Dawn is not yet peaking through the mesh of the tent. There are no rays of cascading Vitamin D glimmering in my eyes. The warmth of day is not beckoning me to join it with arms wide open. In fact, sunlight is still three hours away from touching this chasm-like fissure placed at the bottom of Joe Bump Creek on the Middle Fork of the Salmon; in my opinion, the coldest location on the river. My common sense and goose-bumped skin is screaming to stay tucked away in the shelter and warmth of my down sleeping bag. Yet, I lost the ro-sham-bo match last night. It’s my turn to prep the coffee.
At the river’s edge, I stare into the confluence while trying to keep my feet dry. I slip. For some reason, when dipped in the river in the chilled morning of the early season, coffee pots don’t seem to fill as quickly as they do when arid August is sucking the moisture from my skin. The frigid air seeping from the tributary’s mouth is relentless. It is, in itself, a harsh cup of coffee. If I wasn’t a coffee or tea drinker, I’d be pissed to be awake right now.
To add insult to the fact that I am awake and meandering around at 5:30 a.m. on this chilly morning like a gooey-eyed kitten, I snap my sandal strap and spill one of the coffee pots amongst the rocky beach. It’s ironic that my “job” requires me to often get up before dawn for four months, and, yet, I’m still not a morning person. Can’t we just do a layover day?
I crank the handle on the “bomb” (aka the propane tank). The copper fitting turns a little roughly, unnoticeable to some, but I’ve turned this knob a 1000 times before. A rookie would never notice the extra resistance. What I didn’t notice, however, was amongst all of the pre-season check boxes back at the warehouse whiteboard—patch boats, change truck fluids, replace light bulbs, etc.—remaining checkless was the box that said “refurbish stoves, degrease, replace gaskets, and REMOVE SAND.” Now who’s the rookie?
Propane discharges into the air, awaiting a flash point. Click. Click. Spark. Ignition! There is a vapor lock in the line and the propane redirects itself through a groove in the knob. ”REMOVE SAND.” (Houston…We have lift off!) A jet of flame shoots from the knob which my fingers are lightly rested upon. My synthetic down jacket ignites, burning colorful flames all the way through to my favorite vest beneath. As I’m literally burned awake and flicker into a panicked state, the plastic-based shells melt in the curling fashion of burning trash bags. Howling like a little girl, I pat out the flames with my leather-gloved hands.
And now I’m praising the cold, thankful for the need to layer. I try to regain some sort of calm, kitten-like composure after spinning the propane valve shut. One broken sandal, two destroyed jackets, air reeking of singed belly-button hair and still, two pots of cold coffee water. All of this before 6 o’freakin’clock. To my relief, none of the guests were awake to see the fire calamity.
From outside the kitchen I hear a guest’s voice. “So I saw that calamity with the fire.”
Damn it! Now who’s the rookie?
Bill, the happiest guest and sharpest man over 85 I’ve ever met, strolls into the kitchen at 6:15 with his long eyebrows touching his cheeks, holding an expectant coffee cup in hand.
“Kyle, you should really get that stove refurbished, huh? You ok?”
I pour Bill a cup of coffee and he gives me a hug. Bill has just been diagnosed with Parkinson’s and has brought his entire family with him, at least the ones that could escape the rat race for a week. They are here in one of his favorite places in the world to share and create memories for his children and grandchildren to remember him by before the disease grasps him too strongly.
Without fail, Bill rises every day to join the crew for our “Guide Only” morning meeting. Honored guest. We become accustomed to welcoming him to the meetings with a good morning group hug and hot cup of coffee, always separate events. Dangerous if mixed. These are the things that can make relationships so beautiful on the river. Over one week amongst the mountains and flowing waters, total strangers can become family and a wonderful piece of our own stories.
