Tao of the Cranberry
It’s mesmerizing, hypnotic, the steady roar of the white water not five feet from where I sat atop a small boulder. I was ten or so. My father had deposited me to wait while he went off fly fishing. I knew I had several hours to while away before lunch, but I was content. I have always been able to pull entertainment out of most any situation, and there are worse places to be than alone on a trout stream on a warm summer morning.
Below me on the sand by the water a snake was attempting to have frog for breakfast. The snake had clamped its jaws onto one of the back feet of the frog but was at an impasse as to how to proceed. The frog, for its part, was likewise unable to resolve the situation, and kicked sand into the snake’s face with its free foot. The snake squirmed and writhed a bit. The warm West Virginia sun dulled the senses. I watched them for the better part of an hour. No resolution. Frog kicks sand. Snake squirms. Neither is able to make any progress, however. Then something suddenly changed. The snake opened its mouth and sprang forward to get a better grip. Of course in that instant the frog shot through the air as far as its frog legs would propel it into the churning water. After a couple seconds the snake slithered off into the underbrush.​
The brief drama staged by Ma Nature alongside the Cranberry River closed with a sigh. I have often wondered if the aphorism, “Fish or cut bait” has any meaning to a snake. Did it come to appreciate the futility of its position? Was reptilian consciousness involved or merely instinct? Short of imbuing these creatures with anthropomorphic motivations I am satisfied with observing that snakes are snakes and frogs are frogs.
The river adjacent to where I sat was rapid and white, flowing around large boulders and old half submerged tree trunks. But about 100 yards downstream there was a long deep pool where the river relaxed in preparation for the next rapids. Impulsively I undressed and dove head first into the white water. Immediately I was at the mercy of the river. I guess I thought I could swim to the pool, but I lost all sense of purpose as the river dashed me against rocks and boulders and spun me about. It was all I could do to get a breath. After an hour of struggle (probably less than a minute in reality) I found myself in the pool and able to swim to the bank and climb out of the river. Well! That was a bit more excitement than I had bargained for when I got out of bed that morning. At least I hadn’t panicked and except for a couple of bruises I was OK. Climbing over rocks and through vegetation I made my way back to where I’d left my clothes and sat down.
Gradually the background roar of the river and the growing heat of the summer day relaxed me and I determined to try again. Even at ten, however, I was bright enough to realize somehow that head first was a mistake. So this time I jumped from the boulder and landed in the rushing current sitting with my feet out in front of me. I didn’t even try to swim. More or less I treaded water and let the current carry me, using what little control I could manage just to keep from colliding too severely with rocks.
The river will talk to you if you know how to listen and sense. Not with your ears so much as all your senses together tuned to its pull and rumble, the flow of the current around obstacles, the subtle changes in the volume of the roar, temperature changes when a cold rush slows and warms, infinite sensual clues.
I spent much of my youth along and in the Cranberry. I had my first drink of alcohol seated at a campfire with a group of my father’s fishing buddies. They passed a mason jar of white lightening together with a Coke chaser. I had always previously just passed it on until one evening when I was 14 my father told me to take a “swoller”. As with many of my experiences on the river, that was one I will never forget. A mouthful of near pure ethanol will brand the tongue with a lifetime of memory. I never did become much of a fisherman, but I did become an accomplished white-water swimmer. And much of what I learned was prologue to my ruminations about life. You will go downstream, so don’t fight it. You must be totally attuned to everything your environment is telling you. You have some temporal control but don’t let that fool you into hubris. Success lies in harmony...with the current of the river and the current of life.