An engaging device that Pope uses frequently is starting a chapter right in the middle of the action and then backtracking to explain how the predicament came about. Such as: "The Mexican security guards in the grocery store seemed to come from nowhere." Or this one: "It was morning when I crawled up on the sandy beach, exhausted and nearly naked. There was a rope around my waist. My dad was tied to the other end …." How can you not read on?
This is not a book primarily about kayaking, although it does recount enough whitewater thrills—including running Great Falls and big water in South America—that paddler-readers will not feel short-changed. After all, kayaking played a large enough role that Pope credits long absences for boating with ruining his second marriage. He does not overrate his skills, saying, "I was always paddling 'over my head,' meaning that I was never good enough to legitimately and comfortably navigate the rapids I was taking on." And he continues, "That, of course, added to the excitement."
Which gets to the heart of the questions raised by the book, if one chooses to go there rather than simply accepting it as an interesting story of an adventure-filled life with some genuinely funny anecdotes. (On the latter account, see such chapters as the ones entitled "The Dog Ate My Passport" and "Pigs With Horns.") Pope characterizes his life as a relentless quest for fun, repeating this pattern:
"1. Try to have as much fun and excitement as possible without regard to obvious dangers.
"2. In search of that goal, do something stupid or dangerous.
"3. Be fortunate enough to have someone else save me from the consequences of the stupid behavior.
"4. Repeat the pattern in a new and even more hazardous context."
I can hear you protesting, "But he's saying that tongue in cheek!" To which I respond, "Don't be so sure."
Most of the book consists of examples of this four-step pattern. The examples are of several types:
- Pranks and daredevil pushing of limits, such as going too fast on conveyances ranging from pony carts and horses on bareback to bicycles, motorcycles, and cars, with motorcycle accidents that caused serious, lasting injuries (and, incidentally, got him out of the draft).
- Escapades driven by drugs or alcohol—heavy-drinking parties, diving off a pier too drunk to notice the absence of water, falling asleep drunk in a snowbank, and lots of drunk driving. (Overlap here with the going-too-fast examples.)
- Close calls in whitewater kayaking and ocean sailing, most dramatically being caught in a storm so powerful that it sank the sailboat (see "crawled up on the beach," above) and sailing into a drawbridge that was drawn down.
By Pope's own repeated admission, many of the events in which he and sometimes others could well have died resulted either from recklessness or being insufficiently prepared. Over and over, he notes having been saved by "dumb luck" or a "deus ex machina" intervention. A brother (but not the one he almost hanged in a game of lawman and outlaw) suggested a different title for the book: "Adventures of a Lucky Numbskull." Local paddlers will appreciate that one of the times Pope says he lucked out was getting knocked around and swimming on the Fish Ladder at Great Falls.
What I honestly cannot tell is whether Pope is boasting about his escapades, advising greater caution, or from the vantage point of a man in his 80s shaking his head in wonder at surviving—or all of these simultaneously. I came away without being sure if the book's title is put forward proudly or ruefully, but I think it probably is both.
And what about impacts on others? I found myself thinking: Hey, wait, I hate to spoil the party, as it were, but drunk driving isn't actually funny, nor is bullying a younger brother (even if the brother grows up to bear no grudge).
The tone, at any rate, is not one of regret for the most part. When Pope does have regrets, the tone changes suddenly and the reader knows it's no joke. For example, he tells about throwing a wild party when a couple he was living with during high school went out of town. They found out, of course. Pope calls the incident a betrayal of trust that "occupies a sad space in my memory as a total loss of integrity."
In a chapter worth pondering, Pope pauses to get philosophical about fear as a force in extreme paddling, and about talking himself through the fear until it gets supplanted. He says, "You can use your fear. You can ride it like a wild horse. You can transform it into intense focus, allowing you to avoid death and disaster."
After all the tall tales, an epilogue addresses head on a question that I asked often while reading. Having heard the stories, Pope says, people ask him, "Did that really happen?" Instead of saying yes, or admitting to exaggeration, this epilogue offers observations on the dual problem that both perception of reality at the time and recall can be flawed. Touching on some research into memory, he reports, tellingly, "To remember an event is to reimagine it." His last word on the memories underlying the book: "Whether they are true and real or not is a hopeless and meaningless quest. Sorry about that." Does he mean it? Does he not mean it? I think the answer is both.
I Should Have Been More Careful, by Pope Barrow (Archway Publishing, 2023), 218 pp., available in hardcover, paperback, and e-book format. The e-book lets you search to find out how many times Pope uses the phrase "deus ex machina" (11).