It was barely dark when I dove into my tent. The soothing patter of raindrops on the tarp strung above the tent quickly put me to sleep.

I needed all the rest I could get. The next day I’d be helping out with a memorial paddle in honor of Bill Conrad. My job was to hit the river at the crack of dawn ? or  at least the crack of noon ? and get things ready at the Brinkhaven landing. Experienced paddlers would go over the old lowhead dam, through a spot that was chiseled out for safer passage. Inexperienced ones would land on the upstream side. They’d need help. It’s not an easy landing.

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I also was entrusted to guard the six dozen donuts Curtis Casto bought for the occasion and left in the pavilion at Brinkhaven Park. For the record, I didn’t eat too many before the paddlers arrived.

I’d barely drifted off to sleep when the rain started coming down harder. And harder. And harder. The rain pelting the nylon tarp above my tent reminded me of the drum roll from “Wipeout.” (For you younger folks, “Wipeout” is a surf music classic from the ’60s. The drum part approximates the sound of cresting waves.)

Day of paddling from Loudonville to upstream of Greer

After a day of paddling from Loudonville to my campsite at the Conrad place upstream of Greer, I was tired enough that the sound of pouring rain didn’t keep me awake. I was aroused from my sleep by occasional thoughts of dragging boats and paddlers out of a surging river.

Mud can turn a rough take-out site into a total nightmare. Even with the safety rope Curtis and I strung up, it could be treacherous helping paddlers land and get out of their canoes and kayaks. Multiply that by how many? A hundred? Fifty? What skill level? Would there be children? Or decrepit old geezers like me?

I realized agonizing over it wouldn’t help and managed to get a decent night’s sleep.

What would bill do, you ask? Enjoy the adventure, of course

I woke up around 5:30 a.m. A voice in my head asked, “What would Bill do?”

After all, that’s why we were there ? to honor a man of great spirit, vision, courage, determination, and tremendous luck.

I crawled out of my sleeping bag, put on my rain gear, and brewed a cup of high-octane coffee. From the deep dark depths of my coffee cup, Bill spoke to me.

“What would I do? I’d break camp in the pouring rain, get on the river at daybreak, and get down to Brinkhaven,” he said. “And I’d enjoy every minute of it.”

So I did. Not even the cold rain trickling from my rain jacket onto the canoe seat could break my spirits.

River rises, lessening the danger, and all canoers safely ashore

The rain slowed to a drizzle as I paddled into Brinkhaven. I was relieved to find the river had gone up just enough to enable us to land on a concrete platform that had once been the left side of the dam. Now all I had to do was build a fire and wait six hours for paddlers to start arriving.

Curtis stopped by with the donuts and left his wife, Marsha, there with instructions to shoot me in the back if I tried to desert. And pistol-whip me if I ate too many donuts.

The day proved to be a big success, with about 50 paddlers making the trip from Mohican Wilderness Campground to Brinkhaven ? all to honor a man who dedicated his life to preserving the legacy of the Mohican River.

As far as I know, only one paddler ended up capsizing and was none the worse for wear.

Curtis was pleased with how it went. He said the only thing he’d change next year would be to take the donuts to the put-in site to discourage pilfering.

This article originally appeared on Ashland Times Gazette: When the rain comes, think of what an experienced paddler would do