Stories from an Agent, Activist, and Adventurer
Memoir, humor, nature, music business
Date Published: February 28, 2021
Publisher: Encante Press, LLC
Be inspired, intrigued, and entertained!
Everyone has dreams of what they want to accomplish in life. Marty Essen’s childhood dream of becoming a herpetologist gave way to his dream of becoming a popular DJ, which led to his dream of becoming a big-time talent manager, which morphed into the dream of becoming an in-demand author and college speaker. While he achieved most of his dreams at various levels, he also realized that he didn’t necessarily have to reach the top to find success or happiness. Sometimes “almost” is close enough.
Hits, Heathens, and Hippos: Stories from an Agent, Activist, and Adventurer is a humorous and inspirational memoir that explores relationships and careers and how seemingly minor events can lead to life-changing results. Compelling stories have filled Marty’s life, and he tells those stories in a conversational style that combines his talents as an award-winning author with his talents as the creator of a one-man stage show that he has performed at hundreds of colleges across the United States.
This is a must-read for anyone faced with an unexpected career change, worried about finding and keeping the partner of their dreams, forced to take on bullies (whether individual, political, or corporate), eager for ideas to make life more satisfying, or just in search of a fun-filled adventure.
REVIEWS
“A thoroughly absorbing and inherently fascinating account of a most unusual life lived out in a series of equally unusual circumstances.”—Midwest Book Review
“With thought-provoking explorations into making peace with family members who adhere to differing religious values, tales of his time as a talent agent, and escapades with gigantic rainforest monitor lizards—there is much to enjoy in Marty Essen's memoir Hits, Heathens, and Hippos: Stories from an Agent, Activist, and Adventurer.”—a 4/5 starred IndieReader-Approved title, reviewed by C.S. Holmes
The below excerpt is from Hits, Heathens, and Hippos: Stories from an Agent, Activist, and Adventurer by Marty Essen. © 2021
From
the chapter “The Death Seat”
Before getting on the river, we all gathered around for
instructions on our three-day canoe trip. Humphrey Gumpo, a specialized canoe
guide, would be joining us for this portion of our expedition. The
twenty-five-year-old native Zimbabwean had stopped by our camp a few days
earlier, so we were already familiar with his instantly likeable, happy-go-lucky
personality. He could be serious when necessary but often told elaborate
stories that sounded convincing—until he flashed a wide grin.
As Humphrey warned us about hazards on the river, his
seriousness was unquestionable: “There are four dangers you need to be prepared
for, but they’re not in the order you’d expect. The greatest danger is the sun,
because you can quickly become sunburned or dehydrated. Be sure to put on lots
of cream and drink plenty of liquids.
“Snags, such as submerged trees, are the second greatest
danger. Brian and I will point out snags as we see them. Give them a wide
berth. But if you can’t steer out of the way, hit them straight on. The water
current is moderately fast, and if you drift into a snag off-center, your canoe
could capsize. If you do get caught, lean into the current until we arrive to
assist you.
“The other two dangers are crocodiles and hippos. The main
thing with crocodiles is to avoid dangling your feet or hands in the water—like
bait. We will have close encounters with hippos. The important thing to know is
that hippos always move to deep water. Most of the time, we’ll be canoeing in
shallow water. If hippos block our way, we’ll stop to give them time to move.
The one place we don’t want to be is between a hippo and deep water. We also
need to be careful near high riverbanks, as we can’t always see what’s on top.
If we startle a grazing hippo, it will plunge into the river unaware that we’re
below it in our canoes.”
Jill and Susan gasped.
“Finally,” Humphrey continued, “a hippo could surface under
your canoe. This is very rare, but if it happens you’ll feel a little bump, and
the hippo will sink back down until you pass over it.”
When Jill and Susan gasped again, Brian did his best to
calm their fears: “I’ve been doing this for eighteen years, and I’ve never had
a client in the water. Once we start paddling, your nerves will settle down,
and you’ll be surprised how safe and easy the canoeing is. Just relax and enjoy
the scenery.”
While on the Zambezi River, we would paddle approximately
forty miles, pass fifteen hundred hippos, and float over hundreds—possibly
thousands—of crocodiles. I wasn’t as nervous about the dangers ahead as Jill
and Susan were, but I was definitely on edge. Though I was technically just
another member of the expedition, with no leadership duties, if it wasn’t for
me, none of us would be here. Therefore, I felt obligated to put on a stoic
front.
Since Jill seemed to be the most nervous of all, as we
walked the half-mile trail to the canoe launching area, I said to her, “Deb and
I have canoeing experience. We can canoe ahead of you, or if you prefer,
between you and the hippos. Just let me know how we can help.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
One by one we pushed off from shore onto a narrow channel
of flat water. Humphrey and Brian led our convoy of five canoes, followed by
Deb and me, Susan and Joe, Jill and Sam, and Skip.
I hadn’t canoed since Belize and was looking forward to
using the initial unchallenging section of river to hone my strokes. On the
Zambezi, however, even the most placid water can become challenging in a hurry.
We were only ten minutes into our journey when we encountered our first hippo.
My paddling refresher course would have to wait.
A young bull was in shallow water, caught between us and a
herd of hippos with a dominant male. When he stood his ground and roared at us,
we paddled to the riverbank and held on to the long grass. He continued roaring
as he considered his options. He obviously preferred to deal with us rather
than the dominant male downriver but eventually chose a third option and
climbed onto the opposite bank. As we floated by, he opened his mouth in a
classic “yawn” of aggression.
Yes,
his big tusks were intimidating.
Slipping past the young bull was one thing. Now we had to
face down the dominant male and six other hippos who were blocking our entrance
to the main river channel. As we floated toward thirty-five thousand pounds of
snorting attitude, I wondered how we’d reach camp before nightfall. Surely,
these hippos weren’t going anywhere.
Then, in what seemed like a miracle, the hippos did what
they were supposed to do—they submerged. Canoeing past an underwater herd of
hippos for the first time was the ultimate exercise in trust. Although Brian
and Humphrey had floated the river numerous times, could anyone really predict
how a hippo would react? I gripped my paddle as if it were a rope in a game of
tug of war.
The tension I felt paled in comparison to how Joe and Susan
felt. The typically jovial couple had virtually no canoeing experience, and I
could hear them bickering behind me. No matter what Joe did, Susan retorted it
was wrong, and vice versa. They reminded me of the first time Deb and I canoed
together, except their pitch was much more fevered.
The current in the main channel was faster than I expected.
We moved along at a good clip with a minimum of paddling.
“There’s a snag to the right!” Humphrey shouted.
“I see it!” Deb yelled.
As we drifted past the snag, I turned from my position in
the stern, pointed at the low-floating tree trunk, and shouted to Joe and
Susan, “Watch out for the snag! It’s right there!”
All they needed to do was steer two feet to the left, but
instead they veered just enough to hit the trunk off-center. I cringed as I
watched their canoe turn sideways.
“Aaahhh!” Susan screamed.
“Brian! Humphrey!” Deb yelled. “Joe and Susan are caught on
the snag!”
Joe shouted to Susan, “Lean into the current!” but she was
too terrified to react. Their canoe listed precariously downstream.
We had all seen huge crocodiles along the riverbanks, and
now in Susan’s mind even bigger crocs were waiting to rip her to shreds the
moment she splashed into the water. “Oh my God! Oh my God! We’re gonna tip
over! Oh my God! Oh my God! We’re gonna tip over! Oh my God! . . .” she
chanted.
“You’re gonna be okay!” Humphrey yelled. “Just lean into
the current!”
“Oh my God! Oh my God! We’re gonna tip over! . . .” she
continued.
Brian and Humphrey paddled upstream of the frightened
couple’s canoe and attempted to dislodge it. The heavy current held it in
place.
“Aaahhh!” Susan screamed, as the canoe rocked.
Humphrey jumped into the dark, four-foot-deep water and
pushed on the bow. It wouldn’t budge. He repositioned himself and wiggled the
stern. The canoe slipped free!
Two tense situations in a short amount of time had raised
everyone’s anxiety level. Moments after we continued on our way, Susan, still
panic-stricken, pointed at a ripple in the water and screamed, “There’s a hippo
right there! He’s swimming straight toward us! Aaahhh!”
“It’s just the current, Susan!” Joe yelled. “Calm down!”
A bit farther downstream, the river widened to a quarter
mile across and the current slowed. Per Humphrey’s instructions, we changed the
order of our single-file paddling. Joe and Susan moved up to second in line,
Jill and Sam took over the third spot, Deb and I lingered in the fourth
position, and Skip brought up the rear.
As the sun dropped in the sky, an idyllic calm came over
the river, and a gentle breeze kept us comfortable. Best of all, the hippos
were spread out and moving to deep water without much fuss. I could feel the
tension melt off my shoulders. Others in our group seemed to relax as well. The
adventure part of our canoe trip was surely behind us, and from now on sunburn
would be our greatest worry.
A smile creased my face as I thought about what the next
few days would be like: my feet would be enjoying a well-deserved break, the
wildlife sightings would be spectacular, and the hippos would be serenading us
along the way.
Ah,
life on the river would be sweet.
The depth of the Zambezi wasn’t always proportional to the
distance from its banks. Sometimes we canoed inches from land and were unable
to touch bottom with our paddles; other times we’d nearly run aground at
midstream. Actually seeing bottom was rare, however, as the water’s visibility
was little more than a foot.
Deb and I were canoeing next to a low, flat riverbank when
we felt a sharp bump. Perhaps we’d hit a rock. We were too close to land for it
to be a—
Grrraaarrr!
Something huge chomped through the middle of our canoe and
thrust us into the air!
At first, I thought it was a crocodile. Then I saw the
hippo’s giant mouth!
As we continued skyward, my eyes shifted to Deb, who was
rising higher than I was. At peak height, our canoe rolled shoreward, dumping
us like a front-end loader would. I hit the ground first, followed by Deb—who
landed on her side with an eerie thud!
The hippo dropped the canoe and vanished into the river.
Fearing the worst, I scrambled to my feet, calling to my
wife, “Deb, are you okay? Deb, are you—”
She jumped up and we both wheeled toward the river, ready
to spring out of the way if the hippo came at us again.
“Yes, I think so,” she said while scanning the water. “I’m
gonna have some bruises, but nothing feels broken. How ’bout you?”
“I wrenched my back, but I’ll be fine.”
The hippo had dumped us on a shallow bed of mud. Though we
looked like pigs after a good wallow, we couldn’t have landed in a better spot.
Adding to our good fortune was that despite the ferociousness of the attack, it
was over before we fully realized what had happened.
Once we were sure the hippo wouldn’t return, we hugged,
whispered “I love you” to each other, and burst into laughter.
“We were attacked by a fucking
hippo!” I chortled.
“I know,” Deb said between giggles, “and we’re just
filthy!”
“I can’t believe you got up after that fall.”
“Mud is wonderful stuff!”
“A fucking hippo
attacked us!”
As we stood by the river, giggling, Skip came running. “Are
you guys okay? Is anyone hurt?”
“We’re gonna be a little sore,” Deb said, “but other than
that we’re great!”
When Skip realized we were laughing, not crying, he grinned
and said, “I saw the entire attack! The hippo lifted your canoe six feet into
the air. It was so-ooo cool!”
When the hippo struck, the rest of our group was ten canoe
lengths downriver. After pulling ashore, they ran back to us.
“Deb, Marty, are either of you injured?” Brian asked.
“No, we’re fine,” I said. “Look at what the hippo did to
our canoe!”
We had been paddling a heavy-duty, wooden-keeled,
fiberglass Canadian canoe. The hippo’s upper teeth had snapped the gunwale, and
its lower teeth had smashed through the bottom of the canoe, ripped out a
sixteen-inch-long section of keel, and pierced my dry bag and daypack. The
canoe was beyond repair, but we could mend the dry bag and daypack once we
reached camp.
“Eighteen bloody years, and this has never happened before!” Brian lamented.
“Sorry to break your winning streak,” Deb said.
The attack troubled Brian so much that he immediately
conferred with Humphrey to figure out what they, as guides, had done wrong.
Jill, Sam, Joe, and Susan were also troubled and obviously debating internally
whether to continue on the canoe trip. As for Deb and me, we were still
giggling away.
“I can’t believe you two are laughing about this,” Jill
said. “If the hippo had attacked Sam and me, we’d be totally freaked out.”
“The only way I can explain it, Jill, is that Deb and I
have just lived through something very few people have ever experienced. I feel
like we’ve been given a gift.”
“All I can say is that it happened to the right couple,”
Joe said. “If it had happened to Susan and me, we’d be done. As it is, we may
still be done.”
“Yes, we’re very fortunate the hippo chose your canoe,”
Skip added. “You two have handled the situation perfectly.”
“What are we gonna do with our canoe?” I asked.
“Leave it here for now,” Brian said. “Tomorrow we’ll send
someone with a boat to pick it up.”
For the next several minutes, Susan, Joe, Jill, and Sam
debated what they were going to do. They wanted to hike out, but the sun would
be setting soon, and hiking through the African bush at night could be even
more dangerous than continuing on to camp via canoe. Once they agreed to
continue, we pushed onto the river arranged quite differently from how we had
started. Humphrey paddled alone, Jill and Sam maintained their original
partnership, Joe and Susan shared a canoe with Brian, and Deb and I shared a
canoe with Skip.
As we began paddling, I noticed Susan and Jill shaking with
fear. I also noticed that Deb and Susan were sitting in the middle seats of
their respective canoes. With a big smile and in a voice just a little too
loud, I couldn’t help announcing, “Hey Deb. You’re sitting in the death seat!”
About the Author
Marty Essen began writing professionally in the 1990s as a features writer for Gig Magazine. His first book, Cool Creatures, Hot Planet: Exploring the Seven Continents, won six national awards, and the Minneapolis Star-Tribune named it a "Top Ten Green Book." His second book, Endangered Edens: Exploring the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, Costa Rica, the Everglades, and Puerto Rico, won four national awards. His novels, Time Is Irreverent, Time Is Irreverent 2: Jesus Christ, Not Again! and Time Is Irreverent 3: Gone for 16 Seconds are all Amazon #1 Best-Sellers in Political Humor. Hits, Heathens, and Hippos is Marty's sixth book, and like all of his books, it reflects his values of protecting human rights and the environment--and does so with a wry sense of humor. Marty is also a popular college speaker, who has performed the stage-show version of Cool Creatures, Hot Planet on hundreds of campuses in forty-five states.
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Twitter @MartyEssen
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