I’m older than dirt.
The kid sitting on the pile of gear behind me is maybe 25, the son of my one of my life friends. He’s going to guide me through my first class 3 rapids. He’s got to be nuts. He’s laughing and joking on top of the cargo net. I have a death grip on the oars. I watched him take us through some earlier rapids here on the Yampa. He was coolly competent. The raft just bounced and flew exactly where he wanted it to go. I was impressed. I caught myself thinking, “If this kid can do this, it can’t be that hard.”
He was a scary kid growing up. He drank way too much beer and did crazy stuff. He’s big at 6’ 8”and got in bar fights. I called his dad one day to talk about business and asked after his kid. His dad stopped me cold when he said, “I hope he survives high school.”
I was 25 in the early-’70s and fighting a losing battle with the draft. My government wanted me for cannon fodder. I almost had a degree and some school-loan debt. I had an apartment with my girlfriend and a job at a newspaper. I lost the fight with the draft and was saved by the reserves. I married the girlfriend. And I was real average in all respects. Did I whine about stuff? Of course, but I was taking care of myself.
A lot of you guys in this same age range are doing fine, but a disproportionate number of you don’t appear to be able to find your butt with both hands. You guys seem like you have the attention span of a fruit fly. You have huge debt from school. Your unemployment rate is the same as Muslims in Norway, and you are living at home with mom and dad.
If you are 25 and still reading this (doubtful) you are going to think, “Just another cranky geezer.” That could be true, but that’s not the point. This is a really rough start for you guys under 30. Mark Twain talked about older parents looking at their middle-aged children searching for signs of improvement.
We’re looking at you guys and saying, “We know it’s tough out there. In one way or another, it has always been tough out there. Show us something.”
I can hear the roar of the rapids ahead, but I can’t see it. I’ve sweated through the back of my cowhide gloves. Best guess is that my pulse is already over 100. There is that odd metallic taste of fear in my mouth.
“Remember,” he says, “when you see the tongue, set-up right in the middle of it.”
I nod my head, because I’m afraid that if I say anything my voice will sound nervous — but more like scared shitless.
We round a bend and there before us is the maelstrom. It is just a wall of whitewater that makes me wonder what class 4 and 5 are like. I see the tongue. And after several days of coaching from a 25-year-old, my hands move the raft into position in a sort of magical way. I’m a hair to the right and get a slight tap on my left shoulder.
I adjust.
“Good” is the last thing I hear before the roar of the river as we fly down the tongue.
This 25-year-old is a boatman. He’s also a mechanical engineer with a new job on the coast and a wife headed for medical school. Like all of us, he’s got some rough patches in front of him. And he has many more days on the river where he will laugh so hard the back of his head will hurt. He’s made a life for himself.
Things start happening fast. I feel like I’m going to broach to the left and into a wall. I’m praying that the kid will reach down and take the oars. Instead I get a firm hand on my right shoulder and pull hard to get my line again.
There is a huge “WHOOOP! from behind.
We pound down two more tongues in better order this time. I might actually be smiling through clenched teeth.
More WHOOPS!
In my peripheral vision, a big left hand points a finger toward a wave train.
“Hit the train! Hit the train!”
We ride the train and settle back in a placid ride downstream with the roar behind us.
I’m getting pounded on the back by this kid.
It will take a week to get the smile off my face.
It’s fine to ignore what I’ve said here. But this kid has taught me to believe in you guys. There is some hugely important work that needs to get done in the next 40 years. There are mountains and rivers and oceans to explore. Get out there and do it.
It’s time.
Boulder resident Alan Stark, a gin-drinking, portly trail runner with an attitude, is the publisher at Colorado Mountain Club Press. His blog, Mountain Passages, can be found at mountaingazette.com.
{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
Good work Mr. Whiner. Or that famous line from Wad meeting. Whine louder.
Hey Mr. Stark!
I recall one day in the sixties when you went over the falls at Great Falls of the Potomac. You survived that nicely. Good to see that you’re still pushing the envelope.
Pat Moore
When you’re over the hill, you pick up speed
If you’re not living on the edge, you’re taking up too much room
Pat:
I deny that.
Alan
Wonderful website. Plenty of helpful info here. I am sending it to some buddies ans also sharing in delicious. And naturally, thanks for your sweat!
gucci i think i love her lyrics remix meilleur parmi vrai, paquet très soigné, excellente com… A recommander
I read this pep-rally sort of speech with hopeful interest. I was relieved to see an elder had volunteered to shed a little light on areas with room for improvement for my generation of loafing, basement-dwelling “fruit flies.” Maybe he could help us finally locate our butt with both hands, or at least the one holding the toilet paper. But I came away picturing you as a judgmental person for whom a reluctant face-to-face encounter with a member of this perceived pathetic generation mysteriously sparked an ember of optimism. It is helpful that you end with a solution for us, but I have a difficult time making “exploring mountains and rivers and oceans” add up to employment, the paying of debt, and home ownership (the grounds on which you criticize us). I’ve been out here exploring for the past ten years and while it has helped with my fruit fly attention span, and overall quality of life, I’m still mostly poor and don’t own any property. Which is fine with me. It is tempting to point out that each generation harvests this fall what the former planted last spring, hopefully remembering to save seeds for their own descendents when it all comes around again. It is reasonable to place blame on the forebears for mismanagement, resulting in things like student loan debt and draft dodging. One might request the prior generation’s willingness to help find a solution, or at least their refrain from scathing criticism. All in all, we don’t deserve praise for our generation’s successes any more than we want blame for their failures, if anyone has gone about quantifying either of those. I can only tell you about the successes and failures of the peers I know personally, and as far as I can tell they are almost exactly as brilliantly complex and understandably earthling as your own generation. Both of which ought to be out exploring this fine planet, if they can be. So we do agree on that. But you lost me with the stereotypical, Boulderite dissatisfaction and snobbery, and I think one could even apply the word ageism here if one were inclined to use such a word. If you learn anything from your little excursion on the oar frame, hopefully it will reflect the importance of staying focused on your own line. Pointing and laughing at the rookie hung up on the strainer in front of you is just asking for the boatwoman behind you to come yank you in by your PFD.
Thanks for the thoughtful comments Caroline. But let me clear up one misconception—I’m not laughing at the rookie in front of me; I’m mostly focused on my own line. I’m simply concerned that some of your generation have given up and have no line. In my generation a number of us were lost in a a really stupid war and a number were lost to drugs. Those losses left a hole in my generation. I hoping that you don’t lose a number of your own generation to inaction, that would be a waste.
Alan