Montana, Day Six: Focus

The next morning, dawn cracks and we’re up at it.

Mike changes our seating arrangements. The boys patch our leaky raft and also realize that it is lighter than the hefty one they’ve been propelling, and consequently less reliable. Also, Jim’s crew sported two people over sixty and one advancing on it. The younger, more powerful paddlers were all in the other raft.

“You and Ro get in the hefty one with Don and Derek. We’ll take this one. Domenic wants to try the pontoon.”

I’m scared for us, scared for him, scared for everyone.

But scared doesn’t help. Focus helps. This will be over in a day or two. Meanwhile, dammit, Irene, look around.

Glorious, unperturbed mountains. Brushy vigorous firs. Sheets of luminous river.

And these remarkable people. All working so hard, being so affable. And no one is asking me to patch and pump the rafts. Elderhood has its advantages.

Wilderness and humans illuminate each another.