True Friends

Today a road trip takes me through Fifield, Wisconsin (As they’d say on Hee-Haw… Saaaaa-lute!) Before I cross the bridge over the South Fork of the Flambeau River, I glance at the small rustic wayside that doubles as a put-in for paddlers. I smile at the memory playing on my mind’s movie screen.

It was a chilly May day, nearly 25 years ago, when my friend and I slipped our Old Town canoe into the cold, churning waters. The Flambeau looked like a root beer river that had worked up a good head of foam. Despite the constant drizzle, we were thrilled when the current grabbed our canoe and carried us downstream. We talked and laughed and shared our hopes and dreams. Hours later, when we reached Slough Gundy and set up camp, we were drenched. Tin foil dinners on the campfire chased the chills away and we slept soundly to the low rumble of Flambeau Falls.

The next morning, my friend had nothing to wear but her wet, clammy jeans. I couldn’t blame her when she wouldn’t put them on. Talk about an instant icicle! Out of desperation, she put on the only dry pants available… my dad’s long johns. They didn’t exactly fit. As soon as she let go, they dropped to her ankles. As former wilderness trip leaders, we knew how to improvise. We took some blue nylon rope, shaped it into something akin to a rappelling harness, and tied it as tightly as possible around her waist. It was all good — until our portage took us past two young men dressed like a page out of the latest Patagonia catalog. They gave us a quick once-over. I wish I could have been a fly on their gunnel as they headed out of earshot!

Their look was nothing compared to the look my dad gave us at the end of the trip. Somewhere between Cedar Rapids and Beaver Dam, on a stretch of river we’d both maneuvered umpteen times, we managed to swamp. Drenched took on a whole new meaning. When my dear friend stepped out at the landing, our “chauffeur” burst into uninhibited laughter. His white, waffle weave long johns were sagging to her knees, the blue rope now losing its battle to keep them up. There was nothing to do but laugh with him. It was the unexpectedly perfect ending to a great weekend.

I miss my friend. We live four states apart, distanced by miles and years of not seeing each other. But I know we could pick our friendship up again, anytime, right where we left off.  Such friends are rare. They’re a true treasure. To each of them I would say, “I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always offering prayer with joy in my every prayer for you all.” (Philippians 1:3,4)