Many Islands, Many Memories

 

Days 1-5

Soon after Camp Kia Kima when I fell in love with camping, I finally wore down my parents and talked them into camping. I found a place on the map (was before personal computers0 called Many Islands near Hardy, Arkansas – get it so was Scout Camp. The only thing I remember about the trip beside the gurgling river all night was the nimrod camper my dad rented and fishing.

The camper folded out on each side. Mom and Dad on one side and my younger brother and me on the other and my four year old sister on the floor. The next morning Pop said he did not sleep all night because he thought a bear was scratching his back under his bed.

I was fishing in the river with corn as bait for the corn fed troutlets are released upstream at Mammoth Spring. I learned this trip – it is one spring – if you put an S on it you are clearly not a local. I loved being in the river and casting even though I did not catch anything. Then all of a sudden I stepped in an underwater hole and sank way under and thrashed around a bit. And as I learned at scout camp, I then relaxed and floated to the top and swam to shallow water.

When I was 20 on Spring Break, two of my buddies, Billy and Steve, came with me. We stayed in a cabin and listened to the rapids gurgle all night again. One morning we went to the river and how we approached it foreshadowed how we would approach life. Even though I knew how cold the river was from scout camp (South fFrk flows from the Spring River), I dove in and asked questions later. I have done that most of my life with schools, jobs, travel, relationships, etc. Billy waded in slowly to his waist and has always been steady as he goes friend and pastor. Steve stuck his toe in and said no way. He was an English teacher that read about experiences and told literature (virtual not real).

                           Cabin we stayed in

When talking to my bride, she reminded me I came a third time when my sister was about 13 with my parents. My sister bride and I canoed down the river with me steering in the rear. Unfortunately my sister did not heed my gentle instructions (sure I yelling madly) and we hit a rock and tipped over.

Upon return over many years later, my sister just turned 60, I forgot about the three mile gravel road taken to Many Islands and the train track that hosted trains up and down the mountain all day and night. I began very familiar with the approach two long loud touts one shore and another loud. After a bit I was able to sleep through them.

I went to the camp store and promptly bought a hoodie and fishing hat.

This time in mid September I did not dive in or canoe. I figured I would die instantly upon hitting the freezing waters. The trees and river and rocks had waited for me almost 50 years- how kind of them.

And I hope it was worth the wait for them – it was for me. The wife of the husband and wife directing team asked why it had been so long. I paused and she answered for me – life. I could have been returning all those years, but I didn't. Now, hopefully, I will.