MF Day 2, 6/11/2007: MF booty?

I forgot to relate this. I am always looking for booty. River booty. Swag, loot, boodle. The law of the river says "you smelt it, you dealt it." But it also says, "finders keepers" if found item is not well labeled, and/or apparently abandoned.

In the past, I have stocked my boating larder with many a free item in this manner: an unlabeled Gore-tex jacket, several paddles (put your name and number on stuff if you want it back), money ($.57 on this trip alone), two hatchet covers, three hatchets, a plethora of tent stakes. The list goes on. Let's just say, I'm always ready to make a "booty call."

This trip was no exception. While we were floating in between Pistol Creek rapid and Indian Creek Guard Station, I saw a small log jam midstream, stuck on a huge boulder. It appeared as if there was a rope tangled in the logs, so I eddied out behind the boulder and climbed up to take a look.

I almost fainted. I had hit the motherload. Not only was it a rope, it was a throw bag, and not one of those little cheap ones the kayakers carry. It was an NRS Standard Rescue Bag. Maybe not the top of the line, but still a $45.95 retail value. A very fine haul in any river pirate's estimation.

I had to be careful not to get too excited. This was a dangerous situation: as I keep mentioning, you have to very cautious around any midstream wood, and this was definitely no exception.

Very carefully, I moved out onto the logs feeling much like a parody of this:


Which is of course a parody in itself.

In any case it took me about 10 minutes of careful jimmying to get the rope untangled from the logs. Sparky says it was more like a half hour, but she doesn't wait well either.

I was once again feeling very good about myself. There was no name on the bag... it was mine! It apparently hadn't been in the water that long, stuff gets quickly covered with slime if it sits in a river very long. That didn't bother me of course, it just meant I didn't have to clean it.

The rest of the party was suitably impressed by my find: I could sense the envy as we pulled into Indian Creek for lunch.

Then my bootilicious world crumbled before my unbelieving eyes. CB went to tie up his boat, and couldn't. He had been using his throw bag as a mooring line (in my opinion, a major river faux pas in itself), and it was gone.

What had apparently happened was that before he ran Lake Creek, he didn't fasten the buckle holding the bag to his frame adequately, and it fell off in the rapid.

Since there was no name on it, I tried to tell myself (and CB) it was a coincidence; yes he lost his, but this wasn't it.

I think he would have conceded the bag to me, it was found fairly on the high seas after all, but that was the only rope he brought, so I finally relented.

Booty denied.

The aforementioned $.57 helped, but I couldn't help but feel disappointed. I'm a guy who likes his booty, and I like my booty big. Overall, this trip was a booty bust.