Michael J. Tougias - The Waters Between Us: A Boy, a Father, Outdoor Misadventures, and the Healing Power of Nature

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Copyright 2021 by Michael J. Tougias

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information available

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Tougias, Mike, 1955- author.

Title: The waters between us : a boy, a father, outdoor misadventures, and the healing power of nature / Michael Tougias.

Description: Guilford, Connecticut : Lyons Press, 2021. | Summary: A charming and delightful reminiscence of growing up loving the woods and waters and fields and fauna of Massachusetts by Michael Tougias, New York Times bestselling author of The Finest Hours, Overboard!, and Fatal Forecast Provided by publisher.

Identifiers: LCCN 2020045286 (print) | LCCN 2020045287 (ebook) | ISBN 9781493057603 (cloth) | ISBN 9781493057610 (epub)

Subjects: LCSH: Tougias, Mike, 1955- | Outdoor lifeMassachusetts. | NaturePsychological aspects. | Fathers and sonsMassachusettsBiography. | MassachusettsBiography.

Classification: LCC GV191.42.M4 T68 2021 (print) | LCC GV191.42.M4 (ebook) | DDC 796.509744dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020045286

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020045287

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information SciencesPermanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

To my dad, Arthur Tougias

I ONCE READ THAT ADVENTURE IS THE RESULT OF INEPTITUDE. I HAD lots of adventures. Its the trips that didnt go as planned, the days when nature threw a curvethose are the days I remember best. The days that went well and could be called successful are long since forgotten in the gray haze of marching time. But, oh, those lessons I learned the hard waythose seem like yesterday. Through each misadventure there was a bit of valuable learning that I didnt fully appreciate until adulthood. When I think back on the episodes in this book, I realize the lessons learned help me in my everyday life.

Many of the adventures caused my father to question my sanity and tested his patience. During my boyhood and into my teens, I was a wild kid and a magnet for trouble. Despite our differences I instinctively knew my father loved me, but I felt he didnt like me. Theres a difference, and being liked was what I craved at the time.

There were moments when the divide between father and son ebbed and wed have a real connection, a real conversation. These usually happened when we were fishing with my brother. But the thaw in our relationship was often shattered when Id get myself in a new tangle of trouble. He wondered why I always had to push the limits, the boundaries, and the rules. I wish I could find the words to tell him, but I had no idea what drove me.

I did, however, have a goal. As far back as I can remember, I wanted a cabin in the mountains, a place to call my own. I didnt know it at the time, but all my explorations in the woods were feeding this dream, making it something of an obsession. During quiet times I sketched pictures of what I thought my cabin and its land should look like. Even at a young age I innately knew that if I wasnt close to natureat least periodicallysomething was missing. Id lie in bed at night thinking of all the wonderful adventures Id have at this imaginary cabin. And I hoped when my father visited the cabin, wed finally develop the deeper relationship I craved.

Instead, a family tragedy shook our world, and my fathers remarkable response to this event caused me to step back and see the man he was. By observing him throughout this ordeal, I too became a man.

And the cabin? The idea of it was like a smoldering fire that no amount of heartache could extinguish, and when the yearning came roaring back, I found an unlikely ally. Although my fathers new burden meant he likely would never see it, he gave me a loan and I bought a cabin in the mountains.

It looked remarkably like the pictures I used to draw.

THE MEADOWS WERE ONLY FIVE MILES AWAY FROM OUR SUBURBAN Massachusetts home, but to my brother Mark and me, these low-lying acres were in a different world. It was here that our passion for the outdoors blossomed. Filled with marsh, fields, ponds, and streams, the area held infinite possibilities for two young explorers.

And there was mystery too. The Connecticut River, New Englands largest, flowed silently, forcefully, by the edge of the Meadows, like a living being that commanded respect by its very presence. We knew little about the river; we had never been on it in a boat, never fished it, and never swum in its dark waters. It was simply too big for us. In fact, the widest point on the rivers entire 409-mile length is at the Meadows. To Mark and me it was an oceana bit frightening, but a powerful lure nevertheless.

There was one June day in particular that put the Meadows and the river in my heart forever, probably the start of the journey that led me to my quest for a cabin in the woods.

Back in the 1960s, kids could enjoy carefree hours on their own, and on this day Mark and I, ages ten and twelve, enjoyed adventures Id never let my kids do in todays world. Our plan was to spend a whole day at the Meadows, hiking to see the beckoning river and then fish Longmeadow Brook. We insisted on starting our journey before dawn, because thats when you caught the big onesor so the fishing magazines said. Most parents might have a little trouble waking their kids at 4:30 a.m., but for my father, the baker, that ungodly hour was the normal start to his day.

He roused us while it was still dark, and we stumbled out of bed toward the kitchen, where we ate our Corn Flakes like zombies. I remember a fleeting thought passing through my mind that Dad must have eaten alone like this every day. It never occurred to me to acknowledge his years of early-morning labor; now, looking back, I wish I had said a simple thank-you.