I failed miserably last time I entered, but having remembrered that being a Klutz involves going beyond stupidity into the nether regions of the absolutely ridiculous, I will enter with this, but first, I digress:

Being a Klutz implies going ahead and doing something you know you shouldn't do for fear of amputation, instant mental breakdown, or even death. Like the time I spent whittling a fine bamboo rod grip on a slow day astream, hoping I might shape myself a fine thumb spot, ala an old SB 290. I got pickier and pickier and finally found the cane itself. Bob Summers kindly fixed it for me, for a tidy sum.

But here's this year's entry. I was snowshoeing at my holdings on the Boardman river. It was about ten degrees and overcast...a normal, depressing January afternoon in the tundra. I had hiked about a half mile upstream on the lookout for large trees to place in the river, making fish cover and trout hotels.

In that instant I saw myself getting the tree to the river, but not before I fell into the river first. Of course, I ignored this "head movie"...I tripped over a a great prize...a downed Birch about ten feet long, maybe a hundred pounds or so. I looked between the tree and the river and thought I could easily haul the tree twenty feet to the bank and then let it go. In that instant I saw myself getting the tree to the river, but not before I fell into the river first. Of course, I ignored this "head movie" and grabbed the butt of the tree, gave a lurch and went about five feet with the tree, my back turned towards the river and gaining fast.

An old man pulling a dead tree backwards into the river while wearing snowshoes is an invitation and I vaguely remember the tree breaking in half. A nano-second later I was upside down in four feet of rushing winter river, no glasses and moving downstream, wading in my snowshoes. I cobbled a way out, stood on the bank for about ten minutes assuring myself that I wasn't dead, and stiff-legged it back downriver to the cabin.

...my wife walked in to a naked, fat, bald, old man dancing his heart warm. Inside, with no heat, the front rooms was like being outside. I pulled out a match, opened the woodstove to light a fire, but found I had forgotten to set a stack to light before heading out. It took me five minutes to warm my thumbs enough to dial my cell phone and a half hour later, my wife walked in to a naked, fat, bald, old man dancing his heart warm. She dressed me, no kidding, and dressed me down and together we walked upstream where, given her wondrous eyesight she was able to spot my glasses and retrieve them with a rake.

The klutz part? I did the very same thing the next week...different spot..different tree, same result. Needless to say, I had to dress and warm myself, but it took me a little extra time to go back and find one of my snowshoes chunked up against the bank, caught, in of all things, a dead Birch.

| 2007.02.08 |