Old Friends Photo Essay, Volume Tom

[Guest]

Some of my old paddling companions were a bit on the odd side, perhaps no surprises there, they were willing to paddle with me. Tom undoubtedly fell into that category.

Another paddling friend had gifted me a gross of bungee balls. 144 bungee balls, at the time what seemed like a lifetime supply, so I distributed some to other friends. This was Tom’s solution for using his.

EK_0044 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr

Now a couple decades later I am down to the last of my bungee balls, and could use some of Tom’s cajones headdress back.

Tom was always a stylish dresser on canoe trips. Not exactly sure what style he was going for, demented perhaps. The camo pants will certainly help him blend in.

EK_0009 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr

I once offered to stop by Tom’s home and pick him up before a trip. Big old E-150 van, I’ll have plenty of room. His canoe was easy to accommodate, his gear not so much. “Not so much” were watchwords with Tom, the man who (more than) once brought a 20lb turkey and a full size Webber grill on a paddle-in trip.

EK_0005 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr

There may be a Webber grill under that pile, and that was the last time I picked Tom up for a trip. A hint about camping with Tom, take a good look at the picnic table when you first arrive, that is the last time any part of it, including the benches, will be visible.

The best part of Tom may have been two dogs ago, the beloved hound Dr. Bob, who had his own paddling message board account, sharing special insight into Tom’s peculiarities and peccadilloes.

Dr. Bob liked to ride as bowsprit.

EK_0002 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr

A split second after that photo Tom, unable to read the water past Dr. Bob, binged a rock head on. I didn’t quite catch the splash of Dr. Bob’s belly flop, but Tom’s reaction told the tale.

EK_0003 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr

In Tom’s defense - not a lot to work with in that regard - today he absolutely refuses to even touch a double blade, and prefers a pole or a double bent single.

 

[pblanc]

I recall an instance when Tom and I decided to try out a chopper gun fiberglass version of the Jensen 18 tandem on Raystown Lake that Sawyer George was trying to sell. We left his dog, Moby on shore loosely supervised by someone I can't recall. Apparently, Moby was having none of being left out of the action. We were a good ways out on the bay about half way to the island when we noticed a black head in the water coming our way. Moby swam up to the boat and then we faced the slightly daunting task of getting him into the canoe without capsizing it as he appeared a bit too cold and tired for the swim back. I had visions of the three of us swimming back to shore since the Jensen does not have a lot of center depth and Moby was not exactly petite. I heeled and braced as Tom hauled him over the gunwales and we somehow remained upright.

How about some Topher and Hap stories?

 

[Patrick Corry]

I wish my old pictures were more accessible... they are mostly slides and I haven’t digitized many of them yet. Otherwise I would feature my Boy Scouts Scoutmaster who was more than a mentor and friend; he was literally a stand-in for my father who was a bit of an arse.

Doug, my Scoutmaster introduced me to both whitewater and tripping, as well as rock climbing, mountaineering, hiking, camping... the whole gamut of outdoor pursuits which are central to who I am today. Really what he taught us in Scouting was self-sufficiency and taking responsibility for our actions- values which are essential for those of us venturing off the beaten path!

He was a real character too. Bald as a billiard ball at 32, he was a dead ringer for the actor Yul Brynner and was even mistaken for Brynner while we were climbing in Zermatt, Switzerland!







First two at Pillsbury Island, Chamberlain Lake, Allagash. Last photo overlooking Chimney Pond on Mt. Katahdin.

 

[ppine]

I like to paddle with people like Tom.
Unusual people make the best paddling partners. I have fond memories of birthday celebrations making a cake, playing drums and percussion with large groups, people reading special invocations, all kinds of made up games, etc. Creative people are at their best after about 5 days from the put in. Cowboy poetry and Robert Service.

One of my favorite memories was Italian Night on the last night of a 7 day canoe trip with a crowd.
My friend Anthony is Italian. The weather had been hot, so we kind of hacked our way into a stand of big cottonwood trees in the shade. We had 8 people in there with several dogs, chairs a roll up table and called it "the Grotto." Anti-pasti, salad, garlic bread, spaghetti, large amounts of red wine and homemade Italian desserts from home. We were singing songs by the end. People are their best selves after the umbilical cord is cut from civilization for a week.

 

[Guest]

How about some Topher and Hap stories?

Most of the Topher and Hap stories I could tell are NSFW, or for a family paddling board; I’ll leave it to someone else to tell tales of the fully enclosed MSR Pavilion hotbox. I enjoy a toke now and again as much as any aging hippie, but I was not entering that den of inequity, I’d have been semi-conscious in minutes. Just walking past it when someone opened a door flap was risky.

Hap was a trip. Someone still occasionally shouts “My toof Topher, my toof!”. Hap spit and a loose molar came out. Hap shouted “My toof Topher, my toof!”, found it on the ground and stuck it back in place.

The first time I ever met Hap was a Blue Mountain Outfitters New Years Day trip on the Susquehanna for friends and employees. Tom and I drove up to BMO together (in his van, there are stories there – Tom mistook a traffic light at a complex intersection for a left turn arrow, and so made the turn. The first vehicle in line facing us was a Pennsylvania trooper, and he lit us up immediately. When the Trooper asked “May I see your license and registration?” Tom’s response was “Here’s my license, the registration fell down behind the dash and I’d have to tear it apart to look for the registration” Tom was a Camel non-filter guy and the Trooper was very interested in the contents of the overflowing ashtray in Tom’s van. We passed the ashtray test, but still got the ticket)

Tom and I stopped across the street from BMO at a convenience store for some drinks and snacks. There was a bedraggled homeless-looking guy the next aisle over who kept staring at us, and I chivied Tom out of the store before we were asked for spare change.

The bedraggled homeless-looking guy was Hap.

Hap started working at BMO because he wandered in one day when the shop was swamped busy. He had hung around the outfitters before and one of the owners took a chance “Hey, do you know how to run a cash register?”. Hap was an on again/off again employee at BMO for years, and the last time I saw him there he looked like a regular guy; he cleaned up nice, and appeared to have all of his toofs.

There were things Hap was extraordinarily good at. He knew medicinal uses for lots of native flora, and he had an amazing eye for composing interesting photographic perspectives, to the point that Topher would hand Hap his camera and let him go to town. Hap’s unique perspective may have come from years of lying near comatose on the ground, but it served him well photographically.

 

[pblanc]

I like to paddle with people like Tom.
Unusual people make the best paddling partners. I have fond memories of birthday celebrations making a cake, playing drums and percussion with large groups, people reading special invocations, all kinds of made up games, etc. Creative people are at their best after about 5 days from the put in. Cowboy poetry and Robert Service.

One of my favorite memories was Italian Night on the last night of a 7 day canoe trip with a crowd.
My friend Anthony is Italian. The weather had been hot, so we kind of hacked our way into a stand of big cottonwood trees in the shade. We had 8 people in there with several dogs, chairs a roll up table and called it "the Grotto." Anti-pasti, salad, garlic bread, spaghetti, large amounts of red wine and homemade Italian desserts from home. We were singing songs by the end. People are their best selves after the umbilical cord is cut from civilization for a week.

Yes, I can envision a bunch of guys, juiced up on Chianti with garlic breath singing "O Sole Mio" and "Arrivederci Roma". Did the dogs join in?

The folks I paddle with are not much into singing, which is probably a mercy. We are more inclined to have Mexican night, and after getting wasted on Tequila and Dos Equis attempt to reenact the campfire scene from "Blazing Saddles".

 

[pblanc]

Most of the Topher and Hap stories I could tell are NSFW, or for a family paddling board; I’ll leave it to someone else to tell tales of the fully enclosed MSR Pavilion hotbox. I enjoy a toke now and again as much as any aging hippie, but I was not entering that den of inequity, I’d have been semi-conscious in minutes. Just walking past it when someone opened a door flap was risky.

Hap was a trip. Someone still occasionally shouts “My toof Topher, my toof!”. Hap spit and a loose molar came out. Hap shouted “My toof Topher, my toof!”, found it on the ground and stuck it back in place.

The first time I ever met Hap was a Blue Mountain Outfitters New Years Day trip on the Susquehanna for friends and employees. Tom and I drove up to BMO together (in his van, there are stories there – Tom mistook a traffic light at a complex intersection for a left turn arrow, and so made the turn. The first vehicle in line facing us was a Pennsylvania trooper, and he lit us up immediately. When the Trooper asked “May I see your license and registration?” Tom’s response was “Here’s my license, the registration fell down behind the dash and I’d have to tear it apart to look for the registration” Tom was a Camel non-filter guy and the Trooper was very interested in the contents of the overflowing ashtray in Tom’s van. We passed the ashtray test, but still got the ticket)

Tom and I stopped across the street from BMO at a convenience store for some drinks and snacks. There was a bedraggled homeless-looking guy the next aisle over who kept staring at us, and I chivied Tom out of the store before we were asked for spare change.

The bedraggled homeless-looking guy was Hap.

Hap started working at BMO because he wandered in one day when the shop was swamped busy. He had hung around the outfitters before and one of the owners took a chance “Hey, do you know how to run a cash register?”. Hap was an on again/off again employee at BMO for years, and the last time I saw him there he looked like a regular guy; he cleaned up nice, and appeared to have all of his toofs.

There were things Hap was extraordinarily good at. He knew medicinal uses for lots of native flora, and he had an amazing eye for composing interesting photographic perspectives, to the point that Topher would hand Hap his camera and let him go to town. Hap’s unique perspective may have come from years of lying near comatose on the ground, but it served him well photographically.

My first encounter with Topher and Hap was at Raystown, 2007 probably. I got there a little early and picked out a nice campsite right down by the lake with good access to the water. A little too good as it turned out.

I had dislocated a finger paddling the Ocoee a week earlier and was still having a fair bit of discomfort and had to resort to taking an opiate to sleep most nights. Shortly after I registered and set up camp a truck with a trailer hauling a Clipper Mariner canoe with a BMO decal (AKA the Bloody Mary) pulled up in the adjacent campsite. Too rather salty looking guys got out and began to erect an enormous MSR Pavilion tent. Very shortly thereafter a dense cloud of smoke began to issue from underneath the eaves of the tent. Between the vapors emanating from underneath the MSR tent and the pain medication I had recourse to take, I frequently found myself lying in my little tent in a stupor that bordered on coma.

That year the CEO of a well-known canoe manufacturer (who shall remain nameless to protect the guilty) came down with a trailer load of his company's boats. He became totally debouched by Topher and crew.

Since my campsite had such good access to the water Topher and his crew de jour usually cut across the corner of it to access the lake for the many midnight and wee hour cruises of the Bloody Mary. On one such occasion the abundantly intoxicated aforementioned CEO tripped over one of the guy lines of my tent in the dark and fell on top of me partially collapsing it.

 

[Guest]

I had dislocated a finger paddling the Ocoee a week earlier and was still having a fair bit of discomfort and had to resort to taking an opiate to sleep most nights

If only you knew some reputable orthopedic hand surgeon ;-)

That year the CEO of a well-known canoe manufacturer (who shall remain nameless to protect the guilty) came down with a trailer load of his company's boats. He became totally debouched by Topher and crew.

Since my campsite had such good access to the water Topher and his crew de jour usually cut across the corner of it to access the lake for the many midnight and wee hour cruises of the Bloody Mary. On one such occasion the abundantly intoxicated aforementioned CEO tripped over one of the guy lines of my tent in the dark and fell on top of me partially collapsing it.

I likewise will not out said well know canoe manufacturer CEO, but I would add one word to that description, “willfully totally debauched”. He would not have come back for second and third helpings had he not been thoroughly enjoying himself.

Hearing him exit the Bloody Mary after a post-midnight excursion on the lake and bellow “That was the best night ever!” as he stumbled around remains a fond Raystown memory.

I too have fond memories of the Bloody Mary. We raced it for several years in the Wye Island Race, and did very well in our class (caveat, we were often the only canoe in our class). The Bloody Mary was one of only 8 boats to finish in the race shortened Hurricane Charlie year that saw dozens of capsized boats and swimmers.

Favorite Wye Island memory in the Bloody Mary was the year we (OK, I) coerced Chip into filling in for our missing bowman by promising that we were not actually going to “race”, but instead circumnavigate the island at Duckhead speed, and stop for a picnic lunch on some sandy beach.

Bow and stern positions in the Bloody Mary require serious effort, the six paddlers seated side-by-side midships just need to keep up a steady cadence. We started off at a race pace. And kept going at a race pace. Chip began suggesting “Look, there’s a nice sandy beach, how about that one?” only to be told “There’s a better one just around the next corner”. Repeatedly, around every corner, until we entered the mile long straightaway before the finish line and the officials in the race boat began calling out encouragement over loudspeaker, “Almost there now, hit it hard, come on, pour it on”.

Needless to say there was no picnic on a sandy beach, and Chip never “volunteered” to be our bowman again. He did bring his 20’ wood canvas canoe down one year with a full crew, and may have stopped for a picnic, we never saw them again after the starting line.

I know for fact that Chip’s finish a few years later was delayed when he came across a sandy beach too inviting to pass by.

EK_0048 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr

 

[pblanc]

Well, I knew plenty of reputable orthopedic surgeons but I was in east Tennessee and they were all in Evansville, IN.

I didn't dislocate the finger paddling. I was helping take a group of first timers down the Ocoee and one of them swam at Double Suck rapid. There is a long nearly half mile stretch of continuous Class II "boogie water" from just below Double Suck to Double Trouble rapid and I was chasing the boat and trying to get it over to shore before it got away. It seems that most of the time I got in trouble on rivers was chasing gear and not paying sufficient attention to what was coming up downstream and this was one of them. The loose boat broached briefly on a series of progressively larger rock slabs that were all inclined upstream. The boat came off but then I briefly broached on the rocks and their inclination made it impossible to brace into them downstream. Since I was in a kayak, I thought "no problem, I will just capsize, wash off, and roll up". But when I set up to roll, my paddle which was a nice Silver Creek carbon reinforced wood job that I had bought from one of the instructors at NOC, jammed in an underwater rock sieve and I had to let it go or it would have broken. I did at least hands-roll up and made it over to the side before "Hell's Half Mile".

Since I didn't have a spare with me that was the end of my paddling that day. But I figured that there was a chance that I would find the paddle hung up on the rocks after they turned the river off that afternoon so I waited around. When they did I went scrambling around on the wet rocks looking for it. I never found it but I did manage to slip and injure my finger trying to catch myself. I though it was broken. Fortunately, I had ridden down with another paddler and he was able to drive my truck back to Evansville since it is about a six hour trip and I didn't relish driving that distance in my manual transmission Toyota with a messed up right little finger.

We stopped at the hospital in Cleveland, TN and I had some X rays taken that showed the finger was dislocated at the PIP joint, no fractures. The ER guy made a very half-hearted attempt to reduce the dislocation which was unsuccessful and then told me I would need to see an orthropod. He gave me a prescription for some pain pills, we spent the night at a motel in Cleveland and drove back the next day. That afternoon I called up one of my orthopedic friends and he reduced the dislocation under digital block in the OR surgeon's lounge. But by then it had been out of joint for over 24 hours and the discomfort was becoming pretty annoying and stayed that way for a couple of weeks.

I still regret losing that paddle.

 

[DaveO]

Fun to revisit good old times. I've been thinking about the 70s and 80s a lot lately. I might have peaked too soon. Someday, I will digitize all those old slides.