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I spent one of the best summers with my father going down the Huron River.
A three day trip from the origination point near Flint back to Ann Arbor.
The river extends well past into Detroit and Lake Erie.
Look at the distant surface. Predict. And try try to dodge the hidden rocks ahead.
Captain yelling "rock" at the back.
The young bowman still learning.
The labrador retriever leading the way most of the time, swimming full time in the water and running up banks until we finally hauled him up, whereupon he'd crash in a wet heap on the towel on the cold aluminum.
We usually went for a dunk ourselves and just floated with the current for most of the trip.
Warm rippling waters, silky grasses, pesky mosquitoes swarming near dusk.
Watching huge Great Blue Herons in the trees ahead get upset and fly downstream squawking.
Set up the the tent finally at campgrounds, see what is dry left in the pack, try to cook a warm meal on a kerosene stove, before finally curling up in sleeping bags on hard ground exhausted.
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