Up A Creek…

There’s something about this season of my life that has unlocked a core memory…

I’m not super familiar with paralyzing fear. There was a time when I had a gun pointed at my head because I was interrupting the revenue stream of an “entrepreneur.” I remember another time sending my oldest daughter back for a major spine surgery. Heading into a holding cell is on that list too.

But one event has been coming to mind lately.

It was over 15 years ago and my brother, Phil, and I were enjoying some time in the Colorado mountains. We had several days in a cabin in Edwards, Colorado with an itinerary filled with mountain biking, fishing, hiking, and kayaking. And very large cuts of beef.

The mountain biking, fishing, and hiking all went off without a hitch. Sure, I went over the handlebars a time or two on Vail mountain. Just a scratch or two. But the kayaking was a different story.

The thing is, he and I didn’t know how to kayak. Now, not knowing how to kayak in Kentucky is different than not knowing how to kayak in Colorado. We rented kayaks, paddles, and wetsuits from a local outfitter and tried our luck in a pond first. Success! Next, we tried out our new skills on a lazy stretch of river. More success! Day two: I think we’ve got this!

The next day Phil had a stretch of river picked out that wasn’t as friendly. We hadn’t seen any other people for a few miles when we pulled over and made our way to the bank. My stomach was starting to rumble a little as I looked at the white water in front of me. Phil looked calm as a cucumber. He told me later, way too late in fact, that wasn’t the case at all.

Phil said, “So what do you think?”

I said (with a dry mouth): “Looks like a piece of cake!”

I thought: “Holy Shit, we’re going to die.”

I think that’s a skill (or defect) I learned from my dad, to be comfortable with a total disconnect between what I’m thinking and feeling and what I allow to come out into plain view.

So we suited up and brought the kayaks to the river’s edge. Everything in me was screaming, “Halt!” But I found myself pushing off into the water along with my brother. The river was fairly wide where we put in, and Phil found the right side and I found the left side and we started to paddle slowly.

The river narrowed pretty quickly, as did the rapids. I knew I was in trouble before I got in trouble. It was kind of the same feeling I’ve had sliding on ice in a car. Helplessness with a side of panic. I hit the first big rapid and the truth is I never had a chance. The white water make a light snack out of me in an instant. I found myself with a kayak pinned under the water for what seemed like a minute, but it was probably more like 15 seconds. The pressure of the water had me pinned against the boulder I apparently tried to move with my kayak with my head under water. The rapids banged me against the boulder a few times for good measure and then spit me out.

Disoriented, I swam to the left bank to get my bearings and take appraisal of the damage. My inventory looked like this: I was on the side of a river with a broken foot, no paddle, and no one near me. 5 miles downstream to our vehicle. Can’t go upstream. I half expected a Grizzly Bear to pop up over the bush to complete the debacle.

The same rapid got Phil on the right side too, but he managed to recover his boat and his paddle and avoid injury. He made is way over to the Bank of Despair where I sat contemplating the meaning of my existence. We sat in silence for a few minutes and we looked around at our condition. Two kayaks. One paddle. Five miles of white water in front of us, and I can’t walk.

Do you know how important a paddle is to a kayak?

Phil came up with the plan: We would lash our two kayaks together with rope that we had (thankfully), and tie the remaining paddle across the top of the boats, kind of a makeshift catamaran. Then, Phil reasoned, we would push off and use our outside arms as paddles to navigate the remaining rapids.

The only reason we did that is because we couldn’t come up with any other alternative. So we pushed off into the swift water with absolutely no confidence in our new plan. It turns out that we were able to sort of navigate our “raft” and we lined up for the first set of rapids. Everything held together and the terror subsided slightly as we made the rest of the journey.

As we were getting close to the end we came across a couple of fly fishermen near the banks. As the saw us in our contraption they just stopped and stared, slack jawed and what they were seeing. We just waved enthusiastically.

We made it back to the vehicle, and the cabin, and eventually we made it home mostly in one piece.

Just like the other events I mentioning at the beginning, everything turned out fine. Anna did great in her surgery, the guy didn’t pull the trigger, I survived lockup, and the river spit me out to live another day. I still kayak, but not in swift water anymore.

So when I am up a creek without a paddle I try to remember two things:

Everything is going to be OK.

It helps to have someone by your side.