What Am I Doing Here?

The Olentangy River runs through Columbus, Ohio, in a north-south direction, joining the Scioto River close to downtown. Back when I was attending The Ohio State University in Columbus, much of the western bank of the Olentangy north of Columbus (north of Route 161) was undeveloped, and accessible from the road running parallel to it.

We had developed a group of friends, who, one Sunday afternoon, decided to go canoeing on the river. There were to be three canoes, with me and a doctor friend, Walter, in the middle canoe. Walter seemed to have confidence in his canoeing skills.

When I was about nine years old I had received a book entitled “Paddle-to-the-Sea,” about a model canoe and paddler carved by a young Native American up north of Lake Superior. It told the story of how the model had traversed the Great Lakes and on out to the Grand Banks where it was picked up by a fishing boat. A few years later, when I was about eleven I received a book about three brothers (the Waltons) who had adventures as they took a canoeing trip down the Penobscot River in Maine. Its title was “Rapids Ahead.” At the end of my freshman year in college, my maternal grandfather drowned while canoeing alone on the McKenzie River near Leaburg, Oregon. That was the extent of my experience with canoes.

Let’s see. When I did reading remediation a few weeks back, I emphasized that proper stories have a Who, What, Where, When and Why. I’ve got the Where, the Who, and the What. It is time to add the When. Not infrequently, during winter, the Olentangy freezes over. This particular year, it had also frozen, but in early January we’d had a thaw, and the river was running free. Because of recent rains and the melting of snow, the river was a little higher than usual. One of the men in the group, who always seemed to be very precise about such things, announced that the river water was at 37 degrees Fahrenheit. This from a man who had been known to take the temperature of his coffee, so who was I to doubt him?

I was a little concerned when Walter put on his wet suit. I had a dry suit (blue jeans, several sweat shirts, a stocking cap and tennis shoes), and I wanted to keep it dry. We pushed off into the river several miles upstream from Route 161, planning on shooting a low dam somewhere downstream (a couple of the wives had parked several cars for us there and had then gone home). The water was running a little swifter than any of the experienced group expected, but we figured that would just make the trip to the dam that much shorter.

There were standing waves in the middle of a normally calm and peaceful river that day. I tried to paddle as fast as I could from the front, but somehow Walter’s end of the canoe caught up with me and passed me as we turned broadside just as we came to some rather larger waves. My dry suit lasted for about 100 yards of the trip. Needless to say, the experience was shocking. And I remember thinking almost immediately, “What am I doing here?”

We were able to work the canoe to shallow water where we emptied it, climbed back in and continued downstream. I was quite blue and shaking rather violently when we reached the cars. I was put into one with the heater running full blast while the others shot the dam for a while. Then I was taken home and put in a tub of warm water to finish thawing out. Since then I’ve avoided people who go canoeing.

“What am I doing here?” Do you suppose Jonah asked that question while hiding down in that boat? Maybe some of the Israelites asked it when they went up to do battle when the Lord had specifically told them to stay home. After the crucifixion, Peter went back to his fishing boat. Do you suppose he asked himself, “What am I doing here?” Such an important question; important enough that it must be asked before making major decisions, rather than afterwards, when we find ourselves in a difficult situation. But why leave it with only the major decisions? Don’t leave home without it at any time.

The “Why” of the story? Easy. We didn’t ask first.

Dr. G