When I woke up this morning, I never thought that I would be trying to paddle as fast as my arms would allow me down a river. But, here I was; hauling ass while trying to stay out of the path of the crazy back woodsman firing at me.

The day had started pretty good. I had slept like a baby the night before, nice and cozy in my one-man tent. It was while I was enjoying a cup of coffee that had been brewed over my small fire that I first felt eyes on me. I shrugged it off and tried to attribute it to paranoia.

It was while I broke down my tent that my suspicions were confirmed. I glanced to my right and saw a gnarled old man, eyes a piercing blue set in a bed of wrinkles. His face was covered in a smattering of gray beard, all topped by a decrepit fisherman’s hat. He was staring intently at me, a snarl upturning the corner of his lip. I knew that he wanted me to see him. This was a man that if he didn’t want you to know he was there, you wouldn’t.

“You’re on my property, boy.” He nearly hissed.

“Sir, this is a national park. It doesn’t belong to a person.” I replied.

He drew his face back, worked up a large wad of phlegm, and spit it toward me. It landed in a pile of bacteria and slime at my feet.

I jumped back in disgust.

“What are you thinking? That’s gross!”

“Boy, this here land belonged to my great-grandpappy, and his father before him. I was born on it, and I’m prepared to die on it.” He replied, squaring his shoulders at me.

What the fuck. I thought. This man is literally insane. Crazy. Bonkers.

“Listen, I’m just packing my stuff up, and I’ll be on my way down the river.” I said, wishing my gear was already in my canoe that was about 15 feet away.

“You’ve got about sixty seconds before you meet Ol’ Betsy.” He said, an ominous sneer spreading across his face.

“What? Are you crazy?” I said, before grabbing my backpack and running toward my canoe, my boots slipping on the loose pebbles near the river bank.

“Thirty seconds now.” He said, stepping out of the overgrowth where he had been hiding. The man way huge; literally the biggest old guy I had every laid eyes on. The flannel jacket he wore was tattered and worn at the elbows. Dirty green pants were tucked into knee high rubber boots. And, resting on his shoulder was a shotgun. He lumbered toward me.

I reached my canoe and dove for the paddles while pushing off.

“Fifteen seconds.” He said, lifting the shotgun into position.

I started paddling the fastest I had ever paddled.

“Five. Four. Three. Two. One…” he counted.

There was silence. I was several feet out into the river. Surely I was off of his “land” by now.

I glanced back, figuring I would see the man turning to leave. As soon as I laid eyes on him, I saw the barrel of a shotgun pointing my direction.

“I’m off your land!” I yelled desperately.

“The river’s mine too.” He replied, and sent a slug wizzing past my head.

He had intended to shoot me all along!

So. Here I was; trying to paddle my way out of the path of death.

And, it was in that moment I wished I hadn’t skipped arm day.