The same river twice
By Vince Welsh“Rock Me On The Water: A Life On the Loose” by Renny Russell.
(Animist Press. Hard cover ISBN: 0-9760539-0-X, $39.95; soft cover ISBN: 0-9760539-1-8, $29.95. 2007. www.rennyrussell.com.)
Renny Russell, the author and illustrator of Rock Me On The Water: A Life On the Loose, knows better than most that you can never step in, much less row, the same river twice. Nevertheless, the veteran boatman launches his wooden dory into the Green River in May 1998, in a long-overdue attempt to come to terms with the drowning of his beloved older brother, Terry, more than thirty years before. Rock Me On The Water — a memoir embedded with river history, political and philosophical musings, occasional flights of fancy and observations of the natural world — is the poignant recounting of Russell’s return to the Green River and his journey down the river of sorrowful memory. Only the gentle coaxing of that memory by a forgiving heart can bring Russell both the absolution and peace-of-mind he seeks.
Russell, of course, co-authored the iconic On the Loose with his brother Terry who did not live to see the book in print. Published in 1967 by the Sierra Club, the hand-lettered book was a loose collection of quotes (Thoreau, Aldo Leopold, and, of all people, Steve McQueen), personal reflections and sixty photographs (color and black-and-white) celebrating the beauty of the wilderness, but especially the freedom to roam unencumbered. Indeed, the book was rough, honest, unpretentious — a genuine, unfiltered shout of youthful enthusiasm and joy.
On the Loose sold over a million copies. David Brower, a family friend of the Russell’s and then-executive director of the Sierra Club, had championed the book over the vehement opposition of the Club’s Board of Directors who thought the effort amateurish. Bower, who himself had roamed the Sierra in his younger days, realized that the very rawness of On the Loose was its strength. It would appeal, he believed, to a youthful audience he badly wanted to engage in the fight to save wilderness.
If On the Loose is another Western Song of Innocence, then “Rock Me On The Water” is clearly a survivor’s Song of Experience. Though similar in form (both books employ photographs and illustrations with the text to compliment one another), “Rock Me On The Water” is naturally a more mature expression of Russell’s relationship to nature and the politics of environment. Certainly his complex relationship with his family and his older hero-brother, who rests at the heart of Russell’s tale, receives the kind of insightful examination only heart-breaking experience allows.
Not unlike many boatmen, Russell came, by his own admission, late to adulthood. The reflective, often sober, tone of his narrative signals this arrival. His youthful joy has been tempered; the once self-evident truths seem to demand more examination. The moments of delight or self-recognition, when they arrive, must be earned. To readers of a certain age, Russell’s tale will resonate with their own experience.
As Russell ventures down the 126-mile stretch of the Green River that flows through aptly named Desolation Canyon alone, his narrative sways back and forth in time like the bends of a river. Nostalgia and sentimentality are kept at bay, for the most part, and the bittersweet quality of Rock Me On The Water informs the best of Russell’s writing.
Russell calls Seedskeedee, his hand-made wooden dory carrying not only body, but wounded soul, home. That he is comforted by his boat (any river man or woman will recognize the sentiment) is an early sign of the healing balm the river provides. He can smell the silt-laden water, feel its current and hear the endless variations of river meeting rock. At times, the harsh landscape suits him, for where else do seekers and lost souls go but the desert?
Amidst the percolations of memory, Russell chronicles his voyage with detailed descriptions of the landscape, the wildlife and his daily battles with the swarms of mosquitoes. He shares the content of his evening meals, as well as his dreams. He speculates on life, death, the passing of time. He yodels and beckons his brother from the past. Like any good boatman, he is full of historical anecdotes, geological explanations and tall, tall tales. Along the way, he encounters commercial river trips and seasonal rangers. He makes some effort to connect, but laments the crowds and the controversies that have arisen. The river seems to be going to hell. Yet, it is still the river.
“The past is never dead. It is not even past,” quipped William Faulkner. For Russell, nothing could be truer. On the Green River, his sense of the past suffuses the present and the maze of his untapped emotions bubbles to the surface. Three distinct, yet inseparable, narratives — Russell’s personal journey, that of his family and finally, the culture of the times — emerge and weave (sometimes tangle) together in Rock Me On The Water. The purpose of any memoir is not the strict recording of historical facts but rather the author’s genuine effort to convey the “feel” of a significant event or time and the life he or she lived. Russell manages the task, even when the water under the bridge runs high and fast at times
If I were younger, it would difficult not to be envious of the adventurous Russell brothers. From an early age, Renny and Terry seemed to have roamed everywhere, often at the drop of a hat and with minimal cost or supervision. Photographs show a pair of what today might be labeled “geek-like” young men with glasses, funky gear and wide, confident smiles. Renny always seems to have a guitar in his hand or strapped over his shoulder. The high Sierra, Yosemite, Death Valley, Point Reyes, the desert country of southern California, the Salmon River of Idaho and the Red Rock backcountry of Utah, Glen Canyon — if there was a wide-open space, the Russell brothers would find it. Without a doubt, they are spiritual descendents of Twain’s imagination, a pair of Huckleberry Finns “lighting out to escape civilization.”
When not wandering in the wilds, the Russell brothers lived all over the West, finally landing with their mother in Berkeley, California. Russell offers insightful accounts of the Berkeley scene, the blossoming Free Speech Movement (which he and his brother participated in), Sierra Club outings, his encounter with the Draft, sex, drugs and rock’n’roll (which older brother Terry eschewed) and their initial meeting with David Brower at his home. Occasionally, he segues from the political and environmental scene of the 1960s to commentary on our current situation. To some readers, Russell’s politics may sound like an old fart stuck implacably in the ruts of 1960-speak, but some of what he says bears listening. The 1960s, nevertheless, were clearly a mixed blessing for Russell.
Renny and Terry were raised by their mother, Phoebe Anne Russell, an avid climber and outdoorswoman. She had left her husband, Harvey Finkelson, when she was pregnant with Renny and Terry was a toddler. The ostensible reason: Finkelson had refused to move any farther west than Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
Phoebe gave the boys a wide berth, encouraging them to seek out adventure. She also picked up and moved regularly, fearing that Harvey was coming after her. It is unclear whether her fears were valid. Throughout their childhood and youth, the two brothers saw little of their father. Perhaps revealing more than he intended, Russell wrote, “My brother and I had no demanding authority figure to impose his will on ours, so in a sense we were free to invent ourselves. We turned to wilderness. I really had no regrets not having grown up with a father, nor did I feel angry or deprived.”
Eventually, after Phoebe’s death in 1987, Russell circles back to visit the father he claimed to not have missed. He wanted to know if Harvey could shed some light on his mother’s character, suggesting some ambivalence on Russell’s part about his mother. He ends up disappointed with his father’s explanations.
It is only before and after Russell runs Steer Ridge Rapid, where his brother drowned on June 11, 1965, that Rock Me On The Water finally bridges the chasm between past and present. Here he reveals as much about himself and the cross currents of his emotions over the following decades as the reader will ever know. In retelling the story, Russell bears witness to his and Terry’s youthful errors, in terms of river safety and their self-assured sense of their own immortality. Renny Russell made it to shore; Terry, the stronger swimmer, disappeared. The younger brother wandered for three days before reaching Green River, Utah. On June 25, Search and Rescue found Terry’s body at Florence Creek, 18 miles downstream. The surviving brother and his family were devastated.
In perhaps the most heart-wrenching part of Rock Me On The Water, Russell explores, to varying degrees, the complex nature of the burden he has carried: that he was rowing the raft when it turned over and that his survivor’s guilt is compounded by the fact that his brother, even in death the hero, had tried to (and perhaps did) save him. It seems that Russell is destined to remain in the shadow of his brother for the rest of his life.
What comes as a sad revelation, however, is the response of Russell’s family. In the aftermath, their terrible silence speaks volumes. Gradually, Russell realizes that they blame him for Terry’s death, adding to the 19-year-old’s already considerable guilt. His mother attempts suicide, fails, and never speaks of her eldest son again to the young Renny. A favorite aunt turns away. One uncle refers to Renny as the “unlovely brother” who rode Terry’s coattails during the creation of On the Loose. This toxic brew of silent reproach drives Russell away when what he needed most was the comfort and steadying influence of family. Russell does not say what role his father played during this anguished period. For a time, he is truly a lost soul, not searching for anything but running, running as far away as his beat-up vehicle will take him. He is not concerned with salvation, only distance. When he does decide to search, he is not even sure how or what he is looking for.
Russell’s brother, once there to guide and sometimes rescue him, now haunts him.
In the final chapters of Rock Me On The Water, we see Russell’s struggle to emerge from shadow of the beloved brother and make peace with himself come to some kind of resolution. By embracing the past, the 52-year-old Russell is, at last, able to lay his burden down. It is a cathartic moment, one Terry Russell would have appreciated and wished for his younger sibling.
Despite these revelations, Russell, I suspect, leaves much unsaid in Rock Me On The Water. Perhaps that is as it should be. He has invited the reader to journey with him down the river. We should be thankful for the privilege of accompanying the boatman part of the way on his decades-long voyage of the heart.
Postscript: The day the review copy of Rock Me On The Water arrived in the mail, I had just dropped my 18-year-old son off at the airport, bound for New Zealand. A week later, Into the Wild, the film based on Jon Krakauer’s book of the same name, appeared in theaters. The spirit of the Russell brothers is alive and well, even if the wide-open spaces seem to be a little too crowded for those of us who once roamed freely.
