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Show RIVER I had a plan. I figured if I filled the barrel with enough water to cut its buoyancy in half I could force it under the raft and then siphon the water out. This was a great theory but it was a little rough to put into practice. I got the barrel and my siphon hose ready and then stripped down to a pair of sneakers and climbed into the river. It was cold, very cold. I dove under the raft and got a fish-eye view of the underside of Phillip W. Pell. I stuck my head up into the air space created by the barrels: I looked down the long dark row and everything seemed in pretty good shape, except for the missing barrel. I worked as fast as I could, but before five minutes were up my hands (and other extremities) were blue. The new barrel slipped in pretty easily and I began siphoning out the water. By the time I was done and had started nailing plumber's tape around the barrel to hold it in place, I could barely move my hands. I climbed back onto the raft, a human icicle. I didn't stop shaking for about half an hour. The rest of the crew returned and Rick announced he had decided to stay. My only comment consisted of one obscene word. Since I couldn't get all the water out of it, my patch job with the barrel didn't work very well. The next morning we swept down past the point at Cairo with water still washing over the bow. After the weather had cleared up some, we found that we were nearly out of gas. We cut the engine and spent the rest of the day drifting slowly down to Hickman, Kentucky. In the early evening we landed and set about refitting the new barrel. I was so pissed off that I stood on the shore and let Rick and Vince get wet. This time it went pretty smoothly. They lifted the bow up onto a cement block, -86- |