No Wake Zone

Workers wearing hazmat chest waders stand hip deep in the river’s lurid waters and pass samples to a team on the bank. Behind them, a jet boat slams through the river’s chop trailed upstream by laughter and a boom box beat. The wake rocks marker buoys as a powerboat headed downstream slows to level its stern against the white-tipped surge, and two couples in tandem kayaks call to each other, angling their bows toward the spreading swells. The workers raise their arms as if in surrender. At the shore, a great blue heron squawks and begins to run on the water as he lifts off.