I’d said hello and asked how he was doing. I got one of those smiles, the it’s-been-one-of-those-days ones. “I had a bad night last night,” he told me.
Greg smiled at me and the kids as we walked into the visitor center of Dinosaur National Monument. He smiled, but all was not well with him.
“We’ve all been there.” I said. “But I’ll bet what you really mean is that you had a great night; it was this morning and afternoon that sucked.” He smiled again. There may have been a slight nod in my direction.
I had to apply for a play permit in order to kayak around Steamboat Rock on the Green River in the Echo Park Campground. Sounded easy, but as with most things the government seeks to regulate, some red tape was involved. The permits are free and as long as it’s a permitted activity, they–the National Park Service–have to issue them. Reading the final product, you can be fined, or worse, if you don’t have one. The wax paper is smudged, but if you look carefully, there is a subparagraph on when disembowlment is authorized. Or maybe that paragraph is about visitor center hours; it’s hard to discern.
Greg first had to check with a law enforcement ranger to see if I was able to do what I was asking. (It was ok’d.) Then he realized that someone had stolen his special pen. It’s actually a very special pen…the only pen in the office that is able to write on the waxed paper play permit triplicate form. Greg never found that pen. If you were the one who took it home for whatever reason, please send it back. Greg would really appreciate it. They’ve promised amnesty on any pen theft charges.
“You can’t kayak downstream from Steamboat rock,” he told me.
“Can I go upstream?” He looked at me with an expression suggesting that his day was not getting any better.
“You can kayak directly across from the campground and land at the base of Steamboat rock and explore it from there.” he countered, politely.
“Here’s what I’m thinking Greg, and please take this as me just thinking out loud. If the kids and I kayak around Steamboat rock, say on the downstream side and then the upstream side, to look at it, I can’t imagine anyone would get upset with that. So I’m not going to ask permission to do that, because we’ve already agreed that this permit–the one that needs a special pen to complete–says I can go directly across.” I hoped that my tone suggested that the government regulations on precisely where I could kayak may be a little over the top. Besides it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?
I’d like to think that Greg agreed with the hypothetical situation I had brought to his attention, but we still had many more blank spaces to fill in on the wax-coated form. “What day will you be kayaking?”
“Do I need to fill out a form for each day?” I was hoping that he was joking.
“Yes.” So that answers that.
“We’re planning on being there 4 days, so I guess I have to fill out a form for all of them?” I was going all in here. I had noticed the increasing difficulty Greg was having in making visible, legible marks on the insidiously coated play permit. He made another futile scratch and looked from me to the kids.
“Why don’t I just add all the days you might kayak onto this permit?” Whew. The bluff had worked. Or perhaps Greg thought as highly of the red tape as I. The kids and I waited until we got outside for the victory dance.
Next up: the black helicopters are after us.
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