How Surviving Toxic Family River Trips Taught Me Lessons I Never Use
It was the 1980s, but that doesn't mean they shouldn't have known better
“I hate this trip,” Kip’s mom said.
It was the last day of summer vacation.
Family tradition dictated they take a river trip down the Flambeau. The caravan would include around 50 family members in more than 30 canoes.
Kip’s mom stayed fit by training for the annual American Birkebeiner cross-country ski race. She had waist long brown hair that she typically wore in a braid.
Dad didn’t like it when Mom complained about the river trip. He was a giant of a man with a big, black, bristly beard. Two white shining teeth stood out right in the middle of his face. He used these teeth to smile in a way that made people think he was about to go for the neck. He wore wool pants, even in summer, and everywhere he walked, he left a trail of tiny leaves.
Kip’s dad farmed cranberries and was therefore responsible for the single can of red sauce people bought as a matter of tradition every Thanksgiving. Cranberry leaves are about the size of a staple, and they crumbled into dust if you tried to pick them up. Kip’s dad gave off a sweet and stagnant smell of cranberries left to ferment in swamp water.
Dad responded to Mom’s complaint with a soft voice that indicated building fury. “Well, it’s important to me that you go because one day I’ll be dead.”
Dad finished a lot of sentences with, “One day I’ll be dead.”
Oh, poor Dad, Kip and his brother and sister thought. One day he’ll be dead. They all felt chastised.
Mom mumbled something under her breath, Dad knew better than to ask her to speak up.
At 4 in the morning, Dad got everybody up by screaming, “White water!” as loud as he could.
Kip rubbed his bleary eyes and got out of bed. In the hallway, he met his younger brother and sister. They were equally bleary. They were instructed to put on their swimming suits and some old tennis shoes because you wore tennis shoes in the river. The shoes provided protection from stepping on rocks, or when you floated through the small patch of rapids while wearing a life jacket that was the highlight of the fun activities planned for the day.
They shoveled in some breakfast and got into the Suburban. There was a haze on the highway as they rolled along down to the headwaters of the Flambeau, predictably, they were the first to arrive.
“See, we could have slept in another 45 minutes,” Mom grumbled.
“It’s always good to leave early so you have buffer time in case something comes up,” Dad said.
“Nothing ever comes up!” Mom replied. “And we sit here waiting for hours and hours until your precious sisters arrive.”
Dad went silent again. He sat sulking, the muscles in his face tight. When nobody paid attention, he turned on the radio and cranked Bob Dylan to ear splitting volume.
“Will you turn that down?”
“No!”
It was a tense 45 minutes until Dad’s precious sister eventually rolled up in a beat up station wagon.
Gertrude was an ex class valedictorian who’d spent too much of the 60’s doing acid. She had a plethora of advanced degrees, but she spent all her time living in a little cabin out in the woods with no heat or electricity that she’d had her brothers build for her at tremendous expense. Actually, she didn’t spend all that much time living in the cabin, as she went to her sister Eleanor’s house whenever she needed a shower, or a meal, or a place to sleep. The cabin was just so that she could tell everyone she met that she lived in a little cabin out in the woods with no heat or electricity. In fact, nobody could confirm she’d ever actually been there.
Gertrude was a large, round woman and she was prone to wearing immense, flowing dresses that billowed out around her like a sheet. She perpetually had a smile on her face, not a nice smile. It was an ‘I’m about to tell you to stop doing something and then probably hit you’ kind of smile. She hit hard, despite her size she had fast hands.
“Hi,” Gertrude said, wandering over.
“Hello,” Dad said with a big grin.
“You’re an hour and a half late,” Mom said.
“Stop it,” Dad said.
Gertrude kept smiling. She didn’t apologize for being late.
Mom got out of the car and Kip and his siblings followed.
They were in a state parking lot next to the river. Crumbly asphalt led up to the bank of the water. The river passed in silence, not caring about the petty squabbles of a Northern Wisconsin family.
Kip imagined whole worlds existed in the shadows beneath the trees just beyond the shores. He longed to run into the woods and explore. Perhaps he’d find a gateway into Narnia within the crook of an old tree, or maybe a tunnel to Middle Earth, or a passage to Oz behind a waterfall. But with the adults around, the chance at exploration would be clipped.
“There’s nothing there,” they said.
For them to say that, somebody must have given them the chance to explore. And perhaps, Kip thought, they hadn’t found the secret passage not because it wasn’t there, but because they hadn’t been worthy of the discovery. The failures of others did not indicate impossibility. Kip often felt discouragement wasn’t inspired from a sense of protection, but because his success might highlight the failings of those that had come before.
Kip kicked a rock.
“Don’t kick any rocks,” Gertrude said, still smiling, but her eyes flashed the same anger he often saw in his Dad’s.
“Why not?”
“The sharp rock might fly into the grass and hurt a plant.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever...”
“Did you spend the summer studying?” Gertrude interrupted, “I heard you didn’t do all that well on your last state test. Your dad always got good grades you know.”
Kip shut his mouth.
Just then, headlights from another car pulled into the parking lot. It was Aunt Eleanor, her husband Jethro and their three kids Trevor, Billy and Cole. Aunt Eleanor was a teacher, and she always conducted herself in a very proper way. Whenever anyone did anything that was a little bit fun, or exciting, she was the first to tell them to stop. She walked with her hands crossed and her nose way up high in the air.
Jethro was a moonshiner from Kentucky. He wore a tremendous red beard, and when he started getting excited the whites of his eyes would flash and he’d begin to howl with pure joy like a pack of dogs.
“Way to show up late,” Kip said by way of friendly greeting to his cousins.
Trevor, Billy and Cole piled out of the van. Despite the fact that Eleanor was trim and proper, Trevor, Billy and Cole were the wildest three boys in the universe. Last summer they’d hung a kid for lipping off, really hung him by the neck. It had been one of their cousins and the kid had lived.
More people pulled in. Mom ground her teeth. Arrangements were made and a vehicle was driven down to where they’d pull out, then they put in.
The river trip wasn’t a silent exploration of nature where people could find inner peace and tranquility by simply existing on the water. Nope, such trips were for lame families. The Claptrap river trips were more of a battle royale.
One canoe was designated as the food canoe, it had things like fig newtons, coke, and maybe a hot dog if somebody had planned ahead. That canoe was off limits. It couldn’t be tipped over. All the other canoes were fair game. Mom climbed into the food canoe.
“You’re not going in that canoe are you?” Dad said, all hurt because he wanted to flip over his wife’s canoe because it would be so much fun for her.
“Yes I am.”
“C’mon!”
“No, this is what I want,” Mom said.
Dad glowered, but he let it drop.
Kip got paired up with Uncle Morris, a wild eyed lunatic with glasses. Morris was Kip’s dad’s youngest brother. The only real important thing about hanging around Morris was that you not do anything that made him break, lose, or otherwise damage his glasses. That was a big deal and important to remember.
For the first few minutes, it was chill, and quiet. A deer trotted over to the bank of the river to get a drink. It was a beautiful natural scene in the heart of the Northwoods.
Then Dad bellowed, “Ramming speed!”
He began to paddle like a man possessed, sending huge plumes of water behind his canoe as it shot forward. If you’ve ever read a book on whaling, sitting in that canoe must have been exactly like taking a Nantucket sleigh ride.
The charging boat crashed into the canoe of some random family member.
“Murray, you asshole!”
Then the canoe went over.
“Hahahahaha!” went Dad. But then another canoe, one running silent and guided by uncle Jethro, crashed into Dad’s canoe. Jethro reached down and flipped the canoe, sending Dad into the water. Now it was Kip’s turn to laugh.
“Hahahahaha!” Kip looked over and saw that Mom was laughing too. She was holding a package of Fig Newtons as if to remind everyone that she was in the food canoe and not to be touched.
Dad came up sputtering.
“What are you laughing at?” Dad asked Mom, hurt and glowering.
Now it was Jethro’s turn to laugh, “You shouldn’t laugh at your father because,” then he put up his hands as if directing a chorus, and everyone joined in, ‘he’ll be dead soon.’”
Everybody laughed, except Eleanor, who cast Jethro a warning glare. “Jethrooo,” she said, her voice rising in pitch and cutting off sharply at the end just like a teacher scolding at school. Jethro winced, the delight in his eyes snuffed out.
But Eleanor’s subtle rebuke of uncle Jethro wasn’t enough for Dad. He put on his sulk face and started wading through the water to the food canoe.
“I’m in the food canoe, don’t dunk me!” Mom cried.
But Dad kept going, and going. It was increasingly awkward to watch. But nobody could do anything.
“Don’t you do it, don’t you do it, I don’t want you to do it!”
But Dad got there and grabbed her and pulled her into the water anyway. She was dunked. The water went right over her head. Her hair and clothing were soaked. She came up sputtering. “Dog gone it, I didn’t want you to dunk me!”
“Oh, come on, I just wanted to interact with you,” Dad protested in his hurt voice, “bring you into the fun.”
A tense silence settled over the river. Nobody was laughing except Aunt Gertrude, Kip had an idea for how the awkwardness could be broken.
“Dad, why don’t you pull in Aunt Gertrude now?”
“No Murray, I’d prefer you didn’t,” Aunt Gertrude said.
That was that, the matter wasn’t mentioned again. Mom glowered at Dad as he waded back to his canoe, flipped it over, and jumped back in. Kip had the depressing sensation that he’d made things worse.
The day continued much as it had started. There would be moments of silence and rest, and Dad would scream out, “Ramming speed!” And his canoe would crash into somebody and capsize them. Kip got dunked many times. He knew that going into the water, it was important to look out for sharp rocks or logs that might knock a young boy unconscious. Avoiding those rocks was the responsibility of the person getting dunked.
They stopped for lunch, and Kip went to step out of the canoe when his foot came down on something sharp.
“Ouch!” Kip screamed toppling back into the canoe.
“What was it?” Uncle Morris said, still wearing his glasses by some miracle.
“It was nothing,” Dad said, “He’s just being a Lilly.”
Lilly was the term the Claptrap family used to indicate weakness. The worst thing to be called was a Lilly.
“A sharp rock I think,” Kip said.
“Oh, quit being a cry baby,” Dad said. “There was no sharp rock.”
Morris reached down into the water where Kip had stepped. He fished around for a moment before pulling up a board with a rusty six inch long pole barn spike sticking up from the middle.
“You’re lucky you jumped back off of that,” Morris said, “I’ve seen those go all the way through a person’s foot and come out the other side.”
Another of the hazards of river riding.
For safety, Morris cocked his arm back and threw the board into the woods where there would be zero risk of anyone stepping on it ever.
“Did he step on that?” Dad asked.
“Yup.”
“Dang it, now we’ll have to stop and get him a Tetanus shot.” Dad looked put out at the prospect.
It was lunch time. They huddled about to start a fire and waited for the food canoe which was lagging behind. When mom finally showed up, Kip told her the news. “I stepped on a nail.”
Mom went white. “Are you hurt?”
“It just scratched me, I noticed it before it went all the way through my foot.”
Mom sighed in relief, then cast a quick glare at Dad. Dad didn’t notice.
“Where are the hot dogs?”
“There aren’t any.”
“What?”
“There aren’t any, I looked,” Mom said.
“Did you forget to pack them?” Dad asked.
“Packing for this trip wasn’t my job,” Mom replied.
During the argument, Kip cast a quick look at Aunt Gertrude. She was chewing on something. She was also furtively dropping something into the river. He watched the mysterious object float by, it was half a raw hot dog.
Why was she only eating half?
“Well, I guess we’re eating fig newtons,” Dad said.
Everybody groaned.
A half hour later, they were back on the river. Everybody was tired and hungry and wet. Nobody wanted to go into the water. Dad was now in a canoe with Billy.
“Ramming speed!” He screamed, taking aim at Kip’s canoe.
“No!” Kip said.
But Dad didn’t stop, he sent that canoe hurtling forward as fast as he could, stroke after stroke with Billy laughing in the front.
“Dad, I’m cold, I don’t want to go in the water!”
Dad’s canoe surged again, flying over the surface to advance in a terrible display of aluminum, water and wooden paddle force.
Kip felt a surge of terror and rage. Instinct kicked in and he knew he had to battle for his life. When the canoe got near, Kip lifted his paddle and swung with all the force he could muster. The blow caught Billy on the shoulder and sent him into the water.
“What are you doing?” Dad screamed.
“You’re going to make us lose Uncle Morris’s glasses!” Kip howled hysterically. “We must protect the glasses.”
Billy howled too. He was floating in the water clutching his arm. Dad fished him out, and then reached over with a malicious jerk and sent Kip and Morris tumbling into the water. Morris came up with a bare face.
“My glasses!” he cried.
A mad scramble ensued to find the glasses, but they were gone.
Billy wasn’t seriously hurt.
Dad started making jokes like the whole thing was funny and a terrible tragedy hadn’t just occurred, but nobody laughed.
The river trip was completed under a cloud of sullen silence, the only noise was the smacking of Aunt Gertrude’s lips as she finished off the hot dogs she’d stuffed away who knows where.
Dad pulled out the canoes, and Kip and his family got into the car. They were all soggy and none of them had brought extra clothing. Various members of the family might have said good bye to each other, but they might not have.
There was a stop on the way home to get Kip his tetanus shot.
School started the next day.
School was even worse than a family river trip.
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"He used these teeth to smile in a way that made people think he was about to go for the neck."
This is one family tradition I'm glad we never had.