Seth-n-Jode's Adventures

Two Kayakers

Jody & I have just launched our borrowed canoe for a week-long float trip down the San Juan River with some friends.  The sun is shining. The birds are chirping.  The boat is sturdy. The water level is perfect.  We watch our novice boater friends nonchalantly paddle their canoe through the first ‘riffle’ without even getting their faces wet.  We have nearly 40 years of river experience between us.  With ‘green bean’ canoeists toddling through without trouble…what could go wrong?

Well, let me count the ways.  First, white water kayakers are particularly unfit to paddle a canoe.  Kayakers are unaccustomed to the unique and differing responsibilities for a bow and stern paddler. The golden rule is that the stern paddler (that’s me) is the navigator, a.k.a. “the boss”.  The bow paddler (that’s Jody) is to follow commands and provide muscle.  Unsurprisingly ‘Just Follow Orders Jody’ in the bow is convinced that she is the boss while I’m just flotsam in the back of the boat.  Secondly, we naively agree to Jim & Emmy’s request to carry 40 gallons of water in our canoe. Though skilled at controlling our small fast whitewater kayaks, we are now paddling a watercraft 2X longer and 10X heavier - a task demanding integrated teamwork.  In essence we’re: (a) wearing oversized shoes; (b) filled with cement; (c) trying to run a three legged race.  With this setup, a mafia hit team would be giddy.

We strap everything down and kneel low in the hull.  We enter the ‘riffle’ precisely where we want.  Then…EVERYTHING GOES TO HELL.  A 10’ tall rogue wave appears from nowhere (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it) filling our canoe with cold river water. Our craft transforms from a floating canoe into a ~2,000 pound submarine…without requisite buoyancy.  Even though submerged, the craft continues upright and so we continue to paddle, as the water laps at our necks. It somehow feels better to be doing something in spite of it being hopeless.  When our gear starts to unspool, I shout up to Jody, “Saaaaave Yourself!”  

I am being assaulted by a cacophony of water jugs, coolers and the toilet when a perfectly tossed throw rope lands across my shoulder…an immaculate throw…from the green bean canoeist no less.  Not being one to dismiss benevolent gifts lightly, I grab on tightly.  My pride has long since washed down the river.  I’m pulled to shore, sputtering & shivering.  We’ve completed 100 yards of today’s 15 mile boating plan. 

While we wring water from our clothes, our trusty companions manage to fetch our boat and floating detritus to shore. Jody regards me with arched eyebrows voicelessly asking “what were YOU doing?”  I return a look retorting “what were YOU doing?” Our boating compatriots suppress their chuckles while ducking the invisible daggers flying back and forth.  After the adrenaline drains away, Jody & I sign a peace treaty with each other and chalk this one up to the River Gods.

A month later, we invite Kent and Shawna to dinner to thank them for lending us their canoe.  Kent is a former whitewater Olympian who has coached many professional river runners. Listening to the telling of our story with a smile on his face, he declares early on that he could train us to properly paddle a canoe “In Five Minutes Flat”. 

However our story expands magnificently as we drink more wine and the aforementioned peace treaty starts to smolder.  Just as our invisible daggers start to materialize, Kent announces it proper time for them to return home. On the way out, I hear him whisper to Shawna, “Those two should probably just stick to kayaks.”  

Boy Meets Tree

Our friend Erin is busy packing the raft on a separate trip down the Dolores River. Her son, Jack (age 2) needs to pee and Erin looks over to Jody for some help.  Please know that Jody & I are purposeful DINKs, so Jody isn’t familiar with handling toddlers and most certainly hasn’t any experience teaching a young boy to pee.  Nevertheless in order to help out, she walks with Jack to the nearest tree and declares “Pee!” He looks up at her confused so she encourages him along by emphasizing, “C’mon you can do it! Boys are supposed to pee on trees!”  He finally decides this is indeed a great idea, so he drops his britches and lets it fly.  For the remainder of the trip, he pees on every tree he can reach with an enthusiastic smile on his face.

Some weeks later, Eric & Erin & Jack come over to our home for a party. We are sitting on the deck, enjoying beverages and brats around the fire, when Jody notices a guest with a horrified look on his face.  She turns around to see Jack, pants down to his ankles, peeing proudly on our wooden deck fence. Jody turns to Erin with ‘arched eyebrows’ (a look I know well) who retorts, “You trained him!”  Erin then gets animated explaining how much money they’ve saved on diapers ever since Jody taught Jack to pee outside. Geez, parents these days! What is the world coming to?

Lumbersexual

Jody and I had just returned from a camping trip to join what has become a favorite annual event. The “Costumed Halloween Mountain Bike Ride” at Phil’s World.  When packing for camping, we had neglected to bring Halloween costumes and thus just joined the tribe in our camping clothing.  The weather being brisk, I wear blue jeans, flannel shirt and leather work gloves, an outfit surprisingly similar to my standard cool weather bicycling gear.  Jody is talking with a new acquaintance after the ride and during their conversation points me out as her husband.  He looks over at me and responds, “Oh the one in the lumberjack costume!”  Nice.    

Just Having Some Fun?

Somewhat like norms of cycling clothing, I’ve also been accused of disregarding some most all of the rules that apply to board games.  [Authors note: I am indeed attracted to “mischievous pranks” that invite just a tad of discomposure]. When the Jenga stack looks precarious… I am susceptible to bumping the table. If the first card is uninteresting… I pick a replacement.  If the first set of Dominos is wretched…I pick a new set. If my first roll of the dice isn’t stimulating…I re-roll. It honestly doesn’t matter to me one bit whether I win or lose. In fact I intentionally perform my transgressions boldly and without camouflage…looking eagerly for a reaction to my mischief.  I typically perceive the faces of competing players displaying conflicting sentiments.  Did I just see that?  Is this a problem I need to contest? Should I make an accusation?  Though I think this is just fun & games, sometimes my behavior does lead to unfortunate results. In fact this summer during a sea kayak trip in the San Juan Islands, I was permanently banned from playing monopoly.  I found myself sulking in my tent, all alone, petulantly listening to everyone else’s shared laughter. Apparently some temperaments (perhaps everyone?) find my mischief infuriating.  From my point of view, I think that everyone should relax and bump the table once in a while to experience how it feels to live (just a little bit) on the wild side.

Professional Qualifications

With decades of professional experience as a contracts manager, one would expect I’d follow a rigorous procurement plan to secure a new truck.  Not surprisingly, I spend many hours researching trucks and eventually locate a promising used truck at an attractive price. The truck is 1,000 miles away in Idaho, but that I can overcome.

I fly to Boise Idaho; taxi to the truck dealer; realize I’d taxied to the wrong truck dealer and beg a ride to the “right” dealer; pay the dealer; grab the keys; and begin driving home.  I’m super impressed with myself.  I’m even more impressed that in a modern vehicle you can listen to 80’s music continuously for 14 hours.  I’m somewhat of a Luddite and didn’t really realize that you can lock in a good signal in the badlands of Utah.  I’m definitely a convert to rock & roll on Sirius XM vs gospel on AM radio.

The radio is blaring Journey’s song “Don’t Stop Believing”, when I pull into the driveway. I sweep Jody into my arms crooning “Just a small town girl…”  My new truck is lifted, jet black wheels, low profile whitewall tires, chrome running boards.  I imagine myself a Durango style Magnum P.I. (somewhat balding).  The next day, Jody asks me for the title to the truck in order to store it in our fire proof safe. The song lyrics, “Just a city boy…” float unbidden into my psyche. “Where…is…the….Title?” I stutter meekly. My role as hopeless boat flotsam comes flooding back. Eyes downcast, I offer her the window sticker.

In spite of the MIA title, I’m thrilled.  Jody soon catches the bug and insists we outfit the truck with a winch, roll bar, and snorkel.  I innocently suggest that she consider a boob job to complete the makeover.  That comment didn’t go over so well. 

Chasing Snipes  

On our sea kayak trip in the Pacific Northwest, we were eager to view this particular bay at night because it is famed to display glowing bioluminescent phytoplankton. Exhausted from our long paddle, I ask ‘Lori D’ to wake me when the glowing starts.  I fall asleep to the sound of raindrops and a few hours later she shakes me awake. The rain is pouring buckets, but I remain excited.  I stumble to shore in my tighty whities. 

Lori swirls a paddle in the bay water and announces radiantly, “See that!!!”  Staring at the dark water, I reply “See what?”  She points eagerly down to her swirling paddle.  Ever so gradually with eyes straining mightily, I start to see the underwater plankton awhirl and aglow.  After 15 minutes I finally withdraw from my reverie and proclaim, “I’ve never seen anything like it!”  I squish back to the tent and, in order to dry out, try to cuddle with Jody in her sleeping bag.  This didn’t work out very well.

The next morning, while making breakfast, our guide asks how we slept through the heavy rainfall.  Still shaking water out of my ears, I proudly announce my “out of this world magical midnight experience” with bioluminescent phytoplankton. The guide looks up at me curiously and states, all matter of fact like, “That’s odd… those critters don’t luminesce when it’s raining.” I stop, dead still, morning bagel in hand, mid chew. 

I know full well how in situations like this, your brain can - and indeed will - create the reality you so desperately want to believe. My psyche still burns from being a 10 year old victim of the infamous Snipe Hunt joke.  After weathering decades of suppressed shame and several years of psychological therapy, I’ve become emotionally stable…mostly.  Did I see actual glowing…or did I just want to see it so badly that I imagined it? I start to feel pale and wobbly…again.  Lori chortles. “That’s what you get for cheating at Monopoly”.  Years of therapy gone to hell.

Ocean Front Property in Durango, Colorado

We announce (to those few who will still listen) that we will soon have ocean front property. Most of our friends imagine we’ve swigged too much climate change juice and respond by theatrically rolling their eyes.  Actually the situation is more nuanced. I spent a respectable amount of my creative energy this summer creating Nemo & his dad. I toiled at shaping the plywood, then carefully painting everything from expressive eyebrows to Nemo’s lucky fin.  Upon announcing completion, Jody comes out to my man cave to take a look. I proudly display my Picasso, my piece de la resistance!  She steps back to admire the results. Stroking her chin, she then nonchalantly suggests that perhaps Nemo needs an ocean to swim in.  My heart drops like an anchor.  I recognize that she’s unquestionably right. 

After unloading two truckload deliveries, I’ve acquired enough plywood to pursue the responsibility. I’ve started painting three hundred plywood sheets deep-sea blue and estimate that I should be finished painting by next summer.  Next Thanksgiving, Nemo will have his ocean and our mountain home alongside ocean front!  Every single day, I give thanks that we live in a neighborhood without Home Owner Association restrictions.

Life in Durango

Jody continues to work remotely for Mr. Cooper in the mortgage industry as a Vice President implementing strategic initiatives. She spends all day every day talking on her mobile headset, silhouetted in the glow of three large computer monitors. I bring her lunch because otherwise she’d forget to eat. Thomas the Tom Kat (TTTK) routinely invites himself onto Jody’s desk when he desires some attention. She never contests his sovereignty and contorts herself to stay on program. She carefully lifts his belly with one hand in order to view her screens, while typing with her other hand, and muting the phone to quiet his meows. When I see these contortions for the cat, I put forward “Just toss him onto the floor!”  Her eyebrows rise and I know to withdraw.

I remain a representative for the community on the Durango Parks & Recreation Advisory board - work I find to be both worthwhile & interesting. Jody & I are also crew leaders for Trails 2000 and are helping to build the SkyRaider trail on Raider Ridge.  We fortunately sold our commercial building in Pagosa Springs this year. That should give me the free time to build Nemo’s new ocean in Durango. 

Jody delivered a live story performance at the Raven Narratives this year, telling a moving narrative about our relationship. She had the audience (including me) in stitches and then in tears…all in 10 minutes.  I encourage you to listen to her story. 

SMILEBOX SLIDESHOWS: 

We’ve created musical slideshows for many of our adventures. 

Desert Memories from Our Adventures in the Southwest

Pacific Northwest - Sea Kayaking, Backpacking and Hiking

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Jody and Seth Furtney & Thomas the Tom Kat

11 Molas Drive, Durango, CO 81301

Jody Cell Phone: 970-385-5567 / Seth Cell Phone: 970-385-5547 

Email:  jodyfurtney@hotmail.com / sethfurtney@hotmail.com