Girl in a Red Canoe

I.

I camp yearly on the slow moving Keetawnee River. I expect this excursion would be no different. There is much to unpack but I have a lot of time. It's only me for the next 5 days with no weekend partiers making drunken noises in the middle of the night. No traffic noise, no interruption of my reading, writing and photography.

The tent is set up. A low fire is started. My red canoe leans against the same pair of cedar trees it leaned against last year and the year before. It's my birthday. Always this same lonely spot, a favorite lonely spot.

This is time to relax, open a beer, tend to the fire. I kneel on the ground in front of the fire adding scraps of paper and cardboard to coax it back to life but not feeding too much.

I'm startled by a sound behind me. There is a woman standing there. She is slender and attractive. Her khaki shorts end mid thigh. Below them are exposed the most svelte athletic legs. Smooth and muscled. Her athletic shoes look worn. Worn in a way that indicated that their few holes and comfort was from severe breaking-in and hard work.

She wore a light flannel shirt with the tail rolled and front gathered up and tied just above her belly button. The sleeves were rolled up to just below her elbows. Her hair was shoulder length light brown that moved slightly in the gentle breeze and rocked a little as she began to speak.

"Hi, I'm camped about six sites down and was wondering if you would let me borrow your canoe for a little while? I noticed a Great Blue Heron down by the bend."

She tells me her name is Amy. We shake hands. Her grip is firm while feminine. With a brush of her hand she tucks her hair behind her left ear revealing a small copper colored ear cuff clamped to the upper ridge of her left ear. I look closely at the cuff then move my eyes to hers before we let go of our hand shake. She is adorable. Naturally tanned. Her shirt is open all the way down to where it is tied. The sides of small rounded breasts are visible only from a sideways view. She has a healthy smile and sexy brown eyes behind glasses I can only call business-like. She has them perched halfway down her slender Grecian nose. She looks over them more then through as we stand there. My reply was almost instantaneous. "Sure you can." I said. "Do you know how to paddle and stuff?"

She giggled her reply, "Yes, I can canoeddle. I've owned two myself and have done some rapids out west with my x-boyfriend back in school."

It's about twenty paces to the rivers edge. She hoists the bow end effortlessly. We head to the Keetawnee as I watch her leg muscles work. The canoe is fiberglass,17' long but weighs 70 pounds. She handles her share of the weight with no problem. Her feet are at he edge of the river and she strolls forward, her shoes sinking ankle deep into the green brown muck that is common along most of the bank.

The canoe is now almost fully afloat. Only the aft end remains perched on the bank as she places her right foot in the center and lifts her left leg in behind. She removes her slimy shoes at once and dunks them over the side to rinse them off. This gave me a view into her shirt as she bends slightly forward. Amy is a dream come true, a vision of competence and beauty in my red canoe. I offer to get her a couple of beers for her journey up stream.

"No thank you," she replies, "I have some wine."

She reaches into her pack and pulls out a wine skin which she tips close to her lips. I can see it is red wine. She shoots a stream from the skin into her mouth. I can remember how it feels to have the jet of wine hit against the roof of my mouth then shower down upon the base of my tongue letting enough gather for one swallow.

Before I could help her shove off she pushed the handle end of the wooden paddle into the muck freeing her and propelling her into the stream. She flipped the paddle around causing a small trail of river water to arch in the sunlight. The paddle dipped silently into the water on her first stroke. She was off. I told her to take her time. She thanked me with a turn of her head and a smile, the canoe still gliding with the power of her first pull.

I watched Amy move capably away. Her stroke was sure and graceful. Once for power, then a dip of the wood for steering. She tipped one more dose of wine before disappearing near the bend behind overhanging, bank rooted cedars.