We walked in to the Purple Cow in the middle of the afternoon, discouraged by strong head winds. It’s a purple shack on the side of the river, raised up high on stilts for when the water’s high. We thought we’d stop in for a drink in honour of Kevin’s birthday – then we figured we’d continue on paddling into the night.
As we open the door, we’re greeted by three grey mustaches that turn from their beers at the bar to look at us. We take a seat at the bar, me in my filthy yellow rain pants and Kevin in his plaid shirt. We take in the ambiance – a cooler with beers in it at the end of the counter, signed dollar bills taped all over the walls, and lots of fishing and hunting swag.