All appears serene studying this slow stretch of the muddy Nolichucky.  There is just a hint of danger—with recent rains, the water is in somewhat of a hurry and you know from the trek to this point, class five rapids are just down river, around the bend.  The murky waters hide the jagged rocks, tin cans, parts of house trailers and cars that have been swept from its banks, as well as the rotting bodies of dead fish and other animals that you occasionally spot when the river is clear. 

You hope that the rafters waving as they float by have some experience.  Lies have it that a thousand people have lost their lives in this river.   Whispers hint that there have been at least a hundred.  I knew seven people that drowned in its cold waters. 

The Nolichucky is filled with adventure and danger.  People say it entices you into taking chances, and then when you are comfortable, a jagged rock will reach up and rip the bottom out of your raft or kayak, or flip you out of your boat and pin your foot under a rock.   If you get too comfortable with this river; it will drown you, it is unforgiving to those that don’t pay it the utmost respect.

I flinch at the shouts coming from just out of sight and around the bend telling me the rafters have reached those rapids.

“We may spot a body of somebody when we go back down river,” Blake half chuckles, emphasizing “somebody.”

I jump as the sound of Blake’s words startle me from my musings.  We have been searching for a body.  His words prompt me to take a closer look at the river and along its banks.  I see nothing.

Blake is the president of our Neighborhood Watch, and I’m the secretary.  Knowing that we actually try to keep thefts and crime down in our sparsely settled community, the sheriff has called on us to help his deputies search for a man whose van was found parked alongside the river with a suicide note.  A pair of sneakers, thought to be that of the missing man was found a few yards from the van at the river’s edge.

            “Let’s head back,” I suggest. 

Blake and I are both past middle age; he has something close to emphysema. Being out of shape myself, I figure it may be one of our bodies that a rescue team will have to retrieve if we go much further.

Without an answer, Blake turns and heads back.  He is one of these rare people that will stick with you to the bitter end.  Or, at least if what you are doing or asking of him makes sense.

(This is the beginning of a novel that I'm writing.  I would appreciate comments from anyone that would care to critique these few paragraphs.)  Thanks!