Caught In The River - Ronald Lee (book reader for pc TXT) 📗

Chapter 0ne
Jack stood on the edge of the Little Pee Dee River awestruck by nature’s beauty. The dark black water gently flowed past him heading to the great Atlantic Ocean. On the opposite side of the river tall spruce, pine, and oak trees stood like a majestic army. The fifteen year old ran his hand along the smooth molding of his dad’s bass boat in anticipation of the coming ride. He was finally calming down after a ferocious fight with his sister Mary over Jack using the computer too much. His black haired seventeen year old sister had remained home with his mother Fran. This camping trip was going to be just what the young man needed to get his mind off his aggravating older sister, frustrating football coach, and slumping grades in school.
“Back off Jack,” His dad, Robert, called from the driver’s seat of the black four by four King Cab. Jack nodded and moved to the boat ramp.
Jack watched the white boat trailer disappear under the dark water until the boat started to float. His father put the truck in park, cranked the boat and backed the craft into the river. He guided the boat to the dock and tied the mooring line off then went to park the truck. The wooden ramp echoed each step Jack made as he raced to the place where the boat waited for the trip. Jack stepped in and took his seat at the front of the boat while his dad hurriedly walked back.
Jack looked up at the clear blue Carolina sky and smiled as a couple of ducks flew past. The air was crisp and cool for a late September afternoon. He rubbed his hands on his blue jeans then reached down to do a final check of their equipment. Were the fishing rods there? Check. Was the tackle box there? Yes. Tent? Check. Sleeping bags? He lifted up the tent and confirmed they were there. The cooler was right between his seat and his dad’s. Jack reached in, fished through the ice for a can of Pepsi, and pulled it out. He wiped his hand on his plaid cotton shirt and sipped his beverage as his father stepped into the boat.
“Are you ready to go son?” His dad asked. Jack’s dad stepped into the boat having parked the truck and trailer.
“Yes sir,” Jack answered. Jack’s father smiled at his son and untied the boat from the dock. As the vehicle drifted into the middle of the river Jack,’s dad walked back to his seat and sat at the driver’s counsel.
Robert turned the key, and the large Honda 350 engine once again roared to life. In a moment, the Galvent’s Ferry landing was far behind them as they headed down river. Jack felt like he was flying while the boat skipped across the water towards their destination. They were heading to an island three miles down stream that was suppose to have been the hideout of Francis Marion during the Revolutionary War.
The flat swampland banking the river turned into tall red clay clefts that towered above the purple bass boat as Robert guided the vehicle through the hazards of the river. He would slow down and point out to Jack the unseen sandbars and hidden trees toppled by past thunderstorms, termites, or age.
“You can see the dangerous spots because the water turns lighter, or the ripples change direction,” Robert taught his son. “It’s kind of like life. If you are careful you can see the warning signs of trouble even if you can’t see the danger itself.”
Jack looked back at his dad and smiled. His father’s gray hair use to be black like Jack’s, but a hard life working at the local paper mill had turned it gray. His father had started out unloading trucks in the shipyard, but now he was the safety supervisor. Robert Woodle was a very intellegent man. He often told his son that he learned his best lessons in life through experience rather than books, but better book knowledge might have helped him go through better experiences. Robert strove to in steal in Jack and his sister Mary a love for God, family, and education. Their mother was a small blonde hair blue eyed woman who faithfully stood by her husband as a homemaker.
The boat jerked forward and Jack caught himself from falling onto the floor. He looked up at his father who smiled wirily. “Sorry son, I think that was a log.” The engine shook as Robert eased off the throttle. Jack felt the log sliding under the hull of the boat. It scraped along reminding Jack of fingernails on a chalkboard.
The hydraulic lift hummed softly as Jack’s dad pushed the button that would lift the motor out of the water. The boat dipped down into the river as the log passed under, and Jack’s dad returned the motor to the running position. Jack took a long sip of his drink and handed his dad one. Robert popped the top and drank the liquid before restarting the engine and continuing the trip.
The rest of the boat ride went smoothly, and the hundred-yard long island came into view after the travelers rounded a bend in the river. Jack’s dad steered the boat onto a sandy beach and the two disembarked the craft. They explored the island for just a few moments as the sun began to sink low. A recent storm had made the terrain a little more difficult to navigate because of fallen oak, maple, and pine trees. Thorn bushes grabbed at Jack’s blue jeans and shirt as he followed his father through to higher ground. The two found their campsite twenty yards in towards the center of the island and they started getting their equipment off the boat.
A few moments later, all of the camping supplies were in place and Jack busied himself setting up the tent. While his dad returned to secure the boat for the night, Jack put the support polls together, ran them through the nylon housings and lifted the four-man tent into place. He then placed their chairs by the future home of the campfire. His father returned carrying his weather alert radio, forty-five caliber handgun and the backpack that kept their dry foods.
“Good job son,” Robert said as he tied a rope around the nap sack and looped it over a tree limb. He lifted the nap sack into the air where it was level with his face then tied it off to a root sticking up out of the dark gray earth. Jack pushed the cooler near the tent entrance.
“Did you move all the stubble from the ground before you sat the tent up?” His dad asked as he handed Jack the sleeping bags.
“Come on dad,” Jack whined. “This isn’t the first time we’ve been camping.” Jack put the sleeping bags in side the tent and unrolled them. His dad sat the weather alert radio on a log then put his hand on his son’s shoulder.
“You’re right. I don’t think I could have done a better job when I was your age.” Robert said. “Let’s go get the fire wood.”
The sun was just about gone as Jack and his father finished gathering twigs, pinecones, and limbs to make their campfire. His father placed the twigs on the ground, pine straw, and a few of the pinecones in a pile then took two pieces of flint from his pocket.
“Why don’t you just use your lighter dad,” Jack asked as his father knelt and struck the stones together.
“Well son,” Robert started as he struck the stones again. “Conveyance is not always the best way. It’s good to have a couple of reliable alternatives.” As if to prove his point, the next strike of the stones together produced a spark that got the twigs smoldering. His father blew on the fire gently and patently added more kindling. Soon there was a roaring campfire. The father and son walked to the beach of the island and went fishing for supper. Forty-five minutes later Jack and his father had two five-pound catfish skinned and frying in a pan on the campfire.
After they finished their dinner of fish, chips, and soda Jack and his dad went down to the river’s edge where they washed out the pan and dishes then returned to camp. Jack’s dad listened to the weather report while Jack read a book by the light of his lantern. His father never let him bring his electronic games or music when they went camping, and Jack had learned to rely on some more archaic means of entertainment.
Jack looked up from his reading. The treetops parted at just the right spot that gave him a clear view of the star field sky. Once again, the beauty of nature awed him. However, it was not long before his problems clouded his mind again.
“Dad, can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” his dad said.
“Why won’t coach let me play? I’ve been doing all the things he ask me to at practice. I know I missed that big pass two weeks ago, but . . .
“Son that miss cost you guys the game.” Robert interrupted. “And you’re only a sophomore. Several seniors on your team are playing for scholarships. Just be patient and support your teammate’s everyway you can.” Jack shrugged off his father’s hand that he placed on his son’s shoulder. Jack stood up and put his book in his backpack.
“Speaking of team work,” his father started. “What happened between you and Mary?”
“She’s impossible dad,” Jack complained. He went into the tent and put on his swim trunks. “She can’t see past ‘Kyle.’ And she keeps picking at me about that game and my grades.”
“Well, now you know how important that was to people.” His dad said sitting back down.
“It’s just one game,” Jack argued. “We’re still three and one.”
“Every game is important son,” His father said getting a drink out the cooler. “And your grades are more important. Remember every action has an equal and opposite reaction. That loss could keep you out of the play-offs. Or failing grades could cost you a scholarship even if you’re a great athlete.”
“Hey dad,” Jack interrupted. He didn’t appreciate his father pointing out his shortcomings. “Can I go swimming?” Jack’s dad scowled.
“I don’t know son,” he started. “It’s pretty cold.”
“Yes sir, but I just wanted to burn a little energy.”
“That water will make you shrivel up,” His dad warned.
Jack ignored the joke.
“This might be the last chance I get to go swimming till next spring,” Jack said.
“All right son,” Robert said. “Just be careful. I will be down in a few minutes to rinse off myself.”
Jack grabbed his towel and lantern and hurried down towards the boat. He placed his lantern on the