My Canoe Trip with Scott

ONE FOR THE MEMORIES: A RUN ON THE RIVER FOR DAD, KIDS
DATE: September 21, 1991
PUBLICATION: Dayton Daily News (OH)
EDITION: CITY
SECTION: RELIGION
PAGE: 3C
COLUMN: DAVID E. KEPPLE RELIGION WRITER

It was grueling, arduous, painful, at times frustrating and embarrassing - and it was fun! Sort of a metaphor for life itself.
This is the story of my journey into the heart of darkness, and how I communed with God's natural wonders in the process.
Never into scouting as a youngster, I have managed to make it out once or twice a year for weekend camp-outs with my sons, both of whom are members of Boy Scout Troop 236, based at Christ United Methodist Church in Kettering. This is no small feat for a fellow who, frankly, would be overwhelmed if asked to tie a square knot, let alone erect a tent. Fortunately, I have sons to take care of little details like that. The evening of Friday the 13th found us camping at Fyffe's Canoe Rental in Bellbrook as part of a special, father-son expedition sponsored by Troop 236. The outing began on an exciting note, with a terrifying electrical storm that sent scores of scouts and fathers huddling under the nearest picnic shelter, where slashing winds drenched us with cold rain.
As mammoth bolts of lightning pierced the sky over our heads, followed by mind-numbing cracks of thunder, I knew this would not be a weekend to let my prayer-life slide. I had that same sense the next morning, as the boys served up some kind of French toast balls for breakfast. But that was only the beginning.
Our mission was to board canoes and conquer a 10-mile stretch of the Little Miami River, putting in near Alpha, north of U.S. 35. Paddles in hand, life-preservers donned, we also wore our "game-faces" as we boarded the buses that would take us to our starting point.
Now, I'm no neophyte when it comes to life on the river. Why, only nine years ago, I joined my sportsman-brother for a canoe outing on the whitewater of the Youghiogheny River in southern Pennsylvania.
That was a memorable outing, from the moment I inexplicably stepped off the canoe into water over my head at the outset of the trip. No, I wasn't trying to walk on water, though it must have seemed that way to my puzzled companions. Then I broke one of the paddles - ah, but that was my rookie excursion.
So, just nine years later, I found myself back on the water. This time I was the experienced hand, with my 11-year-old son, Scott, the rookie. We entered the river - neither one of us having the slightest idea what we were doing as we headed downstream.
Bringing up the rear was Dr. Charles Goodwin, the scoutmaster for Troop 236. About 15 minutes into our journey, Goodwin and a young companion had already helped us drain our swamped craft a couple times, while we learned the subtle nuances of steering a canoe.
Goodwin, by the way, must have the patience of a saint. The amount of time and attention he devotes to the youngsters of Troop 236 is beyond my comprehension. And I have never seen him lose his cool, even in the face of situations that would make most guys bonkers. In his spare time, he doubles as chief of staff at Children's Medical Center.
"Dave, you're doing a FINE JOB, just a FINE JOB," Goodwin asserted in a friendly, native-Alabama drawl as we scrambled to keep up.
Before too long, we were on our own - behind everyone else - grinding to a halt on the rocks, smashing into tree trunks on the river bank, and generally exploring our tolerance for pain. There were a couple times when I thought I was hitting the IQ Stage - for "I Quit." You know, that's the moment in labor when women decide maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.
I have to admit, during this stage, I used some language that wouldn't be found in the Boy Scout handbook.
In the middle of our trip, there was a moment when our canoe turned over (again). The water was moderately deep, and my son looked as though he might be in trouble. It was a little scary. Thankfully, we recovered pretty quickly, with only some minor anguish from tripping over a submerged tree branch.
Seeing my son come out of it OK filled me with enough gratitude to venture on. Besides, I didn't see any sign of a helicopter coming to pick us up.
After stopping for sandwiches at a park near Indian Riffle Road, we forged ahead for the final half of the journey. Now seasoned, veteran men of the river, we made our way downstream with quiet confidence - only tipping into the water on two more occasions. Our modest quest now was simply to make it back before dark.
Shouts of "There they are!" greeted us as we finally paddled into our base in Bellbrook about five hours after we began.
As a party of swimming boys approached our canoe and threatened to swamp it yet again, I resisted a strong temptation to use the paddle on their heads. For after all, wasn't it Jesus who said that the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these?
I understand Troop 236 is planning a trip to Pennsylvania next spring to hit the whitewater on the Youghiogheny River, and they may be looking for some extra adults to take part.
Darn, I think I have to work that weekend.