Lessons Learned from a Failed Rescue Attempt

I debated for several days about sharing this video. My apologies in advance to the unknown paddler featured who encountered trouble. My intent is not to embarass anyone. I know the whitewater community is one that values sharing and learning from incidents and close-calls on the river, so I believe any hurt feelings that might come of sharing this will be far outweighed by the possibility of someone potentially learning something from this that might better help another paddler in the future.

A bright blue sky punctuated a rare 80-degree Sunday in April in Pennsylvania, and paddlers flocked to Slippery Rock Creek to enjoy the warmest day in the Midwest since before winter started. The level was about 800 cfs, which is around 1.9 feet at the mill gauge and on Jake's gauge. This is not necessarily a good beginner-friendly level for the upper section of the Slip but is a good level for those novice boaters sharpening and advancing their river-running skills.

There were numerous splinter groups within the Keelhaulers Canoe Club group of about 20 and a few other smaller groups on the water who were not directly affiliated with the club trip. Seemingly all the groups collided near the Mill portage around the dam, and people slowly trickled back onto the river after walking the dam, as they waited for the few good spots on the rocks to put back in. 

A handful of boaters had put back on the river, and the majority of paddlers were still making their way down to the river when one boater encountered trouble. There is a commonly known small wave feature next to a large boulder on the mill side of the river, just down stream of the covered bridge, that has a strong recirculation and whirlpool-like eddy fence. It is notoriously difficult to get out of this eddy and to avoid being shoved into the hydraulic created by the boulder at the top of the eddy. Most who know about this feature avoid it above 500 cfs, or about 0.5 feet. Below this level, it is a great play feature for front surfs.

The boater in trouble got stuck on the eddy line and could not use the pull of the hydraulic to effectively carve out through the feature and back into the main current. This is really the best means of escape here. You have to commit to using the eddy current momentum to go fully into the feature, surf it and carve out into the current. Unfortunately, the paddler kept getting stuck on the eddy line, caught between the recirculation of the eddy current and the push of the main flow and pushed up against the rocks in an awkward slot.  

I happened to be trying to surf my way down when I grabbed an eddy directly next to this eddy on the opposite side of the river and saw the boater having trouble after he rolled a third time that I had witnessed. At first, I decided the best course of action was to wait and observe him to see if he would escape the eddy on his own. I saw another solid boater paddling past, and tried to call out to him to be aware a boater was in trouble and might need help.

The boater failed to escape again, and rolled for the third time that I had witnessed. After at least 2 successful rolls, he exited his boat on what appeared to be the third roll and swam. Still in the opposite eddy, I decided the best choice for me continued to remain and observe to see if he would quickly flush out into the main current, where I could best assist him from within my boat and get him to the river's edge once we were both clear of the eddy. At this time, I did not want to go into the eddy myself, as I knew I would get pulled into the same difficult spot he was in. 

As it became clear the swimmer might not escape on his own, my next course of action was to make my way into the bottom of the eddy to try and avoid the pull of the hydraulic at the top of the eddy and see what I might be able to do from the bottom. So, I ferried over. When I got there, I paused again to see if he might flush or kick his way out. The eddy spit him back into the feature, and he got recirculated back into the eddy instead of into the main current. This is when I decided I might need to try and go in, get him and paddle us both out. 

Attempting to paddle into the hydraulic to rescue him was perhaps my biggest mistake of all my poor choices so far. I hoped he would grab my bow handle with both hands and wrap his legs around my bow to give me the best chance of using the added bow weight to propel us forward and out into the current. Predictably, at least in hindsight, I got stuck as well when he instinctively grabbed my bow and tried to climb onto my boat. Instead of directing him how to grab my boat, and rather than risk him capsizing me and then both of us being trapped, I directed him to let go so I could get out and try again to help him from the bottom of the eddy. I missed an opportunity here also to direct him to grab my stern handle and use his legs to kick while I paddled to try and propel us out into the main current. Although, given the strength of this eddy fence, I'm not sure if that approach would have been more effective.

I got back to the bottom of the eddy and paused briefly to see if he had flushed while taking a second to blow my rescue whistle, hoping the paddlers still on shore might make the brief sprint down from the put-in with a throw-rope to assist. This time, I determined the next best step I could take was to exit my boat at the bottom of the eddy, scramble onto shore, secure my boat and paddle and use my throw rope to fish him out. In my haste, I threw my boat into a poor spot and had to take a second attempt to secure it so I could retrieve my rope and get back to the swimmer. Because I failed to quickly secure my boat in one toss, I lost valuable seconds. By the time I retrieved my rope and spun around, other boaters who had been on shore made it down to us, the swimmer flushed out of the recirculating eddy and he was successfully rescued. 

Thankfully, the boater was merely battered and bruised and a little out of breath, but he seemed alright. He was able to get back in his boat and finish the rest of "the mile" down to Eckert Bridge.

There were several error precursors in my decision-making that could have made this a much more disastrous outcome. Had I made better choices more quickly, this boater could have been rescued much faster.

1. Rope position - I always have my throw rope clipped in the front of my boat so I can access it quickly even while sitting in my boat. For no apparent reason, at the start of this day's run I moved it to the back of my cockpit, where it is much more difficult to access. It took over 30 seconds to get my rope from the time I started to exit my boat. These are valuable seconds when it counts.
2. Waiting - I should not have waited and hoped for the boater to flush from the hydraulic. As soon as I saw him exit his boat, I should have immediately paddled into the bottom of the eddy, exited my boat, and thrown him a rope.
3. Paddling into the feature - Paddling directly into the feature in the vain attempt to fish him out while still in my boat was incredibly foolish and put us both at risk. A primary rule of rescuing someone is to make sure you are not in a position to complicate the incident even further. I should have at least redirected him to grab my stern and tried rescuing him that way.
4. More effectively alerting other boaters - I should have blown my whistle with three loud, long blasts as soon as I saw the boater exit his boat. I waited far too long to advise the other paddlers that someone needed help.

There are other mistakes that were made here, but these are the big ones in my opinion. For having paddled whitewater for over eight years, I am extremely disappointed in my thought process during this incident. I think in part my choices during this incident were centered on the fact that so often I am assisting with swimmer recoveries in a current in large drop-pool style Class III runs where getting stuck in a hydraulic and having to effect a rescue from outside of a boat is a little more rare. My hope is that others might see this incident and have the background behind my decision-making so that they might make smarter choices in the future -- and hopefully improve their river-rescue skills.

Battling Anxiety on the River

Anxiety is a funny thing. It’s that primitive twinge of excitement and fear that flashes between the decision to fight or flee. Like a mathematical equation, the right or wrong amount of adrenaline will tilt the outcome and either send you on a portage around a drop or help you conquer your fears—and charge the heart of the beast.

One run in particular, for me, tries to throw the balance toward fear—and keep me out of the saddle. For all four of my modest seasons of tackling whitewater I have carefully eyeballed the animal. It has been viewed from every vantage point accessible on foot. It has been observed from gentle trickle to roaring monster. Countless paddlers have been watched styling and floundering its two main drops. It has been over-analyzed to the point of mental exhaustion.

And yet, lining up to run the gorge for my third trip, at my personal highest level, still conjured the same old logical, tired debate in my head. “There’s no Earthly argument that makes sense for hurtling myself down this rocky slope with only a cushion of thin plastic and, in some spots, a few inches of aerated, brown water. Why do it?” The only illogical responses? “Because it’s fun” or “because it’s there!” (apologies to Sir Edmund Hillary).

I was drawing my first stroke on the run at this level. My friend graciously volunteered to lead me down. I convinced another first-timer for this level to join with his own solid “guide,” and we ran two-by-two. Tight on the stern of my volunteer pathfinder, I made quick and solid work of the first drop. This part of the run is not what drives my anxiety. It’s the fun and easy part. There’s very little skill required, just survive the small ledge that drops you into the channel approaching the drop, turn left, dodge the small hole on river right and aim for the rooster tail in the middle. Ride the auto-boof, stay upright and you’re done in less than 30 seconds.

Throwing the Ohio boof stroke over rookie drop.

This is where the view starts to become one that’s earned. Now you’ve entered the precipice of the descent into the upper gorge. There are just two ways out now.  One is by making a tricky ferry into an eddy smaller than the size of a creek boat, wet-exit, heave your boat about 4 feet over your head and scramble up the rocky cliff face from knee-deep water. It’s not an ideal way out or necessarily the safest. Or, you can run the second drop and paddle out of the gorge, having become a legend in your own mind.

Our three experienced paddlers ran the second drop, which has two options. Huck the boof line and drop about 15 feet, then carve around or through a jumble of undercut boulders, or bounce down the easy line that sets you up to run the main line around the drop’s exit—and to freedom from the adrenaline-fueled anxiety.

So, the two rookies watched as the two lines were made to look easy, and then my fellow first-timer volunteered to go first. Nailed it! Strong, steady paddle action sent him bouncing down the stairs and slicing around the boulders.

After watching his stylish run, I made the lonely walk back to my boat. Now everyone was past the second drop, but me. I climbed into my boat and paused a little too long before securing my sprayskirt. Counterproductive thoughts rushed in. “Oh shit!” “You can just portage it, it’s not a big deal.” “What are you thinking?” “You’re gonna die!” I had one thought left to keep me from dragging my boat around the drop and putting in below it, and it was a desperation move. “Fuck it! Send it!” I shoved off, slowly floating toward the easy line, one blade in the water to slowly steer my way so I wouldn’t get off line. As I inched toward the ledge, the river disappeared. Suddenly, the rocks below started to come into view, and the ledge rushed at me. A quick flick of the wrist, a pull on the boof stroke and I plunged down into the frothy water below.

Riding Shamu down the staircase.

“Yeah!” I made it! Immense relief washed away any lingering anxiety. Calm and confidence quickly filled the void left by its departure. But I hadn’t made it yet. I still had to maneuver the jumble of boulders guarding the exit. My concentration lapsed, overcome by the distraction of my partial achievement. The current swept my boat up onto the ledge on river left, and I threw a half-assed sweep stroke/boof stroke to drop back into the river. Throwing a high brace upstream, the strengthened current funneled through the channel ripped the paddle out of my right, upstream, hand, and I went over.

Chaos swirled around my inverted head. My right hand flailed about aimlessly. Then muscle memory took over. My left hand moved the paddle into the set-up position. I crunched, reached, felt for and found the paddle with my right hand, quickly secured it and snapped a roll. Disoriented, fortunately I was in a relatively calm spot and could catch some small mid-river eddies, ferry over to the edge and enjoy the view that few have earned. Three years of hard work and preparation set me up to execute and handle the unexpected. I know many have fired up this run dozens of times. But for me, tackling it at this level was one of my biggest personal paddling accomplishments of 2017. I’m hopeful it won’t be my last run on the gorge.

Lower Gauley River First Descent and Bridge Day on the New

Bridge Day on the New River is something to behold. Most experience it from the deck of the New River Gorge Bridge about 900 feet above Fayette Station rapid. The lucky few witness it from the water after finding their own adrenaline rush paddling down amongst the rapids of the gorge.

Keelhaulers Phil and Jen Raber kindly organized a trip on the gorge on the Saturday of Bridge Day 2017, helping a few other club members navigate the crowds and closed roads to enjoy a 70-degree, partly sunny day—unusual for late October but welcome all the same.

Our view on Bridge Day 2017 from Fayette Station rapid on the New River Gorge.

The trip started with some unique navigating along Keeney Creek. A brief mountain hike, some bushwhacking and a jump across a remote Amtrak line led us down to a little-used put-in just below Middle Keeney. We climbed in our boats and dropped right into Lower Keeney. The level was approaching -1 foot, but nonetheless it was still the biggest rapid of the day. Low water, but we still enjoyed all the play opportunities.

Sooner than we expected, we were at Fayette Station witnessing the impressive show. Every few seconds a new jumper would leap from the bridge, open their chute and spend the next 30 to 60 seconds floating down to Earth. The good jumpers hit the bullseye on the takeout beach. A few unlucky souls splashed down and had to be fished out by safety boaters with some impressive horsepower. We watched for a while and then made the 4-mile flat water paddle to the takeout. Fayette Station Road was closed, making it impossible to use the normal takeout below the bridge. If you can, a good option is to leave a car the night before at the alternate takeout—access to this is closed on the evening before Bridge Day—on river right below the gorge bridge.

The day ended with a trip to dinner and a stop to visit the Summersville Dam—paying homage to the source of the Gauley River release we would experience the next day—at sunset before returning to Ray’s to rest up for day two. The first day definitely did NOT end somewhere around 10 p.m. with Nick, Phil and Jen expertly changing the water pump on a shuttle vehicle in the parking lot of a busy truck stop.

Day two started with breakfast at Biscuit World, a scenic trip over Gauley Mountain, courtesy our tour guide and photographer extraordinaire Jeff Macklin, before setting shuttle for the Lower Gauley. Ryan Laughlin joined the rest of the group, which included Mark and Pam, Nick Conway, Victor Kopyev and Matt Fredmonsky. Nick, Ryan and Matt were all making their first descents of the Lower Gauley, and what a group to be a part of! Phil, Jen, Mark and Pam all have countless Gauley runs and know the river well. They provided the perfect amount of guidance, support, encouragement and of course solid lines to keep us all smiling with no issues. No one swam, and there were less than a handful of combat rolls. Props to Nick who, despite being a first-timer, was fearless. He put on a nice display with a rodeo ride in 5 boat hole, side-surfing his Mamba, rolling, coming back up in the hole, spinning around and finally carving out toward the center of the river and floating down with a big grin.

Nick battling in 5 boat hole on the Lower Gauley river.

The rest of the run was sprinkled with huge wave trains, some nice playboat moves from Mark, impressive attainments from Phil in his green boat and otherwise happy paddlers. Trying to describe the beauty of the remote gorge with mere words would be a futile effort. Canyon Walls! The best way to describe it is to say it is a river experience like few others, one every paddler should work toward. The Gauley River offers arguably the biggest whitewater east of the Mississippi, and the last release of the season—with its sunny skies and 70-degree temperatures—did not disappoint.

Thanks to Phil I had a great line going through Koontz Flume on the Lower Gauley.

What impressed me the most about this West Virginia weekend, particularly the day spent on the Lower Gauley, was the way our trip leaders so graciously took the time to introduce the first-timers to the run. What a wonderful act of kindness! Not many of these rapids can be scouted easily, if at all, and some pose quite serious hazards—including deadly undercuts and pin hazards. Without good beta, this run can yield terrifying consequences if you can’t find the right line or end up swimming. We were all thankful for their input. It truly impressed upon me the fact that kayaking has a great tradition of passing on knowledge from one generation to the next. And trips like these are like a master class in navigating big water with all the challenges a river can offer. It was a privilege to paddle with and learn from some great kayakers. I think it’s fair to say that myself and the others look forward to the day that we might be able to impart that kind of wisdom to more new whitewater paddlers as they ramp up their own journeys down the river. 

New River Gorge First Descent

Class V selfie attempt under the New River Gorge bridge.

The New River is ironically named. It’s older than the Appalachian Mountains it carves through at more than 480 million years. But for every paddler at some point, it is, in fact, a new river. That’s what it was in early July for three Keelhaulers, who made their personal first descents of the New River Gorge.

Keelhauler vice president Don Howdyshell led Nick Conway, Javan Robinson and myself down the New for our first runs with Jeremiah Richard making his second trip down the gorge. The paddle started with a meet up at Cathedral Café, a chapel-turned restaurant in downtown Fayetteville, West Virginia, for a large, delicious breakfast before setting shuttle.

The trip was only Don’s third, but as the most experienced paddler in the group he felt confident leading a small, solid crew down—spending days studying his GoPro footage from his first two runs proved useful homework.

After unsuccessfully encouraging Javan to run the staircase seal launch at the Cunard put-in, we hopped in our boats and set forth. For the uninitiated, the water of the New is amazingly warm. Its North Carolina headwaters travel north to the gorge, making the pulsing green water feel like a drawn bath. The level was 2 feet which, according to American Whitewater, “most agree (is) the optimal level … the Keeneys, Double Z and Fayette Station are really stompin’” even though to seasoned NRG paddlers it’s low-flow. In the gorge, 2 feet is about 4,500 cfs, which for those of us who regularly paddle the Stony, Lower Yough and other like runs is about four times as much water as we're used to.

Weaving through the mountains, we passed through Pinball rapid, skirted the edge of Upper Railroad and bobbed down the middle of a few warmups before coming to Upper Keeney, the first of the three Keeneys—the rapids that would offer the tallest waves of the day. Upper Keeney was simple enough, just ride the wave train down the middle and grab the eddy on the left above Middle Keeney, which is where the fun really starts. As each boat dropped into Middle Keeney, it’s stern quickly disappeared. As you paddled in to the first drop, you caught a glimpse of the preceding boat’s stern summiting the giant haystack wave in the middle of the rapid before they quickly disappeared again, and you started your ascent up the beast. As the river pulsed, you might find yourself climbing it as a green wave and launching off the top, or if the wave was breaking you’d find yourself trying to brace into it as you got body slammed into what felt like a brick wall. Good times.

Amidst Lower Keeney rapid on the New River Gorge.

So far, so good. We gathered ourselves, got beta from Don on Lower Keeney and started our approach. We took the mother duck, all-the-ducks-in-a-row approach with Don leading followed by Nick, Javan, myself and Jeremiah running sweep. Here’s where whiplash took full effect. With all the paddlers lined up, inevitably each kayak was a little off the line of the boater ahead of them, with the final boat in the row the furthest off line. Don dropped in a little left of middle. Smooth. Nick hit the crashing curler ricocheting off the top boulder on the left, and he immediately went over. Javan slid down in and was off moving right nicely, while I recognized I was too far left and tried to boof onto the curler and got spun backwards. Jeremiah was so far left of the tongue that he almost boofed the guard boulder itself and got flipped right at the top. Don made it through smoothly, but Nick succumbed to the power and height of the waves and swam. Javan, seeing Don successfully moving to river right, followed suit. I started my turn downstream just in time to get sideways body slammed into the third large wave, brace into it and straighten out to line up for the next one and start working right. Jeremiah tried to time his rolls with the rising waves. Though unsuccessful, his first two attempts gave him just enough air to hold tight until things calmed down. He ended up running the nearly 100-yard rapid entirely upside down and successfully rolled somewhere near the Halls of Karma—an epic exercise in staying calm under pressure. At the end a massive whirlpool reached up and grabbed Javan’s stern, sucking it down and forcing a hard brace, but he was no worse for the wear. We gathered Nick and his Fun, took a hydration break on shore within sight of Lower Keeney to watch the rafts disappear in its waves while celebrating and enjoying the adrenaline high. It was intimidating, exhilarating, humbling and encouraging all at once.

Nick coming through Lower Keeney on his second day in the gorge.

The rest of the run was a breeze. Solid lines (thanks to Don), a few combat rolls to be had by all, some epic (and unexpected) stern squirts by Jeremiah, bluebird skies and warm breezes. After cruising through Fayette Station, the final rapid, we cheered on Nick as he dutifully drank his booty beer and set off to the Overlook restaurant, high on the gorge rim, where we watched the sun set behind the mountains and had a few rounds to mark the occasion. It was the stuff first-descent dreams are made of. A successful run that left everyone feeling empowered and accomplished, topped off with good company and tasty spirits. It left everyone asking, “When are we going back?”

Javan attempts to become one with the New River Gorge.

Ego Paddling

An unlucky soul swims a waterfall after failing to make his roll and missing two throw ropes.

Ego, it drives the world. It encourages great leaders to fight for what’s right, because they are confident in their convictions and their abilities enough to know that their righteousness is worthy of the push to discover what’s possible. They know that the knowledge and principles they possess suggest their personal judgment calls warrant consideration, contemplation, and maybe even adherence to, or personal adoption, by a greater audience.

Yet ego also can motivate the irrational, inaccurate, even dangerous man.

In my few modest years as a whitewater kayaker I’ve learned that ego does both to every paddler, whether they are the former or the latter.

Often, the result is the same for these two types of paddlers. One pushes hard, and fast, setting their sights on the next big run, the next big drop and the most challenging rivers. The other is more methodical and seeks a more linear progression curve. The first boater often fails to focus on sharpening basic skills and techniques and suffers for it, and the results are predictable – injuries, swims, damaged (or lost) gear or worse. The second boater takes multiple runs to master a descent, all the while practicing and perfecting strokes and body English, accumulating knowledge before moving up the difficulty scale. You know these boaters. Chances are, you are one or the other.

I’ve also learned that it’s the impatient, inexperience paddlers pushing the envelope who also disregard the opinions of their peers and find themselves in unwanted situations – like getting a beat down for their troubles. I see it often. Whereas the most pain the more patient boater is likely to receive comes from the jabs and barbs cast at them for being afraid to push the edge, or for being deemed lame by their peers for running the same stretches repeatedly. I see that too.

Ego drives them both, for in their own minds they are right and the other is wrong. Recently, among my small paddling group boaters have been finding themselves on one side of the line or the other. Criticism flies. Each points the finger at the other, saying they’re the ones who are wrong. Sadly, we are all human. And as much as we want to believe that being kayakers makes us holier-than-thou for loving the Earth and seeking out the mystical Zen that aligns our bodies and minds with the flow of the river, we are wrong. In the end, we are made of dirt and stardust. A mix of grit and wonder; mostly rough, sometimes shining yet often unkind sacks of loosely organized meat. Judgmental gossipers, we all are.

There are paradoxical benefits to both boaters. Without pushing the envelope, there can be no progression. But one cannot push the envelope and truly progress without first correctly gathering the skills necessary to do so.

Few can strike the balance and find the advantages that each paddler possesses and add them to their repertoire. Cautious optimism, a desire to improve, the will to take calculated risks (and know when not to) and the patience to hone the techniques required to enter the kingdom of the Class IV-V boater. Think Rafa Ortiz, Dane Jackson, Pat Keller, Stephen Wright, and others.

So, what do we do? How do we learn from the lessons these two boaters can teach us? We listen to each other. Try that seemingly boring ferry or eddy move. Push the envelope a little. 

As Maynard James Keenan once said, “I’m the man, and you’re the man, and he’s the man as well, so you can point that fucking finger up your ass!”

Return to the Cuyahoga River Upper Gorge

A little less than a year ago, I made my personal firstdescent of the Cuyahoga River Upper Gorge, more commonly referred to as the Sheraton section in downtown Cuyahoga Falls. At the time, this Class IV (dare I say Class V at normal flows?) was running at a low, first-descent friendly 300 cfs. It was my first introduction to some of Ohio’s best whitewater, and my first time running waterfalls.

But it was low, and I felt somehow unaccomplished. We returned with a good crew to tackle it at the next, more-challenging level of 500 cfs. Myself and Jeremiah Richard were making our first run of the Cuyahoga River Upper Gorge at this level. Fellow Keelhaulers Don Howdyshell and Jeff Cramer were there to provide guidance and support, and Sheraton Shaolin Nic Williams threw in support as well.

I’ll let the video tell the story, for I can’t do it justice in comparison. Watch it here.

10 Whitewater Kayaking Terms to Know

Beater (noun); also, to beater (verb)

Below are 10 whitewater kayaking terms every paddler should know.

1.       Swimmer (noun)

a.       A transitional period; when a kayaker fails to roll upright and swims out of their boat.

b.       YOU. You are a swimmer. Never forget that.

2.       Kayak (noun)

a.       A vessel, commonly plastic, used to navigate rivers, lakes, oceans (see sea kayak, whitewater kayak, et al.).

b.       Home. Your kayak is your home. Don’t you want to stay in your home?

3.       Paddle (noun) to paddle (verb)

a.       A stick-like tool with a thin, long shaft and wide, flat blades at each end.

b.       Otherwise known as that thing that you lose all the time and other people have to fish out of the water for you.

c.       Also, To paddle (v); to flail ones arms wildly in an attempt to maneuver a kayak.

4.       Boof (verb)

a.       A paddle stroke used at the lip of a drop or water fall to lift the bow of one’s kayak vertically to clear the base of the drop.

b.       The sound you make when you miss your boof stroke, slam your bow into the drop and face plant into the base of the water fall.

5.       Bow (noun)

a.       The front of a kayak.

b.       To take a bow; what you do when you nail your boof stroke.

6.       Stern (noun)

a.       The rear of a kayak.

b.       The look on your face when you have to fish a swimmer out of the river for the third time in one day.

7.       Eddy (noun)

a.       Unidentified man, possibly a criminal, because everyone constantly yells at you “Catch Eddy!”

b.       also, a location on the river, created by a large obstacle (such as a boulder), where the water is calm and a swimmer (you) can escape the current.

8.       Wave (verb, noun)

a.       Kayaking maneuver performed when going over a sick water fall in front of a big crowd.

b.       Also, a feature on the river used by playboaters to perform tricks in their kayak.

9.       Hole (noun)

a.       The thing in the top of a kayak one uses to crawl into it

b.       Also, an inescapable feature on the river that you never seem to avoid

10.   Shuttle (adjective)

a.       To drive oneself from the river trip take out point to the put-in location.

b.    Eternity; see also, limbo