Desoto Lake is an oxbow lake, once the track of the Mississippi River proper. Local lore held old Hernando Desoto himself had discovered the Mighty Mississippi right there back in 1541. One local coot claimed to have found a Conquistador-era sword out in the sticks someplace, only to have dropped it in the lake while cutting trot lines. I struggle to believe that, however.
In short order, we were tearing down the lake dragging a wake board. This thing was a piece of laminated plywood with a curve at the front like a snow sled affixed to the boat via a long length of ski rope. It had a handle onto which the rider might cling. Wee Jack was first in the chute.
Jack was a typical Southern 12-year-old boy of the era. Obesity was not the widespread scourge then that it is today, and folks treated ADHD with exercise. As such, Jack might have tipped the scales at 75 pounds were his pockets filled with sand. Once he was set up on the board, I gunned the boat and launched into a series of aggressive S-turns.
This maneuver created an ample wake behind the big vessel. Swinging back and forth dragged the board across said wake with great vigor, propelling Jack’s scrawny frame to ever-more-impressive altitudes. This precipitated endless delight for all involved — all, except, perhaps Jack.
Time and General Relativity
Our fateful day out on the lake was a lot like this, only with way more chaos.
(Source: Tobia Sola, Unsplash)
The passage of time has fascinated humans since the very beginning. As was so compellingly depicted in the Christopher Nolan movie “Interstellar,” nowadays, we appreciate spacetime is not constant. Had anyone bothered to ask, I could have attested to that fact as a wise 15-year-old.
When my dad was the same age, he was operating a service station solo. When I was 15, in 1981, I got my driver’s license. Back in my day, a driver’s license meant you could go anywhere and do anything. I wouldn’t trust today’s 15-year-old males unsupervised with SweetTarts, but it was indeed a different time.
One of the rarefied skills I enjoyed was the ability to back a boat trailer. My grandfather had a modest ski boat he used to fish for crappie, and it was at my disposal. On this particularly torrid summer day in the Mississippi Delta, I felt the need to go boating. I put the word out and soon had a handful of rangy local boys all kitted out and ready to go. The youngest was a lad of just 12 — we shall call him Jack.
Mom packed a cooler full of Cokes, while I hooked up the boat trailer. We promised to be back by dark. An hour later, I was backing the boat down the ramp at Desoto Lake.
Back then, everything could be resolved with a bottle of Coca Cola and a sugary pastry.
During one particularly robust iteration, Jack hit the wake and launched skyward, demonstrating ample daylight underneath his terrified carcass. Like some deranged fighter plane, the board, with Jack clinging for dear life, rolled slowly, inverted and struck the water upside down. The upward curve to the board was now reversed and plunged itself straight down into the depths of the abyss with little Jack in tow. Suddenly, the boat itself stopped as though it were chained to the earth. I killed the big engine immediately and all was eerily quiet.
The ski rope disappeared straight down into the lake; Jack nowhere to be found. He was wearing a life vest, but it appeared to be defective. A shockingly long period went by, adequate for us to grow genuinely concerned over the fate of our friend.
With great fanfare, Jack suddenly burst to the surface sputtering and flailing. He was covered entirely in goopy mud, the tenacious stuff caked on his face and thick in his hair. Still to this day, I can remember the whites of his eyes as he blinked mightily trying to clear the vile material. We hoisted him back into the boat and successfully revived him with a little Coca Cola and a Hostess Ding Dong.
It took us nearly half an hour of swimming down the rope in relays to the bottom of the lake to finally wrench the wake board free from the mire. It was buried at least a couple feet deep. We swore each other to secrecy and said not a word to our parents afterwards. The tale has remained thusly hidden for some four decades, and now I dare share it with you.
It was just a different time.
