The Ounce a Day Man

By Robert Fulton

Twelve‐year‐old Teego Chalmers, his summer looking to be a bust due to a broken wrist, is invited to accompany his archeologist uncle, Dr. Oliver Chalmers using a month-long grant to study the site of the massacre of 33 Chinese miners in Deep Canyon some 100 years prior. Teego plans to spend his time fishing while his uncle works but a prickly grad student, a daughter of a local outfitter, and the canyon with its powerful river, conspire to involve him in events that threaten his life and challenge his courage. In the process he learns a lot about himself, boats, and the power of water. This is a fast moving, action‐packed adventure tale told through the eyes of a pre‐teen boy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Apr 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781483499697

Book preview

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CHAPTER

1

T eego, get your head in the game! That’s my coach, Mr. Sherman. Time, ump!

Uh, oh. Here he comes with my catcher, Jeremy Everett.

My full name is Theodore Goelet Chalmers but everybody calls me Teego most of the time, which is better than Theodore. I wish I could be just Ted or maybe T.C. I think T.C. sounds more like a professional fisherman, which is what I would like to be someday. I fish every chance that I get and I’m pretty good at it. I can’t remember the first time I threaded a worm on a hook but I know I caught a fish that day. When I’m around water, I can just sense where to toss my bait, lure, or fly. I don’t know how to explain it, but I just know. You wouldn’t think that fishing would cause a problem for a twelve-year-old but it does. Take right now, for example. I’m thinking about fishing when I should be picking up the sign from my catcher.

Teego, why are you taking so long to throw the ball? He can’t hit a lick. Just throw it up there and he’ll swing at it, says coach Sherman.

Jeremy nods his head in agreement. He’s scared of you, Teego. He can’t even stand still in the box. He’s ready to bail in your wind up.

That’s another thing about me. On the outside I can look pretty scary to batters because, even though I’m only twelve, I’m almost five feet eight inches tall. That’s why I’m pitching. I’m not very good. In fact, I’m pretty wild, but I’m so tall most of the kids don’t get a good swing because they are more interested in getting out of the way in case the ball comes inside. Being left handed also tends to confuse batters, too.

Teego?

Yes, sir?

Just concentrate on the game and throw the ball. OK?

I nod, OK. I’ve got to quit thinking about fishing.

Coach is nervous because of those two runners already on base. On second and third as a matter of fact because I hit both batters and then threw a wild pitch. But, I struck out one so two more will get us out of the inning.

I look again at the kid at the plate. He’s trying his mean stare look and waving his bat. I need to concentrate here.

It’s times like these that I try and push fishing out of my mind and pretend I’m Randy Johnson. I know I’m not six feet ten inches like he is but I bet I must seem like that to some of those normal size kids at the plate. My slider usually doesn’t slide very well so nobody ever calls it Mr. Snappy like they do Randy’s but it gets over the plate often enough to keep me on the mound.

Here we go, Teego, yells Jeremy as he squats down behind the plate. I rear back, lift my right leg real high like I’ve seen Randy do, push forward off my back leg, lose my balance, and promptly fire it over everybody’s head into the backstop screen. The batter, Jeremy, umpire. Everybody. It is so high that the batter never even moves but, luckily, the ball bounces right back to Jeremy so the runners hold.

Ball three! yells the umpire.

Jeremy picks up the ball and tosses it back to me. The batter waves his bat and glares at me.

OK. Instead of thinking about Randy Johnson, I’m going to think about tossing a Rapala crawdad lure between two branches, right into the shadow where I know big bass like to hole up.

Here we go, Teego! Right at the mitt, yells Jeremy.

I lift my cap and wipe the sweat off my forehead with my sleeve. This time my delivery smoothes out as well as it can for a kind of clumsy kid and I hit the mitt. OK. OK. So Jeremy moved it a little.

Strike one!

Three one count. One out. Runners on second and third. Last inning. Two run lead for us. With the ball in my mitt, I turn my back on home plate but I am back thinking about the bass cast instead of the situation. The mitt has become a circle of water in my mind, the ball the lure, and my arm the graphite rod. In the meantime, the runner on third base is sprinting for home and because my mind is fishing instead of pitching, I don’t hear everyone yelling. By the time I turn around, the double steal is complete. One runner home. The other at third base. One run ball game.

I can see Coach Sherman pull his cap down over his eyes and bow his head. I feel horrible. My teammates just thought I was focusing so hard on the batter that I forgot about the runners but I know better.

That’s OK, Teego. Mac Strait trots over from third base to offer encouragement. Let’s get him. You can do it.

I can hardly hear him over the noise from the stands. Let’s go, Teego! Let’s go, Teego! Fans from both teams are either screaming for joy or in agony.

Just forget about the runner and chuck that sucker in there, yelps Nails behind me at second. No worry, mate. Nails watches Croc Man on the Discovery Channel and likes to talk Australian.

I toe the rubber and try my most menacing look on the batter. I think I just saw him lick his lips. I hope that means he’s nervous. I focus on Jeremy’s mitt and try to block out the lure plunking right on top of those bass. Right in the middle of my delivery, out of the corner of my eye, I see the kid on third sprinting toward the plate. At the same time the batter squares around to bunt. A suicide squeeze! I let go of the ball and watch the scene in slow motion. The ball sailing low and inside. The lure sailing through the opening between the branches. The runner coming in from third. The bass rising toward the Rapala. The batter afraid he is about to get hit and trying to protect himself with his bat.

The ball ricochets off of the bat and hits the sliding runner in the helmet in fair territory. The bass hits the lure so hard they both fly out of the water. The runner drops like a stone just short of the plate and somehow the ball ends up in Jeremy’s catcher’s mitt. The bass misses the hook on the lure and flops free. Jeremy calmly reaches across and tags the batter who stands confused in the batter’s box. The umpire calls the runner out for being hit by a batted ball. Double play! Game over! We win!

I end up at the bottom of the dog pile at the plate. The guys are yelling my name but I hear a pop at the same time I feel like someone has hit me in the wrist with a bat. My nose is pressed against the side of the rubber and I can hardly breathe. My wrist is killing me, I can’t breathe. I’d probably be crying if I could catch my breath because my whole arm hurts like crazy. Shoulder, elbow. All of it.

My arm! Get off me! I yell and start thrashing around, throwing bodies.

Get off him guys! I hear Coach Sherman before I can see him.

Teego, says the coach as he carefully helps me sit up. Breathe. Breathe. I look down at my wrist and see a funny bump that wasn’t there before. I try to move it and can’t. Tears come. I can’t help it now.

How am I going to fish? I burble.

That is how the summer of my 12th year started.

My parents had separated in January and I was living with my mom. Two weeks after I had broken my wrist, mom said, Teego, I need to talk to you. Usually, when mom used those words, I was not going to like what followed. She grabbed the remote out of my hand, turned off the television, which I’m sure was necessary to get my attention.

Your Dad’s brother, your Uncle Oliver, has gotten a grant and is taking a sabbatical to move to a cabin in Deep Canyon to do what he calls forensic work on some long ago ambush of Chinese gold miners, she said. He wants to know if you would like to come and stay with him for the next month.

She tried to look sad but I expect that she really might have looked forward to getting rid of me for a month. Twelve year old boys get a little full of themselves and I was no different. Especially since I had spent the previous two weeks feeling sorry for myself in front of the television and on my phone after breaking my wrist.

I didn’t even try to look sad. Deep Canyon has a river in it, right?

She nodded. Yes, yes it does. So I guess this means you’ll finally have a chance to fish enough to get that foolish dream out of your system.

Yes, yes I will, I mimicked and she tossed a couch pillow at me. Then she smiled.

My uncle is Dr. Oliver Goelet Chalmers, professor of archeology and part time director of the local museum of history. Thus, my middle name. The Goelet name trickled down through the generations from the Peter Goelet family of New York. Old man Peter made a lot of money around the time of the American Revolution but his heirs had managed to blow the fortune, I guess. I only knew that the name was weird and mom had made it clear that I wasn’t a trust fund kid.

I was going to spend a month on a river. Life was definitely looking up!

CHAPTER

2

T hree days after mom had set me up with Uncle Oliver, promptly at six p.m. on July 1 st, I watched the old dinged up red Toyota pickup turn onto the gravel patch that served as the driveway of our house. Uncle Oliver hopped out wearing cargo shorts, river sandals, and no hat on his bald head and walked determinedly toward the door. He and I aren’t buddies so I didn’t run out the door and give him a big hug. He is uncle and I am nephew. I am 12. I waited until he rang the doorbell.

Get the door, Teego, it’s your uncle, Mom said.

Teego, he said when I opened the door.

Uncle Oliver, I responded. We clutched in an awkward half hug, half handshake and I stood aside to let him in. He looked down at my duffle, backpack, fishing rod, and small tackle box in a heap next to the door.

Looks like you are ready to go, he said wryly.

I am, I said trying to look relaxed while my stomach jumped inside.

What about your cast? That going to be a problem? he asked.

No way, I said. It doesn’t even hurt anymore. I wiggled my fingers at him.

Mom came into the living room wiping her hands in a dishtowel.

Good evening, Oliver. You look…. outdoorsy.

Good evening to you, Sandra. You’ve been outside a bit yourself I see.

After a bit more forced conversation Mom hugged me, reminded my uncle that I was only twelve, handed him a bag of sunscreen tubes and tugged the Boston baseball cap on my head and made him promise I would always wear it when outside in the sun.

Mom then stuck out her hand, palm up. Give it up, she said.

What? I said.

Your phone, she said.

Mom, I protested.

Teego, there is virtually no cell phone coverage where we are going so you won’t need it anyway, said Uncle Oliver.

You’re kidding, I said and he shook his head. That was that.

Bravado is a big part of being twelve so I wasn’t about to let anybody know that I was a lot nervous about leaving my friends and my mom for a month. But really, I think I was more excited than nervous. I didn’t know anything about Deep Canyon, dead Chinese, or forensic studies but I didn’t care. It was on a river which meant fishing! And broken wrist or not, I would figure out how to fish. This was going to be the best summer ever!

Be careful of your wrist, Teego, Mom said.

Uncle Oliver picked up my duffle, pointed at the backpack and said, All right, Teego, are you ready for some adventure?

Oh yeah, I said and I couldn’t help grinning. I had to trot to keep up with him out to the pickup. We tossed my stuff in the back, tugged open the wrinkled doors and climbed in.

How long will it take us to get there? I asked.

Oh, not long, he answered crinkling his eyes. We waved goodbye to mom and lurched out of the driveway in a haze of blue exhaust smoke.

Ten minutes later we turned off the highway at the sign to the airport and my uncle looked over at me and raised his eyebrows triumphantly.

Flying? Are we flying? My voice shifted octaves involuntarily.

I asked if you were ready for some adventure, he said. I had no idea.

CHAPTER

3

W e pulled through a gate in a chain link fence and parked next to a rusty Quonset hut. I could see the airport terminal across the runway with an Alaska jet parked next to it. On this side were several small planes tethered to tie-down hooks. Uncle Oliver didn’t say a word. He just watched me as he picked up my duffle and rod. I did my best to act like it was no big deal as I shouldered the backpack and grabbed my tackle box and we headed toward a small almond colored plane about 50 yards away. The pilot was already inside. A slight breeze cooled the sweat on my forehead and bounced a tumble weed against the fence. I saw movement in the plane as we approached and a pair of hairy legs dropped from the far side of the plane. A moment later a long-haired man, in khaki shorts and a white tee shirt with Rapid Master Excursions across the front, stretched out his hand to me and said, You must be Teego. I’m Zach Archer. My hands are pretty big and his swallowed mine but didn’t crush it.

Your uncle told me this is your first time in a plane? He leaned back a bit and looked down at me, an eyebrow raised.

Yes, I said. But I’m not scared.

I didn’t think you were and there is no need to be, said Zach. This should be a fun first flight. Lots to look at on the way and good weather to boot. Let’s get loaded up in this little Cessna.

Before I could grab my stuff I sensed rather than saw the small plane move and when I looked up I saw another pair of legs dropping out of the plane. A pair of river sandals with painted toenails stuck out of khaki pants.

She walked around the rear of the plane and stood for a moment before stepping forward.

Hello, Teego. I’m Rachel Clark, she said and forced a smile.

I looked over at Uncle Oliver, stunned. What’s up with this? She looked like somebody’s regular older sister who didn’t like being outside. With black hair pulled back into a ponytail that barely peeked out from under the canvas hat she wore and a bulky sweatshirt, despite the heat, I could have mistaken her for a man. A tall man. Almost as tall as Uncle Oliver and Zach.

Teego, Rachel is a graduate assistant who will be helping us with our project, said Oliver. I wanted to protest but didn’t know how. She sure didn’t look like a person who spent much time outside which is where I thought archeologists worked. I always kind of pictured archeologists to be more like Indiana Jones or those people digging around temples or hidden cities. She didn’t act like Oliver’s girlfriend either.

Oliver didn’t offer any more explanation. Zach stowed my bags in the tail and Uncle Oliver told me to sit up in the right front seat while he folded himself behind next to Rachel. We all put on headphones and Zach pulled a small book from the pocket in the door.

Checklist, he said and began a confusing series of switching levers, pushing buttons and looking at gauges. Then he started the engine and checked some more gauges and switched some more levers. Long enough that I began to wonder if he was a beginner or something. Zach spoke into my headphones. Better to find trouble on the ground than in the air, he said. And by the way, don’t touch that door handle.

After a few minutes that seemed like forever, I heard him tell the tower we were ready to go and we taxied to the runway and took off. Easy cheesy. For the next hour and a half, I mostly listened as my uncle and Zach pointed out buttes, lakes, creek drainages, mountain peaks, and various small towns, none of which registered in my brain. I was too amazed over the whole flying experience. Rachel didn’t say anything.

I heard the engines change pitch and we descended toward a ribbon of runway sitting atop a bluff. Beyond I could see water snaking through the bottom of a deep gash in the countryside below. The single engine Cessna purred and waggled as we lined up to land. A breeze caused us to bounce slightly and I watched a wing dip awfully close to the runway but then, what did I know? I felt another bump and we taxied past a limply hanging wind sock and stopped over in front of a building that could have been the twin to the one we had left before takeoff. Zach shut down the engine.

Everybody out! he said. Teego, you know that handle I told you earlier you couldn’t touch? Now you can. Push it down and haul your casted wrist out of here. We’re done flying and about to go boating!

I opened the door and the heat almost took my breath away. And it was nearly dark! At flying altitude I’d been almost chilly but by the time I got my stuff out of the tail compartment, my shirt stuck to my back. Oliver and Rachel each had a duffle bag and two other bags that rattled like they held some kind of equipment. Zach pointed to an old green suburban parked beside the metal building.

That’s our ride, he said.

A steep, windy, and narrow route led from the airport down to a marina and the noise of the burned out muffler in the Suburban had kept everybody from talking very much. We parked in a spot with a distinct oil stain splotch on the blacktop.

Reserved parking, said Zach. Leave the door unlocked so that no one will break anything trying to see what’s inside, he said. We got out and transferred everything to the boat. By this time the sun was below the rim of the canyon. A single pole light stood hunched over a small building at the far end of the parking lot providing the only light other than from the moon just coming up over the canyon rim. If Oliver and Rachel felt any concern over going up the river in the dark, they didn’t let on. In fact, they seemed to be excited, at least Oliver was. I couldn’t tell about Rachel. She wasn’t paying much attention to me.

The sky still glowed enough for us to see a boat tied off to a dock. Zach had my duffle and tackle box. I had my rod in my right hand and had shouldered my backpack for the short walk from the suburban to the dock. Oliver and Rachel collected the other bags and gear and in two trips they had it all down on the dock.

As I stood on the dock waiting for Oliver and Rachel I stared at what looked like a new boat rocking gently in the smooth water of the marina. It had a trick look about it and we still had enough light that I could see some kind of dark paint on the sides and a logo high on the hull just ahead of the transom that said Rapid Master. A canvas top covered the front half of the boat but I noticed that the center front portion was opened up like a convertible top to let in sunshine or moonlight.

Wow! I said. I’ve never seen a boat like this before.

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She’s a beauty, isn’t she? said Zach. Brand new this morning. All 28 feet of her. Rapid Master Excursions of which I am a river guide and pilot, is owned by Rapid Master Boat Works, the builder of this here boat. You are about to become part of a test ride.

Teego could see that the sides were low enough to step up on from the dock because the waterline lay only two feet or so below the gunwales. Ahead of the windshield, a covered bow extended forward about three feet in a V shape. The four of them stepped inside. Up front on a raised aluminum box base and centered in the front of the passenger area, a high-backed upholstered spring ride seat with armrests, like out of a big semi, overlooked an instrument panel filled with gauges, toggle switches, and red circles of lights. Teego thought this was one cool boat. It even smelled new, like a new car.

Behind the helm seat and facing each other on each side of the boat lay two gray upholstered bench seats with back rests. They were long enough for four people to sit on each one comfortably. The canvas top, mounted on aluminum bows, arched high enough that even Zach, who was taller than both Oliver and Teego, didn’t have to stoop over in the center. Two handrails welded lengthwise between the bows provided a handhold for standing passengers. The textured gray vinyl floor and rear deck matched the gray of the seats and the top.

Rachel didn’t seem to be impressed although. I saw her running her hand along the back of the upholstered seat. She had taken off her sweatshirt because of the heat and stood uncomfortably in the aisle between the seats in an oversized tee shirt that she flapped to unstick it from her skin and get some air. She probably wished she could trade her khaki slacks for shorts although I had a hard time imagining her in shorts. She kept her hat pulled low over her eyes as she sat down.

I peered over Zach’s shoulder as he flipped two switches marked ‘blower’ and settled into the helm seat to check the controls. This is a lot different than those plastic boats you might be used to. She’s got two engines each with its own key. Check this out. Zach turned the left one first, waited for the dash light to change from red to green, clicked the key once more, and an engine immediately started and settled into a smooth idle. The right key fired up the other engine. Oliver and I stepped aside as Zach walked back and opened up the engine covers. Need to make sure nothing is leaking, he said. They ran this boat this morning and everything was fine. How about a moonlight river ride up to Lime Point? he said. Can you unhook the lines?

I looked at Oliver and he nodded so I climbed back out and managed to untie the ropes from the dock cleats with one hand although I fumbled a little. This is so cool, I thought. Earlier this week I was home feeling sorry for myself. Take a look at me now! I stepped back on board and Zach eased the throttles back and we reversed away from the dock and into the river current. I watched as he pulled back slightly on the steering stick and we started a slow left turn out into the river. I looked at Uncle Oliver and he just smiled and gave me thumbs up. Rachel sat slumped in her seat.

Who needs baseball?

CHAPTER

4

T eego could hear the sound of the water slapping against the aluminum hull change as the jet boat slowed slightly while Zach swung the bow across the swirling current at the bottom of a small rapid, skirted the frothy, rolling center, and powered up the choppy left channel, bumping lightly from wave top to wave top. The moonlight ricocheted off the water and traced the faces of Zach, Rachel, and Oliver. It was still too hot for anything more than shorts and tee shirts but the breeze felt good on his back even though his shirt was still sticking. Rachel must be dying, he thought.

Zach really looked like a river guide and a pilot, long hair, beard and all. He smiled a lot and asked me about my cast and about school and baseball. He seemed really sorry that I wouldn’t be able to play baseball anymore this summer. I didn’t give him the details of my broken wrist other than that it had happened during a baseball game. I didn’t want to sound like a complainer.

After a half hour or so of cruising on smooth water in the moonlight, a huge rock cliff outcropping loomed off to the left against the starlit sky and Zach backed off slightly on the throttles to get lined up on the C shaped rapid ahead. I sat in the jump seat on Zach’s right and Oliver and Rachel stood behind us, holding onto the aluminum frame that supported the top.

Big Eddy, said Zach. Sounds like it could be named for a prizefighter or a pool shark doesn’t it? The name really comes from the swirling water here at the base of the rapid. A river eddy actually causes the water to flow back upstream creating a kind of whirlpool effect. When I fish it, I can hold the boat in the whirlpool, lazily floating in a circle, and cast bass plugs and bait in every direction.

Aah, I thought. Now we’re talking. Fishing.

The high dark rock cliffs pinched the river against even higher, though not as steep, hills on the opposite shore. The moon just barely cleared the top of the hill and gave us some relief from the darkness but Zach asked me to shine the spotlight toward the right bank so he could position the boat off of a familiar rock. In the spotlight we could see that the boiling water of the river looked like wind whipped waves on a lake and we could hear the thundering noise of the rapid beyond the light. It sounded pretty scary and I looked over at Uncle Oliver to see how he was taking it. He and Rachel were standing up behind Zach, facing forward, gripping the handrails welded