on sinking a canoe
The curious thing about sinking a canoe is that no one ever sees it coming. Because the sinking is unforeseen, there is little to no planning for the event.
Sinking usually begins in one or two scenarios and almost invariably ends in the same result.
At the start, the day usually is a good paddle; the pilot is fresh and the muscle is warmed to the thought. The mood is bordering on ecstatic. But at a certain point, energy is starting to wane and the hired hands are grumbling. In the bow talk turns to mutiny, cannibalism, and deceit. If the navigator is solid, they will have already threatened the conspirators with a drubbing. Things get worse until they are worst of all. It may start with the wind picking up. Or it may be even more simply that the rapids are more violent than expected if not expected at all. Another morale sapping scenario is the spread of disease. Nothing can ruin a canoe paddle as fast as cholera running from stem to stern.
So the crew is dissatisfied with the course and the weather is souring. The talk turns to turning around. But where to head? A wise pilot keeps the bow pointed into the wind.
Not every canoe gets a good pilot just the same as no cake is completed by the icing. Eventually a wave crests the gunwhale.
Water in the canoe usually precipitates the sinking. Before long you are paddling water around, no canoe in sight. At this point, its best to throw the paddles towards shore and strike out into a practiced australian crawl.
After you have sunk that canoe, if you can see people on shore, start to laugh. When they hear you laughing there is a fifty fifty chance they believe that you sank the canoe for a lark. But if you see your insurance agent, don't laugh. Don't cry either. Immediately go up on shore and start asking if anyone witnessed the steamship that did run you down. The pretense of seeking witnesses always makes a good impression on the jury.
The curious thing about sinking a canoe is that no one ever sees it coming. Because the sinking is unforeseen, there is little to no planning for the event.
Sinking usually begins in one or two scenarios and almost invariably ends in the same result.
At the start, the day usually is a good paddle; the pilot is fresh and the muscle is warmed to the thought. The mood is bordering on ecstatic. But at a certain point, energy is starting to wane and the hired hands are grumbling. In the bow talk turns to mutiny, cannibalism, and deceit. If the navigator is solid, they will have already threatened the conspirators with a drubbing. Things get worse until they are worst of all. It may start with the wind picking up. Or it may be even more simply that the rapids are more violent than expected if not expected at all. Another morale sapping scenario is the spread of disease. Nothing can ruin a canoe paddle as fast as cholera running from stem to stern.
So the crew is dissatisfied with the course and the weather is souring. The talk turns to turning around. But where to head? A wise pilot keeps the bow pointed into the wind.
Not every canoe gets a good pilot just the same as no cake is completed by the icing. Eventually a wave crests the gunwhale.
Water in the canoe usually precipitates the sinking. Before long you are paddling water around, no canoe in sight. At this point, its best to throw the paddles towards shore and strike out into a practiced australian crawl.
After you have sunk that canoe, if you can see people on shore, start to laugh. When they hear you laughing there is a fifty fifty chance they believe that you sank the canoe for a lark. But if you see your insurance agent, don't laugh. Don't cry either. Immediately go up on shore and start asking if anyone witnessed the steamship that did run you down. The pretense of seeking witnesses always makes a good impression on the jury.
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