by BobA. Troutt
*****
Dead Limbs and Leaves
Dividing Waters
The crisp breeze of early autumn followed by a little bite of the coming winter raced through the Nickajack Mountains. As far as your eyes could see, the Nickajack Mountains stretched across the Appalachian to Red Turtle Ridge which was a short range of mountains in Eastern Tennessee. The slopes of the mountain were dressed in many radiant colors of reds, oranges, yellows, and greens. The giant pillars of earth stood bold and dominating against a curtain of deep blue sky, with just a touch of white.
The Point Oliver River lay engraved in the deep-set mountains of Appalachia. It was the heartbeat and the life of the mountain. The river raged out of control, but at places the water was still as death. Its life was carved in its banks and the hollowed out caves and crevices. The waves crashed off the rocks and boulders as it raced to a still dead pool of water. The Point Oliver was fierce and domineering. The sole of it had little hope of changing.
High in the foothills of the mountains, nestled in a clearing at Miller’s Creek and Horseshoe Bend Ridge, sat a small cabin. The two-room home stood among the tall oaks, maples, and hickories. The woods around it were carpeted with wild flowers, bluebells, may-apple, trillium, and maidenhair fern. Smoke from the chimney of the cabin settled in the air with a pleasant smell. High above, you could hear the wind rustling through the leaves as the ground began to show its first signs of fall.
Standing in the doorway of the cabin stood a tall, old white-haired man dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt, and suspenders. His hair stirred about his face as the wind blew and his white beard hovered about his neck and chest. The man’s name was Big Charlie Thomas. He had spent his life on the mountain. It was his home.
The forest was his way of life and the river was his greatest fear. Time and time again he wrestled with his fear of the river. At night he had nightmares of the river sucking him down to its bottomless pit. Big Charlie knew in his heart what he had to do. But deep down, he was afraid. Afraid of what he river would do to him. Charlie knew one day he would have to face the bondage of the river and be set free of it once and for all. However, each time he thought about it, he recalled how the river overtook his wife and son. His memories reflected back time and time again to his wife and son canoeing down the river. The waters that day had broken into a rushing rage, overturning their canoe into a watery grave. Without warning, their bodies were carried downstream. By the time Big Charlie heard their cries, it was too late. Frantically, he searched the river day after day until, finally, he found their bodies entangled in some brush and rock downstream next to the shore. The haunting memories torment him daily with a driving rage for revenge.
The bitterness in his heart of the river and the loss of his family has molded him into something worse than the angry river. He thought he would overcome it when the right time came. He would straighten that which was crooked and it would stay straight from now on.
Eventually he needed to leave the mountain and get supplies at the Lost Creek trading post. As he packed his mules and got ready for the journey, like he had done so many times before, he suddenly stopped, turned, and walked over to the edge of the river. He stood on a giant boulder at the river’s edge. As he stood in silence, he looked up and down the river and then across it. The deep blue water splashed hard against the boulders teasing Big Charlie, but he never flinched. He smiled and told the river it was time.
Cautiously, he turned his back to the river. Placing his gear and supplies on his raft he told himself he had waited a long time for this moment.
The spirit of the river seemed to come alive, sensing his presence. Slowly, he eased the raft into the water. Boldly he stood afloat as the irritated waters began to move the raft down the stream. As the hours passed, the raft slowly moved in on the quiet, still waters. Big Charlie hardly noticed the beauty of the canyon. There he saw the small mountain stream feeding into the river and snow-covered peaks in the far off distance hidden deep in the blue sky. There was the cry of a cougar and the sound of raging water ahead, singing in harmony with nature’s silence. Across the way, up on the bluff stood a family of mountain goats picking at the small growth in the cracks of the rocks. He thought to himself how beautiful the handiwork of God was.
Big Charlie kept quiet, but stayed alert. Big Charlie knew the river. He could in no way take it for granted. There was no second chance, nor turning back. It was the river or him to the end. For a long time, Big Charlie had longed for this day, to take back what the river had taken a long time ago. That was his life and the revenge of his wife and son.
“Who can tame the mighty Point Oliver,” he cried out. “I can. I can.”
As he drifted on, he looked over to his right. There were giant sycamores hugging the banks of the river, its giant washout roots entangling the river with the bank. Suddenly, he heard something.
“Bark! Bark, Bark!” came the sound from high in the sycamore trees. He looked and saw some fox squirrels barking and playing. As he went on, he noticed there in the bend of the river, the river forked. He suddenly began to think which way he should go.
“This way is to Hackett Hollow,” he pondered. “I must turn quickly and go the other way or should I?”
In his haste and confusion, he made his choice. Whether his judgment was right or wrong, he would bear the consequences. As he approached the bend in the river, the river divided and he went on his way. Everything seemed good as he entered the fork. The waters were gentle, calm, and relaxed. But up ahead he heard the mighty roar of the water. Quickly, he manned the raft and began to navigate his way about the rocks and giant boulders. As he stood steadfast on the breast of the raft, he rode hard down the treacherous rapids. The bough of the raft bounced across the water as the river drove the waves upon him, trying to beat him down.
Without warning, the raft shot up into the air throwing Big Charlie over to the side. As he fought to hold on to a boulder, he struggled to reach his raft. Weak and beaten from the rapids, he pressed against the forcing waves to reach the broken raft. Slowly, he managed to bring it to the shore. Exhausted, he collapsed upon the bank. After a while, he regained his strength and was able to dry dock the raft for repair.
As night began to fall about the canyon, Big Charlie set up camp with what little supplies he had saved. First, he built a fire to dry off and stay warm. The pitch-black night hovered about the river. In the distance, you could still hear the raging rapids along with the sounds of crickets and frogs about the banks. Deep in the night you could hear the haunting cry of a mountain lion, and the cool wind blowing off the river. As the night passed, he worked on the raft making all the necessary repairs and getting it ready for the morning launch. As he tried and tried to understand what had happened, he realized that the river appeared to be ready for him. He had underestimated his enemy. But, the next time he would be ready.
“I can’t give up,” he said to himself. “I must see this thing through for my sake. Either I tame this river, or I’ll die trying.”
Suddenly, he heard something in the trees. He reached for his knife and pulled it out of its sleeve. Whooo, whooo, screeched an old hoot owl as it took flight across the river to the other side.
Before long, the rising sun will appear on the crest of the mountain ridge. After a while the tiny beams of light from the sun filtered through the trees, and down to Big Charlie’s camp. Slowly, he turned over, sore and cut from the day before. However, he in no way was giving up. He noticed the woods were alive with the singing birds as he caught a quick glance of a young deer dashing through the trees. Across the river, he watched as some cranes fished for their breakfast. Hurriedly, he got ready to face the river. After breaking camp, he eased the raft back in the water and headed downstream.
As he drifted about, he came upon a giant beechnut tree leaning across the water. Watching in amazement, he spotted a kingfisher as it dove
from a limb down into the water, disappeared for a moment, and then shooting up out of the water with a fish in its mouth. But, Big Charlie kept his eyes and ears open as he journeyed on. He didn’t want to make the same mistake again. Things went well for a while until, down the river; he came face to face with another fork of driving water. He drove his pole deep into the riverbed and lodged his raft between some rocks. Patiently, he waited at the river’s fork; this time he wanted to be sure before he went ahead. He knew there was no room for error. Carefully, he judged the two forks. One went down into Wilbur Hollow, where the water looked rough, like it could possibly run into a fall. The other side was calm, peaceful, and quiet. Big Charlie took his time and tried to think things out.
“I believe I’ll choose the quiet side,” he said to himself. “I’m afraid there may be a fall down Wilbur Hollow.”
Big Charlie shifted the raft toward the fork he had chosen. As he held his breath, he kept his eyes open wide, for he didn’t really know what to expect. Slowly, the raft moved into the still water as he plunged the long shaft down into the bed of the river. He thought everything looked good. Maybe this time he had made the right choice.
As he slowly moved down the river, he began to notice he was picking up speed. The water was becoming white-capped as it splashed upon the rocks and boulders. Could the river have deceived him again? Should he have gone down Wilbur Hollow?
Without warning, the troubled waters were suddenly upon him. The raging rapids, filled with small falls, tried their best to take over the control of the raft. Big Charlie fought with all his might. He struggled to stay afloat, as he tried to keep the raft together and from falling overboard. The roaring water echoed throughout the canyon (what sounded like I am King), as the raging river tossed the raft back and forth, turning it around and around. Big Charlie fought for his life to hold on.
Drenched, weak, and torn, he screamed out, “God, please help me!”
Then the worst of all happened. A giant wave crashed against him, causing him to lose hold and knock him overboard. He disappeared under the bubbling water. The raft crashed against the boulder and beached itself upon the bank. Big Charlie struggled in the river as the water reached his neck, pulling him down while the water beat against him. As the swirling water wrapped around his legs, whipping him about, it tried to pull him under. Big Charlie fought for his life. He cried for help, but there was no one there. The force of the water was so strong it sucked him down, time and time again. Twice he went down as he struggled to stay afloat. The third time down he finally disappeared. There was no sign of Big Charlie. Only a few bubbles surfaced to the top of the water. Had the river won? Had he given up the fight? Out of the blue, he shot up out of the water about waist high, gasping for air and waving his fist.
“You haven’t conquered me yet,” he cried.
Hurriedly, he made his way to the bank and collapsed to the ground. He tried to catch his breath as he lay there. He was soaked and his legs were heavy, as if he had weights on them.
“I will not,” he cried. “I will not be outdone. You took my wife and my son, you will not take me.”
As angry tears filled his eyes, he wondered how long he could hold on.
“I’ve got to go on,” he mumbled to himself. “Oh, Lord, where are you? Why won’t you help me?” he cried.
As night slipped in about the river, Big Charlie gathered some wood and built a fire. He curled into a ball and fell asleep. As night rested upon the canyon, Big Charlie was suddenly awakened. He thought he heard something.
“Who is it?” he cried out into the darkness. “Who is there?”
Poking the fire to stir up more heat, he decided to sit up the rest of the night thinking about everything, and what to do. As morning broke the darkness, Big Charlie pushed his beached raft back into the water and headed once again downstream.
“I’m going to see this through,” he said to himself. “I’ve come too far and been through too much not to.”
Slowly, he drifted down the river. All was quiet. He listened for the sounds of the rapids, but heard none. Then high upon the crest of the ridge, he saw the shadow of a man standing there. He yelled, “Hello,” but there was no sound. He yelled again and waved, but there was no sound and the man turned and walked away.
Things seemed to be getting better on the river. He thought it was about time. As he looked up he yelled, “Lord, it can’t be, not another fork!”
Carefully, he eased the raft closer to the fork in the river. He looked the situation over; one fork looked like the other. He thought about the two forks before and the choices he made. The choices seemed good so he eased his raft down the calm waters.
The river was quiet, but what lay ahead was darkness. On down the river, the mountains were so high and the forest so thick that the river was as black as night. As he entered the darkness, he became uneasy. He sat down on the raft and let the current of the river move the raft. He looked from side to side, to his back, up above, and to his front. All he saw was pitch black. He began to recite Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; they rod and they staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. Lord help me,” he prayed.
For miles and miles, the raft drifted in the darkness as Big Charlie patiently waited. This is the worst yet, he thought to himself, the not knowing. Without warning, he began to hear a loud roaring in front of him. Quickly, he leaped to his feet and shouted, “It’s a waterfall.” But, it was too late.
Big Charlie reached and grabbed his pole. He fought and fought with all his might to maneuver the raft toward the bank. Unfortunately, the swift water had quickly picked up speed and the raft began to twirl. The mighty river began to rise and pool up around the mouth of the fall. Big Charlie struggled to reach the shore, but the current of the water was too strong. He was slowly being sucked in.
“This is it,” he cried. “This time the river has me.”
He dove into the angry water trying to hold on to a boulder. Down, down, down, the raft crashed against the rocks as it finally slipped over the edge of the fall. As Big Charlie held on with all his might, he began to slip. He grew weaker. The river beat hard against him until it finally broke him loose. He finally went over the fall. At the base of the fall, Big Charlie disappeared in the churning waters.
On the shore stood the figure of a man patiently waiting as he looked about the water. Eventually, he saw Big Charlie’s body appear near the shallow bank. As he floated about his body appeared broken and limp. He looked dead. The stranger raced out to him and took him by the arms and pulled him to the bank.
Immediately, the stranger began to work with Big Charlie. All hope seemed to be gone as the stranger tried to revive him with all his might. Had the river beaten him? The stranger worked frantically to save him.
“Come on, come on,” he cried. “You can’t give up now.”
Big Charlie started coughing and spitting up water. As he gasped for air, he looked around but the stranger was gone. Carefully, he struggled to his feet and pulled himself up to a weak stance. He turned this way and that, but he did not see him anywhere. Unexpectedly, he heard a voice yelling.
“Hey, are you alright,” came a cry from two men running up to him?
“You’re a very lucky man,” said one.
“Yeah, not too many have ever beaten the river,” said the other.
“But, did you see the man who saved my life? Did you see which way he went?” asked Big Charlie.
They both answered, “We haven’t seen anyone but you. We were at the trading post and just happened to see you.”
He looked down the bank apiece and saw the trading post as he looked about. The stranger was nowhere to be found.”
“But, who was he and where did he go?” asked Charlie. “Surely someone saw him.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” they said. “But we didn’t see anyone.”
“But, how can you explain…” he asked. “There has to be an explanation.”
The men looked at each other and said, “Could it have been a guardian angel?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Do you think so?”
“You know that we entertain angels unaware,” they said.
“Are you saying it was an angel that saved my life?” cried Big Charlie.
“He could have,” they said. “God works in mysterious ways.”
“Praise God,” cried Big Charlie. “Bless you Jesus. I have overcome my fear. I have received my revenge and I am free at last from my bondage. I have love in my heart once again.”
They turned and began to walk toward the post. Big Charlie couldn’t believe all that had happened, especially about the Lord. But one thing he realized was each time the waters divided; he had been faced with a choice. At the time, each choice had seemed to be right, but had ended in chaos and trouble. But, the choices he had made were used to bring about his victory. Then he heard something screeching high above his head. As he looked into the sky, he saw a giant eagle circling. Victory was his through the Lord. It was so sweet. No longer would the river dominate him; now he and the Lord would dominate the river and whatever choice was to be made he would pray about it first. The change felt good, praise the Lord.
“I believe the Lord, your wife and son would be proud of you today,” the men said as they patted him on the back and hugged him.
