Benny Lars stood at a viewpoint that would have been the temple of the gods 500 years ago, prior to the white man looking for furs. The root beer waters came tumbling down that escarpment with such intent as to throw the waters 70′ into the air. The commotion present sent deep bass notes into Benny’s chest that competed with his own heart. The power here was awe inspiring, and as he read the plaque nearby, he knew he was a dying breed. Shortly in the future, this massive turbulence would be toned down immensely as the river’s waters would soon be diverted to the north to enter the La Grande’s watershed. Benny stood there for half an hour alone as he eyed nature’s performance totally humbled. When such a display of might comes into your sight, there is no sense running away. Like tornado watchers who stand in the path of these twisting devastators, Benny just stared as he imagined if he fell in that river upstream. Tumbling through that white whipped foam would have dashed him into a million pieces of meat to feed the minnows downstream. He viewed for another 10 minutes before his sense of adventure pulled him away and sent him back to his decayed, algae (oil) fueled vehicle back in the parking lot. In the near future, the faucet of man would soon slow that river to a trickle of its former self. All for the luxury of an inflatable Santa Claus on the lawn of a suburban family. Progress. Benny continued north through the taiga forest, peppered with pristine lakes and muskeg breaks. Hours later, he came to a T-intersection and elected to go east to Radisson, a short stint down the road. Taking all day to get to this point, he elected to find a hotel and get a hot meal as a reward for his recent viewing of the daily display of visual delights. Mr. Lars reserved his room for 2 nights as he planned to go east down a road of unknown vastness. As he slowly fell asleep with the memories of the thundering, turbulent Rupert waters, he slept like a king. 

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