Shouldering responsibility

It’s time for displacement activity to assuage anticipation anxiety, like blogging. That is, we’re a couple days away from departure of our annual spring kayaking trip and my fingers are about raw from double checking my pack. Everyone on the trip is getting giddier by the hour at this point, as evidenced by my email inbox.

I tried to preempt some of this by admonishing them not to set expectations in stone. Come what may, just let it waft over you and enjoy it. Yeah, right. That did a lot of good. They have their wish lists and expect delivery. And, whom do they expect to deliver? That would be me.

At the top of the list would be warm and sunny weather. Isn’t that why we picked Florida? Take nicknames with a gram of salt water. The sunshine state? I think not.

I thought it would be relatively easy to web up state rankings in rainfall. I thought wrong. There are multiple variables, such as disparity by region and square mileage. But, according to the table that came closest to simplifying the ranking, Florida places sixth among the fifty. Sunshine my foot. A pox on those spin doctors.

If the description isn’t real, that doesn’t mean the anticipation follows suit. And, somehow, some way, I’ll be painted with responsibility. So be it. I’m used to that. At least the forecast looks very good. I must be a genius.

Some participants have their hearts set on rubbing elbows with alligators. All want to bump up against manatees. In the past, I have posted some trips featuring eagles, wolves and assorted other fauna, only to have the wildlife no-show. Apparently, they don’t read the email. It doesn’t matter how many nests, dens or burrows are advertised or reported, the animals just don’t always feel compelled to cooperate. I took a group to a park in South Dakota that boasted 123 species of wildlife. We combed the acreage all day, encountering only two examples. Three, if you count the scraggly German Shepherd. As the trip leader, I was counting it.

The last time I led a trip to this particular area, we had manatees up the wazoo, but only one gator. Fortunately, the reptile made an indelible impression by choosing to join one of our paddlers in a swim. The conversion table shows that one gator in the water with you is worth five on the bank. Another relevant ratio is that for every foot closer to you the gator is, it grows one in length.

Another time, I led a trip in the Okefenokee Swamp where the group expectation was nothing but gators. For the first couple miles, the cupboard was bare. Maybe it was the sound of the grief I was getting from the group that scared them off. After that stretch, there was an 800-pounder about every ten feet for the next two days. I didn’t hear a peep out of anyone.

The weather gods appear to smile upon us, in regard to manatees. It’s been a cold winter and that drives the puppy-like behemoths up the streams to congregate at the warm springs. But, we’ll see.

Finally, the paddlers have heard about boisterous campground parties and nights out on the town from prior adventures. With this cast, delivering on that is the least of my worries. There’s a greater likelihood that they’ll be dancing around the campfire by sundown than that manatees will be brushing by us on a daily basis.

Okay, back to recounting granola bars.