The James (Jim) Rivers

Canal next to the James River in Richmond, VA

I see some irony in the rivers of my life, I began near the James River in Huron, SD, and, now in the latter years of my life, am living next to the James River in Richmond, VA. Unsurprisingly, there’s quite a difference between the two rivers. Huron’s James River is 710 miles long and is the 18th longest in the United States. Eighteenth!! The mighty James River in Virginia is only 340 miles long, about half the distance of the midwest’s James, but, Virginia’s James River is deeply steeped in history, beginning in the days of Jamestown, Pocahontas, Civil War, etc. Huron’s James (we called it the Jim) doesn’t have quite so much history but it is still quite a river.

I think we Huronites may have taken The Jim for granted. When I was young, we’d fish in the river. Usually not at the Third Street Dam but upriver, close to what was the Spink County Dam. I wonder if that’s still there? We caught quite a few fish in the river, especially carp. My dad called carp “garbage fish” and when we’d catch them, we’d throw them somewhere on the bank where the birds could eat them. Dad considered carp bad fish because they competed with walleye, catfish, etc., for space and other resources.

The Jim smelled bad when I was young. My friends and I would go down to the river at 13th St, there was only a field between Lawnridge Ave and the river. We’d go there just to look at the rushing water and skip stones, and tell stories. We didn’t consider swimming or even wading in the water. The water was mud brown, almost black, with oily stains and suds from something. Most of the time the wind blew from west to east so you couldn’t smell it unless you were right there. I imagine that the city and Armours pumped raw sewage or only partly processed sewage into the river. Sometime in the late 60s they built the big ponds east of Armours and the river miraculously seemed to get cleaner.

When I got older, I’d hike along the river bank to the cemetery, then onto the road next to the cemetery and then onto Stony Run. A cool place to sit and ponder the oddities of being a teenager. In later years, Stony Run was where we “parked” and had different kinds of adventures. Back to Huron’s James.

When I was old enough to drive, I talked my dad into letting me borrow the car and his boat. He had a 10’ aluminum fishing boat with a three horsepower Evinrude outboard. I put the boat onto the cartop rack, the engine in the trunk, and stopped at the gas station to fill the one gallon gas tank (oil mixture, of course). I somehow talked my girlfriend into going with me. She must have liked me a lot.

I’m sure I had visions of Huckleberry Finn in my head as we launched from Memorial Park into the rather swiftly running river. The challenge was to get the engine started before the boat was sucked into the dam just a quarter of a mile downstream. The little Evinrude roared to life and off we went. But things did not go as well as Mark Twain might have written them.

It was summer. The boat was shiny aluminum. Neither of us had hats. I’m not sure we had sunglasses. I don’t remember if we even had water. If I had to guess, I’d guess probably not. But that little Evinrude chugged along splendidly. Good mileage, however, was not an attribute of the little workhorse. The river widened and seemed to be more shallow. We reached a point where the water was so shallow that trees and debris were piled high in much of the riverbed blocking the way upstream. I thought I could see a place between branches where we could get through and continue upriver.

But then. Sanity briefly struck. I had thought that when I ran out of gas, I’d be able to row downriver and be in great shape. But the river was wider and moving more slowly, and it was hot, and I was tired, and we were both thirsty. I took the opportunity to admit the adventure was over and that we should turn around. My girlfriend readily agreed. We still had gas and we were headed downstream so our speed was great. We landed, put the boat on the car and drove to the Plains for a soda. Two hot, tired, sweaty teenagers. Lesson learned.

Did I tell you I am considering a kayak for my new James?

James River at Third Street Dam in Huron, SD, 2017