Our Ouachita River Adventure - Conclusion

       We saw a boat ahead, turned up on edge against a log in a narrow, fast rapids. Two men were in the water, hanging onto their boat with one hand, and grabbing up their gear as it washed out of the boat with the other. When we came alongside, they said they needed no help, but we might keep an eye out for an awful lot of their gear that was washing on down the river. They were in a small flat bottom boat, about the size of the one Travis and I swamped on our last trip, a couple of years ago. I knew how they felt. As we floated on down into the next big hole, we saw their floating gear lined up in a perfectly straight line, headed on down toward Lake Ouachita. That treasure hunt took our minds off our aching backs a little, and after a mile or so, we spotted Skeet's VERY pretty little red truck. Thirty minutes later, the two wet men in the flat bottom arrived. The older man, 69 he said, mentioned they had been on the river all day, fishing. They didn't have a back rest either, unless it had fell out of the boat, and we knew he must be a very tough old man, because he was not whining about his back like Skeet and I were. But then, he had just had a good dose of excitement mixed in there that could have made a feller forget about his aches and pains. They said their names were Partin, from Mena. The young man was in school at Fayetteville, and they had two very nice strings of fish. They offered us the fish, since we had gathered up a lot of their stuff, but Skeet and I were not in a good fish cleaning mood. All we wanted was a good, comfortable place to sit down. But I did accept a package of his home made deer jerkey, better that fish any day. Matter of fact, I'm chewing on a chunk of it right now.

      Young Mr. Partin said they should have had a canoe, and next time he would have one. Older Mr. Partin said it was not the boat's fault, they just let it ride up too high on the log when they hit it. Young Mr. Partin begged to differ, but he was respectful of the older man in that, ending his disagreement with "Sir," as one should be with a 69 year old man who had just sat in a small boat all day, then got dumped in the river. A couple of good men.

      When we were headed back to the cabin, Skeet allowed as how Scott and Neal must be really worn out, since they walked a lot of miles scouting turkeys all morning while we mostly sat in our lawn chairs. But as soon as we got back to the cabin, Neal immediately disappeared. Thirty minutes later, we heard him, across the river somehow, and 3 ridges over calling turkeys. Neal Nelson just never gets worn out.

We cooked up a mess of steaks, and our tired backs were forgotten by the time that meal was over. Neal said he sure got hot in his top bunk last night, and I told him he was welcome to share my double bed, but he didn't think that over very long, since I feel sure he had heard all the screaming for Barbara I had done the night before, and wished to not risk being mistaken for Barbara in the middle of the night. He allowed as to how he would just stick with his hot top bunk. I kept my light on that night, just as a precaution.

      The hunters were long gone the next morning when Skeet and I got up. When they got back, no turkeys were in hand this time. As we ate lunch, I thought it was a shame I didn't bring a gun. I could probably have picked off one of those turkeys up river from my lawn chair.

      Trips just seem to turn out better with a couple of preachers along. The last trip, the river took all my clothes except what I had on, but the river gave them all back to me 3 days later, all dried, folded, and packed in my bag. If you wonder how that happened, just ask me. That's a story all by itself. But no, it wasn't a Jonah type thing, even with all these preachers along.Years ago, Neal was taking a bunch of HSU students on a Mulberry River float trip, when the water was too high. One canoe turned over, and a kid got hung up on a limb on the bottom, couldn't get loose, and he was only able to get his head up occasionally. Things looked real bad, except that there just happened to be a whole team of water rescue experts, holding a training session, right there on the bank, who got the kid out. Would that have ever happened, if Neal had not been a preacher? You be the judge.

      As I headed home, just as I was coming into Caddo Valley, a big turkey gobbler flew right over my car. If I had only had my bow and arrow, I could probably have jumped out and bagged him right there. Next time, I'll have to bring it along, and help those young turkey hunters out a little. It never hurts to have a couple of woods wise old men along, passing a bit of our vast storehouse of wilderness lore on down to the next generation. It's just the natural way with things.