01-19-2019, 03:35 PM
12/31/2018: Part 2
On all our boat outings, we see turtles -- some on shore, some sunning themselves on logs or branches sticking out of the water. As we boat downriver now, after exploring the illegal logging site, we see the occasional turtle diving in at our approach. Eventually the boatman aims for shore and slows way down. There's the barest inlet. The boatman noses towards the narrow opening, but bottoms. Mohsin and JJ jump out into knee-deep water to push us back out, then climb aboard. The boatman comes at it from a slightly different angle ... and skims through. He immediately cuts the motor. We're in the barest tributary. The banks are steep, marked here and there by animal tracks. The water is still, meandering through overhangs of vegetation. Mohsin says this is what he thinks of when he hears "jungle." He says we might see animals come down to the water to drink; but we are too noisy, and we never see any.
We sit there a time, savoring the tranquil beauty. Then Mohsin starts handing out the banana-leaf wraps that LC helped prepare. It's lunchtime, and we eat. JJ brought a couple fishing poles, and he and a helper bait them and cast out, fishing for piranha. If they catch any, JJ says he'll cook them for us (presumably later). But they aren't biting today.
As we're finishing eating, LC quietly comments to me that this seems a nice place. I agree. Then her statement takes on greater meaning as she quietly pulls out a small box from her backpack. It's wooden, fabric-covered, gnawed on by unknown jungle critters since our arrival. Everything gets gnawed on in this jungle, it seems. Now I agree more emphatically that this is a very nice place. LC quietly works open the box and speaks briefly to her younger brother, Kevin, then prepares to scatter his ashes overboard. Paula takes notice, asks if this is a solemn occasion, and others take notice as well. LC doesn't want this to be a formal public event. Kevin never liked crowds. An outdoorsman living in Juneau, Alaska, he had worked on a commercial fishing boat as well as hunted and fished in the surrounding rivers and streams. He had so many amazing stories to tell, including several close encounters with bears. In recent years he'd been fighting a systemic illness the doctors never could pin down; and when it took an alarming turn for the worse in the summer of 2018, LC and I rushed up to Juneau to pay our last respects. Shortly thereafter his widow sent us some of his ashes with the note, "I trust you'll take him to interesting places."
And so LC has.
But this occasion has drawn too much attention, and LC only scatters some of the ashes, saving the remainder for a more private occasion.
On all our boat outings, we see turtles -- some on shore, some sunning themselves on logs or branches sticking out of the water. As we boat downriver now, after exploring the illegal logging site, we see the occasional turtle diving in at our approach. Eventually the boatman aims for shore and slows way down. There's the barest inlet. The boatman noses towards the narrow opening, but bottoms. Mohsin and JJ jump out into knee-deep water to push us back out, then climb aboard. The boatman comes at it from a slightly different angle ... and skims through. He immediately cuts the motor. We're in the barest tributary. The banks are steep, marked here and there by animal tracks. The water is still, meandering through overhangs of vegetation. Mohsin says this is what he thinks of when he hears "jungle." He says we might see animals come down to the water to drink; but we are too noisy, and we never see any.
We sit there a time, savoring the tranquil beauty. Then Mohsin starts handing out the banana-leaf wraps that LC helped prepare. It's lunchtime, and we eat. JJ brought a couple fishing poles, and he and a helper bait them and cast out, fishing for piranha. If they catch any, JJ says he'll cook them for us (presumably later). But they aren't biting today.
As we're finishing eating, LC quietly comments to me that this seems a nice place. I agree. Then her statement takes on greater meaning as she quietly pulls out a small box from her backpack. It's wooden, fabric-covered, gnawed on by unknown jungle critters since our arrival. Everything gets gnawed on in this jungle, it seems. Now I agree more emphatically that this is a very nice place. LC quietly works open the box and speaks briefly to her younger brother, Kevin, then prepares to scatter his ashes overboard. Paula takes notice, asks if this is a solemn occasion, and others take notice as well. LC doesn't want this to be a formal public event. Kevin never liked crowds. An outdoorsman living in Juneau, Alaska, he had worked on a commercial fishing boat as well as hunted and fished in the surrounding rivers and streams. He had so many amazing stories to tell, including several close encounters with bears. In recent years he'd been fighting a systemic illness the doctors never could pin down; and when it took an alarming turn for the worse in the summer of 2018, LC and I rushed up to Juneau to pay our last respects. Shortly thereafter his widow sent us some of his ashes with the note, "I trust you'll take him to interesting places."
And so LC has.
But this occasion has drawn too much attention, and LC only scatters some of the ashes, saving the remainder for a more private occasion.