Waubeek

Robyn and I took a young colleague of hers kayaking on the Wapsipinicon Sunday. I started out in a mood, but the flow of the river soon wrung it out of me. We put in in Central City and paddled to Waubeek. Closer to Waubeek, the banks of the river rose and formed old mossy bluffs. Tiny flying bugs danced in the air and the breeze died down, leaving the surface of the river smooth. Robyn's friend was a little chatty and missed the hint that if you're quiet you see more wildlife. He's a pleasant young man, though, and when he and Robyn talked "shop" I paddled ahead a little.

We saw a small gray heron and a great blue one and just as I thought we wouldn't, we saw two mature bald eagles rise from the trees downstream and fly directly over us. We almost always see an eagle or two on Iowa rivers in the summer. It's too early for the Alaska eagles to winter here, but there are always some homebodies living in the river valleys.

We pulled into Waubeek about five o'clock, after about a two hour paddle, and got out of our boats without incident. Faithful friends and readers who have joined me kayaking know that nothing displays my innate grace quite so well as the task of unwrapping myself from the cockpit of a kayak. I was not very coordinated before my back injury and now I'm even less bendable. I'm actually very comfortable while in the boat, but this business of straightening and balancing on the way out is dicey. I was recently assisted -- nay rescued -- by a decidedly middle aged lady who said "oh honey, do you need help?!"

Robyn and I convinced our young charge that stopping at the bar in Waubeek is part of the ritual. It's an ancient stone mill which years ago was converted into a fine old tavern. There's no zoning out in the counties and the bar certainly testifies to that. It has a huge deck overlooking the river and is built of massive sandstone blocks. Inside, it's cool and dark and there are big Gothic stone windows to look out of.

Two women were behind the bar and a handful of decidedly soused regulars were hanging around. One gentleman in camouflage explained helpfully "I'm piss-hammered." A handsome silver bearded man named Jack sat at a table nearby. He was playing Texas hold
-'em with a chubby 9 year old boy sporting a grown-out Mohawk, and also wearing camouflage. One of the women behind the bar was seated and slurring her speech. The other woman waited on us. Robyn ordered a Bloody Mary.

"Bloody Mary!" the slurring woman announced, "Who orders a Bloody Mary at five in the afternoon?" The other woman began building the drink.

"I don't work here but I'm helping out . . . " the woman explained. "She's drunk. . . says it's 'fun-day Monday.'"

"You're a good friend," I said.

"She's my sister." Robyn and Austin (young protege) went to get the car in Central City and I stayed for a shot and beer. The young woman had a shot with me. "I'm going to clean up here and then wake her up. She's lying down in the kitchen." I looked and the slurring woman was indeed gone from her seat at the end of the bar.

"Grandpa cheats!" the boy announced. "I saw him looking at the cards. He looked and saw an ace and put it back!" Grandpa wasn't saying much. His face was very red behind his silver beard and his eyes were glassy.

I went out on the deck with my beer and joined the camouflage man and another gentleman at the rail. We talked about repairing an old water heater that someone's grandpa had wired incorrectly. Camo-man cheerfully stumbled into the bar again and I talked to the other fellow about how he'd survived the farm crisis and bought more land and how land prices had increased so much that he was now very successful on 160 acres. He was drunk but coherent and had a good story to tell. After a while a couple girls who looked to be 11 and 13, and seemed to be related to Mohawk boy, came up and interrupted us.

"Dad, Bert says you need to stop Grandpa." She lowered her voice and looked embarrassed. "He's going to try and drive home." We looked over toward the road and the silver bearded man was in a maroon Buick withe motor running.

"Let me finish my story," my companion said. As he finished, the silver bearded man backed the Buick out slowly as some patrons yelled at him. "Jack! No! Goddammit Jack!"

"He's my father-in-law," the man explained. "He's older than I am." The silver haired man, looking ahead in a blurry determined sort of way, put the Buick in drive and rolled away. My companion shrugged. "He's a grown man. I can't tell him what to do."

The sister who was helping out came out to get my companion and go home. I think everyone in the bar was related somehow. Robyn and Austin came back with the cars and I said goodbye.

"I talked that guy's ear off!" I heard my companion say.

We loaded the kayaks on the car. There was a gentle breeze blowing off the river and the sun was lower over the trees. It was one of those end of summer afternoons that lingers and fades into gray light, rich with the smell of warm fields, late flowers and mowed grass.