Unlike the Chicago trip, this one was on the rebelest of rebel rivers: the historic, local and beautiful Duck River.
The trip was special for several reasons. For one thing, it rained. So right off the bat it qualifies as "one you remember." It was also only our second trip, and our first on the Duck which eventually became the official waterway of the RRCC - our Brazos.
But whether it was the Bocce ball on the outhouse, or the "cancer of the balls" or the aluminum foil shin shields on Cronin or maybe Mrs. Cooper herself, at some point under that dilapidated shack, when we were cozy and dry for the first time all day and playing music and eating out of our new Dutch ovens, that's when I think we realized we were really on to something and we became a real club that we all cared about and knew we were going to keep doing for a long, long time.
After Mrs. Cooper died, they auctioned the place off. We didn't know about it until after so we contacted the agent for the new owner, who lived next door, to see if we could buy just the piece with the pavilion on it. But it turns out they bought it just to keep people like us out.
Someday we'll sneak on there in the middle of the night and have a drink to Mrs. Cooper and hang a sign that says: "Birthplace of the Rebel Rivers Canoe Club."