As we slide silently beneath the bridges of interstate highways along the Catawba River, I cannot help but smile. How many times have I stolen a glimpse of this waterway for the fleeting seconds it takes to cross over while driving? How many times have I pondered these moments, and wondered what it would be like to be here, now, looking up from below in this canoe with this team? How could I know that I would be so overwhelmed by the gratitude, pride, ownership and respect I have for this expedition? How could I know that swallows, by the thousands, build their mud nests in the concrete corners of these same bridges, unless through experiencing it myself? They do not show their world to those above, quickly passing by on their way to somewhere else.
These moments for me are benchmarks for this expedition. They are moments of meditation on the here and now. We travel along an ancient pathway using an ancient method and begin to view the modern as strange and out of place as we may seem to those viewing us from above. The waterway has been altered over time, from natural flow to dam controlled resevoirs and streams. The mode of transport has evolved from dugout tree to molded plastics, but the path and the way of getting there come just the same --one paddle stroke at a time. We wake up, pack, eat breakfast, laugh, paddle, eat some more, paddle some more, laugh some more, find camp, go to sleep and do it all over again in the morning.
Continued on part 2.
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