Liverwurst sandwiches, a frozen wetsuit and gas station coffee — it was everything a winter canoe trip should be. And more.

And why not? It started off with a good omen — Nathan Shipley granted us permission to park in Mother Teresa’s spot.

Previous column: Winter camping — Chilling thoughts on keeping warm inside your tent

I had contacted him before the three-day trip to get permission to put in at his place — Shipley’s Canoe Livery & Tavern in Loudonville. Curtis Casto, my co-conspirator for this trip, and I decided we’d leave my truck there. We planned to take out three days later at the confluence of the Mohican and Kokosing rivers.

When I contacted Nathan to get permission, I asked where I should leave my truck.

“You can park anywhere on the other side of the dumpster,” he responded in a text message. “There is a sign that says ‘Mother Teresa Parking’ I put up for Teresa so that in the summer when we’re open, she always has a spot. If you park there that would be fine too.”

We felt honored and blessed. With liverwurst sandwiches and gas station coffee awaiting us downstream, how could we go wrong?

Promises of sandwiches and coffee

As canoe trips go, this one was tightly scripted. We arranged to camp at friends’ properties along the way. That’s where the promises of sandwiches and coffee came in. Bill Conrad, who lives near Greer, knows I can’t resist free food and beer. So I stop there on a lot of my trips. Downstream, past Brinkhaven, my friend Rose Mickley said she’d try to bring us some gas station coffee.

As a former truck driver, gas station coffee is dear to my heart. It’s saved my life by keeping me awake behind the wheel and scorched my tongue on many occasions. (That seems to be one of life’s lessons I have to keep relearning.)

To sweeten the deal at Conrad’s place, Bill has proposed naming the river landing after me. I like to flatter myself by thinking he’s going to call it Irv’s Landing. But I’m haunted by the thought that maybe he has something sinister in mind. For the time being, there’s a sign there that says, “PADDLE FASTER, I HEAR BANJOS.”

I don’t often share this, but in my youth, I bore a striking resemblance to the banjo player in “Deliverance.”

After pitching camp, Curtis and I hiked up to the house for liverwurst sandwiches, served with a side of Bill’s stories and a few beers to wash it all down. (Curtis declined the beer, so I claimed his share.)

Sharing experiences with Boy Scouting

We got around to talking about our experiences with Boy Scouting. Bill and Curtis had been leaders; I was a member of an inner-city scout troop run by a freelance writer. It was formed for kids like me — kids who fell through the cracks because we couldn’t relate to the regimentation of traditional scout troops.

Instead of normal scout meetings, we sat around listening to jazz records and Tom Lehrer songs. We’d take field trips to some of the seedier parts of town. Our merit badges were R-rated.

Anyway, Bill, Curt and I got around to talking about winter camping with the Boy Scouts. Something I didn’t get around to doing till I was in my mid 40s and presumably too old for Boy Scouting. (Although I did manage to spend 14 years at a two-year college.)

Bill told us about a mishap on one of his troop’s winter camping trips. While playing reveille, a kid got his lips stuck to a bugle. The poor kid would have been better off with my troop — sitting around listening to songs like “Poisoning Pigeons in the Park” and “We Will All Go Together When We Go.”

After liverwurst sandwiches and a few more of Bill’s stories, Curtis and I retreated to our campsite. It had been a pleasant day on the river. The river conditions were perfect, the weather was agreeable and we ended the first day of our trip with a pleasant evening by the campfire. Followed by freezing rain.

To be continued.

This article originally appeared on Ashland Times Gazette: Winter canoe tripping — finding aid and comfort along the river