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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
