather," said Pete. "It must be serious. Do you want me to come with?"

"Not necessary. It will just be down and back."

They finished their meal, cleared the dishes and smoked a blunt. At dusk they loaded the hives and covered them with a tarp.

"Fine end to a fine day, señor," said Russ.

"That is true," said Pete. "I wonder what the poor folks are up to?"

The pair shook hands and parted company.

The next morning, Pete saw Enola off after a breakfast of raspberries and cream, sourdough fry bread and honey. Pete kissed Enola and wished her a safe and speedy trip.

Now in between projects, he inspected the small garden Enola had planted in the backyard. She had the 3 sisters, beans, corn and squash. Lots of squash. Zucchini, butternut and spaghetti. Pete thought,

She's a handy old girl.

He pulled some weeds and spot watered some dry sprouts.

By mid-midmorning, the house was clean, his scooter was shined and he was ready to do something else.

He called Pickle.

"Hello?" the river rat answered.

"Tickle me, Pickle," said Pete. "What's happnin' Capn'?"

"Who is this?" Pickle sounded mildly irritated.

"Pete Harper. I was wondering if you have any runs lined up."

"Peter eater! In fact I do." 5 days down Desolation starting Friday."

"I'm available if you need help," said Pete.

"Call Sheri Griffith in Moab. She's got the permit."

"Thanks my friend," Pete said. "I'm ready to rock out with my cock out." he added.

"I can do without that image, Wang-Dangler." said Pickle. "Give her a call right away. And pucker up. The river is high and so am I," he chuckled.

Pete called Sheri Griffith Expeditions and inquired about openings, The float co-ordinator was interested so Pete offered to meet her in Moab in 90 minutes It was a quick trip South on the H-D express.

The co-ordinator's name was Angie. She had long, deeply tanned legs and a sunny disposition. She held court in the parking lot as she eyed Pete's upper body development coolly and asked questions.

"You have much experience on the river?" She asked.

"I've made two dozen trips down Desolation and Gray's canyon over the last two years," Pete replied confidently. "I'm certified for Class IV water. I know regulations in the canyon. I don't mind the occasional portage. I get paid whether we're marching or fighting, yeah?"

"How are you with large groups?"

"I prefer swamping," was the way Pete put it.

"How do you feel about the 'honey bucket'?" Angie asked, with a wry smile on her face.

"It's anything but," Pete scoffed, "rules is rules. She was referring to the porta-potty, a 5 gallon bucket that provided sanitation in the heavily restricted area.

"One more question," Angie said. "Can you swim?"

Pete looked at her as if she had sprouted a third eye and then chuckled, "Army rescue swimmer trained. Also first responder and CPR certs." he added.

"Welcome aboard, Mr. Harper. I have some paperwork for you to sign in my office."

As they handled the trivia, Angie asked him to meet the crew at Swayse's landing no later than 7 AM Friday.

Pete decided to celebrate over a cold beer at Ray's Tavern. Walter greeted him by planting his forelegs on his chest and a slobbery lick to Pete's face.

"Goddamn, Walt," Pete exclaimed. "Don't drown me."

"Woof!" was the reply.

Pickle sat at the bar soaking up suds. Pete sat next to him and ordered a beer.

"What say you, Robespierre?" Pickle asked.

"Swayse's Landing. 7 AM on Friday."

"Hot damn! The river is booming! This will be a great run." said Pickle.

"I'm really looking forward to this," said Pete. "Thanks for the assist."

"Don't mention it." said Pickle. "Good help is hard to find. I know you can pull on the oars when you need to."

Pete finished his beer and made his way home.

The next day, Pete was out puttering in the shed when he heard Enola pull up. Her truck was heaped to the gills. She was pulling a single axle U-Haul. Aunty Nez was riding shotgun, and she did not look amused.

Pete offered, "This doesn't look good. What's going on?"

"Aunty Nez has diabetes. She needs help getting it under control. Can she stay with us for a while?"

"Of course. She's a sweetheart." said Pete.

That brought a look from Enola. "It takes her a while to warm up to people sometimes."

"She's fine. I'll unload your truck and put her stuff in the spare room."

Pete unloaded the truck and trailer. There were a dozen or more hand woven wool rugs and a big cedar box full of silver jewelry. Most of her clothes looked like they came from another century. There were colorful sateen skirts and light long sleeved velvet blouses.

Aunty Nez looked untethered. She stared blankly at nothing in particular. She wandered from room to room without a clear purpose. Pete felt badly for the old girl. He knew the feeling.

Enola took Pete aside and said, "I'm sorry to spring this on you. I didn't know what else to do. Dr. Cara said her blood sugar has been out of control. I couldn't leave her alone. She is looking at long term health problems if she doesn't get a handle on it."

Pete said, "Don't worry about it. She's welcome to stay as long as she needs.

He paused for a moment.

There is one thing. I've agreed to a 5 day run on the river starting Friday. Can you handle this by yourself? I'm afraid if I cancel before I even start, I won't get another chance. Fred will help you if he can."

Enola looked somewhat relieved, somewhat not.

Pete spent a good part of the day Thursday inventorying and filling a dry bag with river rat essentials. Quick drying clothes, two pairs of waterproof sandals, a rain poncho and wide brim straw hat. He added a water filter, Dragonfly cookstove, citronella candles and mosquito coils. Post apocalyptic sunscreen. A compressible synthetic sleeping bag completed the loadout.

His heart rate began to pick up a bit.

He looked up to see Aunty giving him the stink eye.

"Yá'át'ééh, Aunty." Pete said, tentatively.

'Bilagáanaa," (white man) was her reply.

Pete was up long before the sun on Friday. He couldn't afford to be late. He went to tell Enola goodbye.

She was nestled in a blanket, her dark hair obscuring her face except for a serene smile.

Pete leaned down and gave her a soft kiss and she stirred and sighed.

"Good morning," he said.

"What time is it?" She asked.

"Early. I've got a bit of a ride ahead."

"Have a safe trip. Don't drown please." she offered.

"Thanks for the thought. I know how to swim." he said.

"I hope so. Ch'aanidíínaah Nizhónígo. Hágoónee'" ("okay/alright then") (have a good trip)

"See you on Tuesday," said Pete.

Pete stepped out into the predawn darkness. The early morning air was bracing. He went and grabbed a couple of sweatshirts.

Headlights appeared at the end of the street. Pickle and his multicolored pickup, mostly primer gray. The mismatched bed and passenger door were black.

"Good morning," said Pete when he pulled up, tossing his gear into the bed.

"Hop in me boyo. Let's get some gone." said Pickle.

"Rollin,' Rollin,' Rollin' on the river. Left a good job in the city... Let me tell you, I'm buzzin', cousin." said the river rat.

"Me too," said Pete. "This should be a great run."

"I mean I'm buzzing for real, man. I took some Molly. Want some?"

"Fuck's sake, It's barely 5 AM!"i

Pickle just grinned. "Rollin' Rollin' Rollin' Rollin'"he said. "Just like Fred Durst."

"Please don't fuck this up," Pete pleaded. I need this. I just took on another mouth to feed."

"Wait a while. Women come and go. Like Vanessa."

"This is different," said Pete. "Those were dark days."

"No, it's not. Like my pappy always said, 'All cats are gray, in the dark.'"

Pete was willing to let it go. Pickle was not.

"Peter, Peter pumpkin eater. Only it wasn't a pumpkin that punk was eating, was it, man?"

"You're an infant," Pete said.

Pickle just laughed.

The rest of the ride was uneventful. They made the landing with plenty of time to spare.

Day I

The sky was lightening in the East when headlights appeared in the distance. A caravan of cars and vans pulling bright yellow rafts and inflatable kayaks racked on pipe trailers pulled up riverside.

The crew went to work unloading the watercraft and placed them partially in the water on the ramp. It was noticeably cooler as the current stirred a breeze and Pete's pulse quickened. The Green River was about to spill over it's banks.

Next came the supplies. Dry bags and boxes, Yeti coolers, two and four person tents, collapsible cots and ground cloths, tarps, propane tanks and of course the obligatory five gallon buckets with an attachable seat. Oh yeah. They were waiting for the guests. The sky appeared molten with reds, pinks and oranges when another van arrived. Two families, twin brothers and their wives. Each had two teen-aged children.

Pete's raft partner was a young woman, dressed in a loose long sleeved jersey and cargo shorts. A perpetual smile with brilliant white teeth a major feature on her face.

Angie, the coordinator called for a huddle.

"A few basic rules before we shove off. As you can see, the river is up. This will be a fun trip. There are quiet stretches and there are Class III rapids. Listen to your guides and you'll be fine."

One thing I will insist on is that you wear a Personal Floatation Device, a jacket whenever you're on or in the water.

NO EXCEPTIONS! If the worst were to happen and they recover your body with no jacket, I would never be allowed to float through this canyon again. So please take it seriously.

Other than that, four easy to remember rules will see you through. Keep the boat in the water

keep the water out of the boat

Listen to your guides

And have fun," She said with a grin.

With that they cast off. Two inflatable kayaks were manned by the kids. The adults were in a raft captained by Pickle. Pete chuckled and christened it the SS MDMA.

Two women were in charge of a raft with a few supplies. Pete and his partner had the barge loaded with the goods.

The current was swift. Compared to midsummer, the river's pace was doing double time. He only had to keep his nose pointed downstream. It wasn't long before the vehicles were out of sight. The early dawn light was pure, and in silence they entered the canyon.

The temperature warmed and insects came to life. Dragonflies skimmed the surface and performed aerial dogfights. Damselflies hovered on gossamer wings and white Miller butterflies fanned themselves along the shoreline.

The red sandstone canyon walls loomed a hundred feet tall and left Pete with the idea he would like to re-incarnate as a bird. An owl. An owl would definitely rule this roost. Plus they gave the natives the Willie's.

Pete could not imagine a more beautiful place on the planet.

The first couple hours were smooth. Where the river was normally placid, Pete could feel the power flowing just under the surface. An unstoppable force. He wondered what the rapids would present once the water churned. He felt equal parts apprehension and anticipation,

His partner introduced herself as Ophelia but insisted she would only answer to Opie. She had a perpetual smile and reverse raccoon eyes, as Pete called them. The area blocked by her Ray-Ban frames was noticeably lighter than the rest of her tanned face. She had spent a considerable number of hours in the sun, hopefully on the water. She asked if she could take over the helm.

She also didn't shave. Her tanned legs weren't stubbly. More like downy. It wasn't unattractive. Pete liked her immediately.

"Been down Deso before?" He asked.

"Yessir, six times this year. I've floated the Green from Brown's Park through the Bookcliffs and the gates of Lodore through Dinosaur National Monument. This stretch is my favorite by far."

She obviously had the experience on Pete. There were some gnarly rapids in each of those stretches. As the sun warmed them, she shed her jersey.

Her upper body revealed the solid back and smooth motions of a veteran rafter. Subtle ripples in her shoulders, triceps and forearms told of many hours at the helm.

"John Wesley Powell lost his shit when he went through there. He flipped his boats in the first set of rapids below Brown's Park and lost a lot of supplies. He made his crew portage around rough water after that. It really pissed them off."

"He was a pussy," grinned Opie.

"He was a one-armed fat man. Have mercy," Pete tried to defend.

"Lame excuses," chuckled Ophelia. "If you can't run with the big dogs, stay on the porch."

Up ahead there were a series of rolling waves. No whitewater, more like the flow accelerated through a Venturi. A series of dips and swells. Mother nature's thrill ride. Ophelia quickly read the river, looking for signs of subsurface obstructions and chose her line. Quick flicks of her oars and she was where she wanted to be. Even with their laden lead sled, it was like riding a live animal. A writhing snake.

The kayaks were next through. The kids were wide eyed, grins plastered on their faces.

Pickle brought the adults through with a flourish. He was still rolling.

Opie said, "Let's put some distance between us and them and set up for lunch."

The pair stopped where the river widened and slowed a bit; a small grove of cottonwoods provided plentiful shade, soaking up the nutrient-rich silt deposited my the sudden drop in current.

Pete noticed a few bugs in the area so he lit some coils and candles. Ophelia set up a folding table and went to work. She unfurled a cloth with a full set of chef's knives. She was quick as a cat. In no time at all she had diced up a ceviche made of ahi tuna, poblano chilies, onions and cilantro.

When the other boats arrived, the table was set with bowls of stuffed chilled tomatoes on a bed of crisp lettuce.

The adults lounged in the shade. The kids waded in the shallows. Pete and Opie packed up their gear and prepared to head downriver to set up camp for the night.

The kids approached their raft.

"You guys have a dream job," said one boy, "I would love to do this for a living."

"It has its moments, There's grunt work involved as well," said Opie. "I'm glad you're having a good time. This is a special place, with a special beauty. The closer you look, the more you'll see."

"I'm Troy. And this is my sister Addalee. Those two are our cousins. Joey and Celine.

"Nice to know your names. I'm Opie and this is Pete."

"The river is kind of scary. Like it's angry or something." Troy said.

"It's just a river," said Pete. "It doesn't care either way. You don't need to be afraid, but you should respect it's power. It's on its way somewhere and will bring you along ready or not.

It's best to be ready."

"We almost flipped over. More than once." said Addalee.

"It happens. If it does, don't panic. Your jackets will keep you afloat. Keep facing downstream, and your knees up with your feet in front of you; like you're sitting. If you come to a rock, push off with your feet. Anytime you're not sure what to do, you're welcome to ride with us in the raft. We can tie your kayaks to us. We got you."

"This is prime time," said Pete. "It doesn't get any better than this."

"We're going downstream to set up camp. Anyone need to use the restroom?" asked Opie. "If you need to wee, go behind a bush or in the river. They frown if you drop a brown, though. We have a bucket for that."

"We're good." They said.

"The water will mostly be glides. After a bit, the canyon will narrow. Watch for wildlife." said Pete.

"Thanks," said Troy.

"I could use a break, Pete. Would you take the oars?" Asked Ophelia.

"Your wish is my command," said Pete.

Pete read the river, looking for seams in the current and avoiding eddies, searching for the fastest way downstream. Opie noticed.

"You're a gunslinger. Queeksdraw. Pistol Pete." she said with a smile.

They kept up the pace until late afternoon and came up on a good campsite. It had a gentle slope with an open sandy landing. A fitful breeze kept most of the bugs at bay. Working together, the chore of setting up camp went pretty quickly.

Tents were assembled, as were a gravity shower and ubiquitous thunder bucket, both concealed with tarps. A tightly meshed steel mat provided a base for a small fire. Remnants of campfire was prohibited.