"Hey! Ya'll gettin' on the River?"

We were just turning into the ranger station at Persimmon Gap to get a river permit to float the Canyons of the Rio Grande in Big Bend National Park. This was our first of several trips to this spectacular desert country. We were traveling with our friends Dave Smallwood and Sally Hubbard. It was Christmas break of 1979, and our son Joel was only three But having a young child didn't stop us from adventures, and the goal this time was to float through the Santa Elena Canyon and do some hiking in the Chisos Mountains.

The speaker was hanging out of a little Datsun pickup with West Virginia plates, and it was carrying a well used plastic canoe on top. He was about six foot three, but one of the thinnest people I had ever seen. He was certainly not handsome, with a rather long, pointed nose, blue eyes, and had a way of nervously pacing in place, as though time was being wasted.

We replied, "Yes, sure are."

We visited and got to know each other. He introduced his wife, Pat, also a teacher, as was Zane himself. We said we wanted to do some hiking for the next few days, then get on the river. Zane said, "Perfect. We'll run over and see the Alamo. I've always wanted to see that." The Alamo is several hundred miles from Big Bend, but that didn't deter Zane. No problem.

My friend Dave remarked later, "That wasn't in the plan." But too late now.

True to his word, Zane and Pat showed up three days later, with stories of having seen the Alamo. Very briefly.

Zane turned out to be a very compatable companion. In spite of his spartan and low tech gear, his planning and competence was unquestionable. He was always one step ahead in every detail. He always had a story or a joke to share. We enjoyed both him and Pat immensly.

The second night found us camped just below the infamous rockslide on River right, the Mexican side, in Santa Elena Canyon. We had just finished dinner and were sitting around the campfire, catching wafts of the unique smoke made by the wood of the desert. Suddenly a breeze came up. Judy had earlier put Joel to bed in the tent, so she went to check on him. Then the full force of the canyon wind hit. Sally's canoe, which had been overturned to make a table for dinner lifted off the ground and went airborne overhead, silhouetted against the cloudless sky. I followed the canoe, which landed in the river, illuminated by the full moon. I waded out and retrieved it. Meanwhile, Judy and little Joel inside the tent held it from blowing away while the aluminum tent poles bent and the tent was flattened. Ten minutes later it was all over, like nothing had happened.

While all this was going on, we found out that Zane had somehow broken down his tent and moved his camp back to a place against the canyon wall, behind a windbreak. "It's not as windy back here." was all he said about the incident. No big deal.

He invited us to West Virginia that next summer for a trip down the New River Gorge, where he had worked as a guide that past summer for New River Tours.

We took him up on the offer. He had arranged with his former boss to take one of their rafts and accompany a guided trip with some of his friends. They had a couple of paying guests extra, and Zane agreed to take them on our raft. They were college frat boys, with expensive attire. As we went through the various Class III and IV rapids, the boys, sitting on the bow of the raft, expressed some disdain for the mildness of the trip. Toward the end, we got to a rapid called Greyhound Bus Stopper, known for the recirculating riverwide ledge hole. Zane said, "Yall wanna surf?"

Everyone was enthusiastic. "Sure!"

Zane turned the raft around just below the drop. "Ok. Ya'll paddle hard. Paddle hard. Paddle hard!" We had good momentum as the nose of the raft entered the hole and was immediately sucked down three feet toward the river bottom. The frat boys disappeared, reappearing some 50 feet downriver. Zane replied, "I didn't know it'd do that!"

Next day, Zane said, "Ya'll want to see something cool? Most people don't know about it."

We said, "Sure". Something new and unique.

The famous New River Gorge Bridge had just been completed. We parked just below the west end of the bridge. Zane said, "Judy, you might not want to take Joel"'. (who was only three then) So the rest of us followed Zane to a chain link fence at the edge of the gorge wall, which dropped several hundred feet.

Zane said, "Ya'll just do like this. He grabbed the pole on the edge and swung around through thin air to the gorge wall on the other side. We followed suit, one by one.

We were now under the bridge, listening to the roar of traffic and trucks overhead. "Ya'll follow me now", says Zane.

There was a narrow catwalk under the bridge, the floor of which was open metal grating, with handrails on both sides. We proceeded out the catwalk, to where we were looking through the grating directly down on the rapids of the New River where we had been the day before, several hundred feet below.

Zane says, "Give me ya'll your cameras" . He climbed up the ladder rungs on one of the huge vertical pillars, then walked out on the open beam above. "This here makes a cool picture", and snapped off several photos.

That night we spent at a farmhouse he had access to in the area. The next morning was cloudy and wet with morning dew. Zane says, "'Joel, let's go outside. We need to call the cows". So he and Joel stood on the porch, calling the cows. I don't remember if any cows ever appeared, but they enjoyed it anyway. So did everyone else. Zane said, "I need one of those", referring to the three year old he was having fun with.

It wasn't long before Zane did get one. As the story goes, told by his wife Pat a year or so later. She had just returned from the hospital and was taking a shower. Zane was watching the baby. She heard all this commotion outside the bathroom. Zane had the baby on a throw rug and was dragging her through the house. "She likes it!" he said.

Zane was a celebrity in his little town of Gilbert. His travels and adventures were legendary. Many people there had never been out of the state, some probably not out of the county. As Zane told it, he would give travelogue slide shows of his trips in the high school auditorium. At the start of the show, he would appear rapelling down a rope from above the stage.

We heard from them at Christmas time for several years and got caught up. They sent a quilt made for Joel. Then the communication stopped. We kind of forgot about Zane.

But he wasn't entirely forgotten. It was about 1990 or so that I got a permit for Gates of Lodore section on the Green River in Utah. As I was filling up the trip I remembered Zane and the fun times of the past. Somehow I was able to reestablish contact. Would he like to go on the trip? "Buddy, I'd love to". Seems that he and Pat had gone separate ways, and since she was the one that stayed in touch, that explained why we hadn't heard. Zane was living in a trailer down by the river. Sometimes it would get up to the steps leading up to his front door. "Buddy, I love to watch it when it's up like that!"

So I completed the roster for the Lodore trip. They were all Springfield outdoor friends that mostly knew each other, except Zane. That didn't bother him in the least. He was the entertainer of the trip, and a three ring circus all rolled into one.

We had set up the shuttle, and we turned off the road leading down to the Lodore Ranger Station and put in. We were looking from above down at the mouth of the Lodore Canyon.

Zane, riding with us, said, "This is so beautiful! Let me out so I can sit up on the raft frame in the trailer, so I can see better." He and Joel, about 13 then, climbed up on the raft frame and rode up there as we slowly descended down the road to the put in. As we approached the bottom, a ranger was standing in the road scowling at us. A serious lecture followed, about regulations, safety, respect, procedures, and so on. She finally took a breath, which gave me a chance to ask what the river level was. Somehow we avoided a citation, maybe because the energy expended in the tongue lashing was an appropriate substitute.

Zane was the life of the party. We had a rented paddle raft from Boulder Outdoor Center. Zane constantly referred to the raft and its occupants as the Boulder Childcare Center. Each evening after dinner, he would make a "presentation". He had picked up some object during the day, a rock, a stick, or something that he found interesting. He would gather everyone together, make a short speech, then present someone with the day's memento, with a different recipient each evening. During flatwater sections, Zane would declare a "race" between craft to liven things up.

One of the passengers on the trip, Norb, was a hospital administrator. Zane took to referring to him as "Doc". Each time Norb would explain that he wasn't actually a doctor, that he just worked in a hospital. Regardless, Zane insisted on calling him "Doc" for the remainder of the trip. Just for fun.

One early morning we were sitting around drinking coffee. Zane hadn't appeared from his tent yet, which was unusual. Then someone said, "There he is!" He was rappelling down the cliff across the river from us.

We got to a certain rapid, which was supposed to be more difficult. We stopped to scout. Zane said, "I want ya'll to run this first so I can see how to do it".

We thought this strange, because we all knew Zane was the most competent among us. He kept insisting we go first. Finally we did, one by one, and stopped on the sand bar below the rapid to wait for Zane.

There was a long wait. We started to worry. Finally a raft came into view. But it was not Zane on the oars. It was a skinny monster. The raft came through, hit the beach, and the monster came up and started grabbing the women one by one and dragging them into the river. He caught us all off guard with the Halloween mask he had carefully hidden in his gear.

The last evening, Bill decided it was time to "roast" Zane. Zane had certainly done his share to entertain us. It was well known that Zane existed on copious amounts of sweets, especially jelly, because of his apparent extremely high metabolism. So Bill made a "presentation" to Zane of several jars of jelly he had collected from the trip. Zane, of course, loved it.

But the excitement wasn't over yet, as we approached the takeout at Split Mountain. A very young female ranger was waiting for us. "Who's the trip leader here?" she demanded.

"I am", I replied.

"All right. You know that paddle raft was dangerously overloaded!", she countered.

"Why was that?", I asked. The 14' paddle raft had six passengers.

She wasn't exactly sure. She apparently had regs for 13' and 15' rafts, but not 14'. I stood my ground, and asked for more clarification.

Zane, meanwhile, observed what was going on. He realized the young ranger needed loosening up. He told Bill's 13 year old son Jeremy to go and stand behind the ranger. Zane grabbed a 5 gallon bucket, dipped water from the river, and came after Jeremy, standing behind the ranger. "Get away from me!" she screamed. "Can't you see I'm armed! I'm checking with my superior." she said as she strutted to her truck. She returned a short time later and announced, "There will be no citation, this time".

A year or so later we had another permit for the Main Salmon in Idaho. I put a trip together with a different group, with Zane still included. He asked if he could bring a friend. I said sure.

He showed up in Spingfield with a young woman, a former student as I recall. She was much younger, and somewhat stocky. Not a woman that I would place him with. But it was obvious they enjoyed each other a lot. I asked no questions. He later explained that she came from a difficult home background, and that he had befriended her and adopted her for a time as a traveling companion. "That's all there is to it, he explained. And I believe him. Zane said, "Buddy, you know I'm the best thing that ever happened to her." She turned out to be a lot of fun on the trip, and the two of them played tag and wrestled on the sand bars, throwing each other in the water. That was no problem for her, because she outweighed Zane considerably. Again, they kept everyone entertained.

Each couple had been asked to prepare a group meal. Zane's was the last night. Asked what he was having, he said, "Ya'll like Treat?" (Treat is a canned meat product, similar to Spam)

We said, "Sure".

He said "It'll be home cookin'. Green beans, taters, and fried Treat." It was good.

A few years later, I looked up Zane again. A friend and I were doing a Southeastern rivers trip, and wanted to do the New River. So I called Zane.

What was he doing these days?

"Well Buddy, you know I retired from teaching. But I'm subbing almost every day at the elementary school."

"How is it teaching subjects to those little kids?", I asked.

"Oh, I mostly take my projector and show them pictures and tell stories. They'd rather do that anyway. It's a lot more fun."

He looked older, Hair had grayed, wore glasses, but was still skinny as ever.

I had brought my Puma paddle raft. He asked if I wanted to captain it. I said yes. So he agreed to tell me the lines.

We got to Double Z. He directed me to a line that piled into the right bank. Apparently I misread it, and the next thing I knew we flipped. No support raft in sight, of course. Zane and I stayed with the upside down raft, trying with no success in the swift moving pool to reach shore. Another rapid was coming up. I was getting scared that we would lose the raft, and we weren't doing too well either, because we were exhausted. Terry, the other passenger, had swam to shore earlier. Just then Zane grabbed the throw bag which was still attached to the safety rope on the upside down raft, swam to shore, and we hauled in the bulky raft with the rope. As always, Zane, the quick thinker.

Then, several more years went by. Something popped up on Facebook, as Facebook does, about Zane. I investigated, and it appeared he was living in a care center in his home town. There was a photo of someone visiting him. Zane didn't look much different than he had last time. But Zane? In a care center? Obviously, something was wrong. Turned out he was suffering from a fatal blood disease. He passed away on September 17, 2017. What a tragedy! A tragedy for anyone, but especially Zane Perry, a person so full of fun, love of adventure and the outdoors, and life. His life was a model of how to live, love, and care.