Ordinary Bear by C. B. Bernard

Author:C. B. Bernard [Bernard, C. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing

Portland life revolved around two rivers: the Willamette, which bisected it, and the Columbia, which connected it to the rest of the state, from the coast to the high desert. Critical to fishing, recreation, transportation, and cargo, the rivers comprised no small part of Portland’s cultural identity too, and thousands of people lived in sanctioned floathouse communities on the northern and southern edges of town. With the river playing such an integral role in Portland life, it should not have surprised anyone when the homelessness crisis found its way to the water as well.

Boats are expensive to buy and maintain. They’re also expensive to dispose of. The flesh and bones and blood of boats—oils, fluids, solvents, wiring, fiberglass, bottom paint—pose environmental issues, making hulls and fittings difficult or impossible to recycle. Unwanted boats must be hauled to appropriate facilities for dismantling and disposal. This leaves unscrupulous owners who are unwilling to pay for decommissioning with two choices for their unwanted boats: scuttle them—drill holes in the hulls and sink them without ceremony, like mariners of yore did—or abandon them in empty fields, parking lots, or tied to public docks. The first option created navigational hazards and added to the river’s existing environmental ailments; the second created toxic, unwieldy garbage.

But some creative thinker saw the abandoned boats not as a nuisance but as an opportunity. He realized that amid skyrocketing housing costs and community uproar about homeless camps, he could get his hands on an old boat big enough to live aboard for nothing, or next to it. It might not be fancy. It might not even run. But it came with a sleeping berth, a galley with a table, even a deck.

The idea proved to be an elegant solution. Like many elegant solutions, it spread quickly, and within a few years, the Willamette was home to what locals unofficially called “The Hobo Armada,” an admiralty of ratty scows anchored in a jurisdictional void just off the river’s banks. As on land, where a homeless camp could appear and take over a park, block, or entire neighborhood in just a few days, the floating camps grew quickly, anchoring in groups, rafting together. Their occupants lashed ramshackle docks to their transoms, piled their decks with stolen bikes and grills and lawn furniture, and created entire communities on the water. Portland Police, Multnomah County Sheriffs, Oregon State Troopers, even the Coast Guard passed the buck on enforcement authority, and the Hobo Armada of Portland, Oregon, grew.

If you kidnapped a girl and wanted to hide her far from prying eyes—somewhere she was unlikely to be found—you could do worse than a boat anchored in the river, Farley figured as he backtracked along the Springwater. By his best guess, he’d covered five or six miles since breakfast. He’d not eaten anything since, and his hunger made him mean.

Meaner.

Boats dotted the Willamette as far as he could see, upstream and down, hog lines of salmon and sturgeon fishermen, Jet Skis buzzing like mosquitoes, a dozen identical sails of rented Sunfish dipping and bowing to each other in the breeze.

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