Cleansing the shore, cleansing the soul

Hurricane Bill's arrival in Fredericksburg began with a softly falling rain.
I approached the Rappahannock River wearing my gardening gloves and carry two empty garbage bags as a smooth drizzle promised to cut an oppressive heat lingering for most of August. Perfect timing. I was there to scoop up the plentiful garbage along the riverbank before Bill could wash it into the Rappahannock and, eventually, into the Atlantic.

In this area of the city's shore teenagers splash to cool themselves and fishermen draw small- to medium-sized fish from the rushing water. Beer bottles, blunt wraps, condoms, plastic drinking straws, take-out containers and plastic food packaging litter the trail.

In the time that it took for gray clouds to float overhead and burst a steady rain, I gathered about 15 pounds of trash from a small section of the river along Rivershore Road.

The rainy forecast did not preclude a vacant shoreline. I saw two young men swimming and a group of fishermen throwing nets and wearing goggles who were diving into the water for the fish. One of them walked by as I was ripping out strands of fishing wire from the sand and tree roots. Garbage was everywhere.

He asked me if I would like them to "ayudar." Yes, I said. Since they were already waist deep in the river, could they hand me the floating plastic bottles? We were getting soaked one way or another. He came back twice, then a again with handfuls of bottles and trash. His help made me ecstatic.

I had been meaning to pick up trash along the river, just near my house, ever since a few weeks prior. I was there swimming and saw a shameful amount of litter. Every other step was met with a potato chip bag or a beer bottle. I found a plastic bag and filled it to the brim, explaining to my swimming partner that I wasn't there to pick up after other people, I was there to prevent my friends in the rivers and oceans from swallowing these floating plastic pills of poison.

The drizzle turned into a downpour. "You should go home, you're going to get all wet," said one fisherman wearing a "Mexico" shirt. I would leave when the bag was full. I intended to fill one bag per visit and it wouldn't take long. There was plastic bottles, straws, fishing line, glass beer bottles, aluminum beer bottles, plastic forks, chewing tobacco containers, bottle caps, cigar holders, a flip flop, socks and broken Styrofoam cups.

I scaled a rocky ledge, a sure storm water chute whose angles encouraged velocity to whisk into the current all debris lying in its path. One of the fishermen walked around the bottom of the rock outcropping. "Do you have another bag?" he asked. I was thrilled to toss it down to him. "We have some things to put in it," he said.

I found a few more pieces of plastic wrappers and drink containers, cinched my bag and lugged it up the hill to a trash can along the street. I hoped for a minute that someone wouldn't see me, soaking wet, and think I was dumping my own garbage. Driving home I pressed the A/C button and let the cool air dry my arms. Even though my feet were muddy and I had bits of sand and dirt on my clothes, I actually felt cleaner than when I had arrived.