Making a splash is one of the best ways to use water in abundance. About thirty years ago, the spring runoff was actually too strong — flooding the lowlands and cluttering the rivers with debris. Reservoirs filled early and the Snake River ran at flood stage for about six weeks. The water-flow guys had estimated that the volume of water flowing through Idaho Falls was the equivalent of filling and emptying Palisades Reservoir five or six times. This was before it was popular to recharge the Snake River Aquifer on purpose --most of the abundance was allowed to flow downstream and out into the Pacific Ocean. For those of us who played in or on the Snake River, this springtime over-abundance of water was viewed as a gift from heaven -- one that required us to recite an old jet-skiing prayer of gratitude from the 1980s:
And the Heavens Parted
And the Waters Calmed
And the Lord said, “Let there be jet skiing.”
Long after the prayer of gratitude, high river flow rates continued well into July; so much that they proved to be a real distraction. There is nothing like flying down the fast, big waves that come out of the Idaho Falls Upper Power Plant during flood stage to take your mind off of everything else going on around you. One afternoon we lost ourselves in the moment, time got away from us for a few hours, and we forgot all about the wedding reception at MB’s that evening -- even though we had attended the wedding that morning. We loaded up and hurried down the road, trailer in tow. I told my son that we had a choice. We could froof up and probably miss the reception — or we could make a splash. He chose wisely. We decided to drive straight to the reception and go au naturel — remaining in our natural state, still dressed in our jet-skiing gear. After all, MB was our usual jet-skiing compatriot and would surely understand our tardiness — as would the groom, his son BB — the one on the right in the picture above who had complained to us earlier in the day about his choosing a perfect jet-skiing day to get married. My kind of guy.
We double-parked the four-place trailer, jetskis, and SUV right in front of MB’s house. We didn’t stop to clear our impellers when we left the river. So…we started our four noisy machines, spraying two-cycle fumes in the air and Snake River water all over the street. Confident that our arrival had been properly announced, we marched up to the front door and rang the bell, intending to relay our best wishes from the front steps. MB ushered us in and started taking his shoes off —a sure signal that, for him, the reception was over. At his encouragement, we signed in and started to navigate the disintegrating reception line, where we found two types of people — those who were smiling widely and very pleased to see us and those who were not. Granted, we were sunburned and our hair had obviously been styled by the Wind and Wave Salon, but I think it was actually our attire that sent some of the more fragile guests into a tizzy. Our fluorescent wetsuits, jet-skiing gloves, sunglasses, PFDs with swinging lanyards, and dripping river shoes were absolutely Avant-garde, and, like many other significant events, went completely unnoticed in the fashion column of the Post Register. With the exception of the bride, the groom’s mother, and the bridesmaids who refused to shake our wet hands, I have never been greeted with greater enthusiasm at any other wedding in my entire life. It just goes to show that you don’t have to get all froofed up to make a splash.
Ever vigilant,
RT
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