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Show RIVER misery. Rick and I fought over how the trip should be run. All these bad feelings came to a head a day before we reached Cairo. We had tied up to a sandbar in low water. While we were securing the raft two fisherman-Hal and Dell-walked over and began to talk to us about the trip in a soft southern Missouri drawl. "What kids won't do these days," was Hal's comment on our adventure. Dell had worked on towboats and told us more about America. Rosie asked about fishing and the two men gave her some good pointers. "You ain't caught nothing yet?" asked Hal. We hadn't. "Well, I've got two perch I suppose I can let you have," said Hal, and he showed us how to clean and cook the fish over an open fire. It turned out to be the best meal we'd made on the trip. After the fishermen left the river began to rise. Rick decided to take the boat around the end of the sandbar and anchor her in quiet water. As he was rounding the point, going full throttle, the raft slammed into a hard-packed bank of submerged sand. Rick threw the engine into reverse to pull the raft off and the lead starboard barrel, bent like a crushed beer can, popped out. I was spitting mad. I jumped in the river and swam after the deformed barrel. By the time I got the barrel back to shore, I was wet besides being mad. I didn't say anything to Rick for the rest of the evening. He crawled off into the weeds to sleep and Rosie and I used the privacy to look over our situation. "Look," said Rosie. "Rick's a jerk. Don't let it bother you. He won't last much longer anyway." I agreed, but it didn't make me feel much better. Thinking about the bent barrel and the crippled raft, I couldn't sleep. I got up and built a fire on the -84- |