Drifting in the Twilight

When I paddled the Berg river marathon in 1983, that crazy 200km (‘241km Pete!’ Giel van Deventer reminds me. He’s the Berg historian) f-freezing f-flatwater f-foolishness, the oldest oke in the race was Ole man Myers (ancient: 60 if he was a day). He lost his boat one night when the waters rose (he’d left it too close to the bank). Next day he had to find it downstream and take it back to the start – and so arrived at that leg’s finish VERY late – even after me.

We were eating supper – a whole chicken and lots of KWV sherry – when word spread round the camp: ‘Ian is here! Come! Let’s gather on the bank to welcome him.’

He paddled up in the dark singing:
Roamin’ in the gloamin’
by the bonny banks of Clyde . .

– a salute! to Ian Myers –

I loved – and learned from – his calm, unfussed approach. Carry on; and carry on singing; moenie panic nie.

~~~oo0oo~~~

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