Canoe Trip #2

We arrived opposite a hamlet of huts nestled in amongst trees and tall grass. On the shore a large boulder punctuated an interconnected chain of rocks and stones, like the centerpiece in a, rough-hewn necklace.  A small beach lay shrouded in overhanging trees. Five different varieties of tree could be counted in the view as a whole, each with its own distinct foliage and shade of green. But all were darkened by comparison to emerald green hills, sweeping up to the pale, ethereal blue sky.

 I lifted my paddle and pointed.

“This looks good,” I said, and Alex laid down his paddle, moved forward to the middle of the canoe and squatted down to get a grip on the large rock we had brought with us for an anchor. As he struggled to lift it the canoe tipped violently over to one side. Then he seemed to summon up all his strength and, with one deft motion lifted the rock up onto the edge of the canoe and let it plunge, with rope running after it into the oily dark water. The canoe drifted but, as Alex pulled  the slack out of the rope, it moved back to into position over where the anchor was weighed. At last, with the rope pulled tight the canoe tilted slightly to one side and came to rest. Getting organised to do a drawing of the view in front of me was a ritual that ended with a well sharpened a pencil. I scanned the subject until I had captured its essential features in my mind before starting. The canoe drifted and skewed about. Alex paddled, trying to straighten it out. I shifted around and no matter how much I tried, couldn’t get comfortable, so I settled for a position that seemed least likely to cause capsize.