July 21, 1997
Hendrix House, Washington, USA

It took all morning to repack my kayak, and it was mid-afternoon by the time I was finally on the river again. The Black River is a narrow channel that bows and bends often; with water so brackish - it appears it is not moving. Berry told me that it is one of the slowest moving rivers in to the US - only dropping an average of a foot in elevation per mile. Barry also told me to look for a hawk’s nest when I get to a certain spot on the river, and it was there as he said it would be - hawks included. Along the way I also saw what looked like several beavers, but I wasn’t sure, they could have been muskrats.

After an hour and a half on the river, I took out at the home of the guy I met in the grocery store. The house is small, with one bedroom. The dude is around 27 years old, single, and lives by himself. He’s a mellow kinda guy. The type that enjoys nothing more than smoking weed, while sculpting clay and listening to The Dead. His bed room walls are covered with 20 Jimi Hendrix posters.

After getting out of the shower, I helped him cook dinner. We ate hambugers and pasta. It was great. He went to bed early. He works on the Puget Sound as a barge pilot, and has to get up early. I’m going to crash on the couch.