River Rat, or living in a van down by the St. Lawrence?

  When I first began writing for Dave Shea’s sports website in March 2021, which morphed into this Journal gig, I dubbed this column “Reflections of a River Rat.’’ I figured it gave a Thousand Islands exile, living in suburban Rochester, some street cred in St. Lawrence County.

    Then I wondered if I was guilty, as my cousins Kate and Lois in Texas would say, of being “all hat and no cattle.’’ Was I a genuine River Rat?

   My credentials seemed to be that I spent 18 years in my boyhood town, Morristown. I left for college in 1975 and came home for summers, but my jobs in Ohio and Rochester limited me to one or two visits per year.

   I never owned a boat, lived on an island, fished beyond my pre-teen years or bought a property with a river view. My St. Lawrence River resume seemed thin. The only true river rat I recalled was the muskrat that poked its head up from the bushes along Morristown Bay, then scurried back to his den.

   So I asked questions and consulted sources: What is a River Rat?

  Ben Oleksinski, writing for Upstate Unearthed, a website that promotes nature, the outdoors and a green lifestyle, defined the term as an attitude.

     “I doubt there’s any consensus on who can call themselves a River Rat. Nor do I think its origins trace back to one particular place. But I do know this. Come here and anyone you encounter will tell you what it means to them. … the title embodies an attitude, an enthusiasm for sharing outdoor joy with others …’’

   He quoted another pundit, Susan Smith, writer and editor of Thousand Islands Life Magazine,

     “I believe that a River Rat is somebody who’s here through the good and the bad and, you know, through the cold weather and the miserable weather, but is always out on that river. You know, in a boat, whether you have to be or not.’’

  The definitions were true, but not earthy enough for me. So I posed the question to the 4,600 members of the St. Lawrence River Rats forum on Facebook.

   “The term used to refer to those fishermen who lived in shacks along the water and made their living by fishing or trapping the original river rat, the muskrat,’’ wrote Valerie Kubera. “The term has evolved to encompass just about anyone who reveres the river.’’

   William Stromeyer says being a River Rat means “knowing the river literally and figuratively.’’

   “(I was) first on it when I was a baby, and have been navigating it since I was 14 with a 15-foot boat and 30 horsepower Evinrude back in the 60s,’’ he wrote. “My mother was a River Rat as was my youngest brother. I think it comes to one by experience, but more so because it is something inside of you. It is a love of and for the river.’’

  Sylvia Cerow Hungerford said she prefers the “the Captain Spicer plate definition hung in our cottage: You’re not a real River Rat unless your diapers were hung on the line at The River.”

    Herb Lake, a retired ROTC instructor living in Rialto, Calif., said he qualified as a River Rat based on the summers of his youth in Morristown.

  “Fishing off the bay bridge, swimming at the ferry docks, jumping off Henderson’s boat house, swimming at the ledges, jumping off the old graphite building, swimming at the flat rocks, riding your bike to Jacques Cartier State Park, all that’s a River Rat.’’

  Jennifer Dashnaw decided because she was tossed into the St. Lawrence in her diapers at 2 years old and often beat her neighborhood friends into the water by 7:30 a.m., she earned River Rat status. She finds the water inspiring.

   “To live and breathe the strength of the river every day until it becomes your blood, to know that when you’re at the river, life stops and time stands still so you can catch your breath and remember that The River made you strong enough to persevere. A River Rat craves the energy and longs to be in it, on it or near it when far from the River. The River is you and you are The River. I’m a River Rat forever!’’

   Andrea Bailey Bertrand has her own checklist.

  “You had to learn to swim in the St Lawrence. You know who the actual Saint Lawrence was, and where the statue is. You’ve been to the “castle” on a school trip.’’

   So I pondered my River Rat credentials.

• Almost drowned as a 9-year-old off Wright’s Marina dock behind our house. Fortunately, my father pulled me up by the hair, grabbed a limb, and signed me up for swimming lessons.
• Fished for perch off the same dock countless times. “Go dig up some worms and go fishing. You’re driving me crazy,’’ said my mother and father countless times.
• Failed junior lifesaving at 14 when instructor Ron Bettinger yelled, “Jimmy, forget the victim. Save yourself!’’
• Swam each summer in the river (finally gained competency), played hockey on Morristown Bay and golf on Wellesley and Grenadier islands, and learned to water ski.
• Mucked oil from the shoreline after the 1976 NEPCO 140 oil spill.
• Decided a lawnchair pointed at a river sunset is my happy place.

      “There is no definition,’’ wrote Howard Cheney, “it just happens along the way. No rules, no test to pass, no pre-registration required. You are, or you are not.’’

     Morristown native Jim Holleran is a retired teacher and sports editor from Rochester. Reach him at jimholleran29@gmail.com or view past columns under “Reflections of River Rat’’ at https://hollerangetsitwrite.com/blog/