The lone red-tailed hawk soared in a cloudless azure sky high above the Saco River that meanders through southern Maine. Perhaps he was puzzled by the odd sight on the river below.
Our motley armada of three canoes, two kayaks, water tubes, and boogie boards was strung together with light rope in a web-like configuration designed for comfort, not speed. These worthy vessels were manned by a grandfather, a son-in-law, two stepsons, two grandsons, a family friend and son, and a cocker spaniel. The crew ranged in age from 6 to 64. For this annual summer Saco River cruise, we loaded our vessels with tents, sleeping bags, coolers, towels, stoves, and ultra high-powered, ominous-looking water cannons.
Unencumbered by nattering mothers — meaning well but tending toward nagging with reminders to eat vegetables, watch language, and limit s'mores intake — we intrepid voyageurs were altogether free to indulge in the arcane rituals of male bonding. Under strict agreement that she would hold these secrets, Rosie, the cocker spaniel, was allowed as the sole representative of The Female.
Boys Unbound
Our manly rituals: copious quantities of male comfort food (hot dogs, hamburgers, marshmallows), campfire tales, riddles and jokes, frequent swim stops on the Saco's numerous sand beaches, and surprise-intentional dunkings overboard. The high points were numerous internecine naval battles — replete with water cannons, vessel ramming, paddle splashes, and fearsome testosterone-driven war cries.
My 6-year-old grandson, Nathan, whooped for joy when we rounded a bend and spotted a rope swing, free for the using. Nine-year-old grandson Ben took great pleasure in roasting his hot dog on a self-harvested stick sharpened with a camping knife. I rediscovered the strange truth that s'mores taste better with a modicum of sand in them. Stepson Dan, 10, relished jumping over the side of the canoe to cool off whenever he desired.
We found many opportunities to forge bonds between boy and boy, father and son, grandfather and grandson. Leaving civilization behind allowed us to create a magical climate of escape and freedom from all that worries and binds. The battles and pranks released hostility in a harmless way, which left only love as an energy which bound the group together.
As a psychologist, I noted that the sibling rivalry and misbehavior which sometimes occur in other settings were all but absent in this one. The boys were able to blow off steam and be as free as one can be this side of Jordan.
River Wisdom
The stretch of the Saco winding around Fryeburg could not be more perfect for such adventure. The air and water temperatures are comfortable in July and August, and the water is clean and appealing. There are dozens of sand bars ideal for swimming and camping. We preferred these natural settings to commercial or state campsites, although the latter are available by reservation.
We brought our own firewood, because the natural supply of wood has been picked clean by thousands of previous campers. Before paddling downriver, we picked up a required fire permit in town at the local fire station. We aim to be good river citizens by disposing of human and doggie waste and leaving the campsite and river cleaner than we find it.
Although the bugs were minimal, the Saco does have a reputation for being infested with beer-drinking rowdies on weekends. To minimize our exposure to philistines and to increase the likelihood of finding an available campsite, we canoed from Sunday afternoon through Tuesday.
The trip is an easy one for young and old. The current makes paddling a piece of cake and a good air mattress provides comfort for old bones. There is a portage around a dam, presenting a surmountable challenge, particularly with a wheeled canoe carrier.
The canoe outfitters are extremely helpful in planning a trip of any duration. They offer canoe and kayak rentals, transportation to put-in and take-out locations, friendly advice, parking, and shuttle services. Costs are modest and well worth the convenience.
Months after our annual trip, we are still reminiscing. Stepson Ben, 15, remembers the year we were setting up camp when a canoe, navigated solely by Rosie, started floating downstream. She would no doubt have reached the Atlantic were it not for Ben's courageous rescue.
I cherish the opportunity to connect with a different side of all the males in my family, including myself. We males bring out the best in ourselves when in motion on a river – our joy, our secrets, and our yearnings. We all look forward to our next trip, when we will slide down our favorite 75-foot sand embankment, fry sandy bacon, watch for turtles, and find new discoveries again on the Saco.
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