What happened was…

Fast Lane to Oregon

I have a modular kayak that hasn’t gotten wet yet, so I decided to try it out on a freaking fast flowing river.  This was a bad idea, poorly planned (none), and comically executed.

I was made to take oars even though this is a pedal kayak.  I grumbled that I looked like a sissy carrying a set of oars when I clearly have a pedal system, but conceded and told myself I’d use them to push off the shore.   

When you paddle in a canoe, do you prefer the right or left paddle? 

For me, it’s either oar….

I had no ropes.  No anchor.  Just my typical “Jump right in and figure it out” attitude I’ve always had.  Right out the gate, the pedals didn’t work.  Thankfully I always carry paddles with me, because you never know when you might be up that creek.  I made my way upriver a bit and decided to start fishing.  I got a backlash that looked pretty easy to untangle.  I untangled the mess, but then the two lures decided to do a square dance, twisting up quicker than a West Texas dust devil. Without looking up, I started untangling them.  Without looking up…

Did I mention I’m on a river?

Suddenly I’m in a chute, Flying in the Fast Lane to Oregon, at fifteen miles an hour.  Trees blurred.  I passed birds flying the same direction.  I swear a fish swam by and gave me the side-eye.  My only chance to avoid “Next Stop: Oregon” was to aim for the back of the island I was flying past.

I quickly grabbed my oars and caught calmer waters behind the island.  From there, I collected my stomach from my throat, then plotted my own rescue.  If I could snake my way up the inside of this two-acre island, I could walk across the fifty-yards to shore.  I’ve been told over and over it’s only three feet deep.

I began working the shoreline, but the current kept flinging me out into the main channel.  I dug in deep with the oars, but the river effortlessly, silently, treated me like a like a toy boat in the sea.

The currents of my emotions begin to swell as well.  Am I going to Oregon after all?  I pictured having to climb a thousand-foot cliff, showing up on some family’s back porch looking like Swamp Thing.  Things became more difficult, and I felt fatigue gaining ground.  I channeled that energy into determination to overpower nature, but the river’s flow was relentless.

Moments later I remembered a poem I wrote in the nineties:

I am a seed, floating a river

Such wonder to see, here on This River

Stories to tell and people to meet

Where will I land, where will I flee

When floating this river, please take care

River’s get tricky with lots of snares

Avoid the rapids, choose your lane

The slower the better, it’s much more tame

Don’t fight the currents, don’t be hurried

They’ll string you out, make you scurried

Seek Wisdom, be Strong

Enjoy the View,

Write a song.

This River, is just for you.

As I approached shelter on the north side of the island, the overhanging shrubs lunged out and grabbed me, devouring me as I crashed into them.  Leaves and berries rained down.  I swallowed a spider and snorted a moth at the same time.  I can tell you that it was a white moth with green veins in its wings paired with a sunflower-yellow crab spider.  I gagged and snorted but it was too late for both.  As they tumbled to my tummy, I imagined they met halfway down and the spider captured the moth. 

I took a deep breath and decided to fish.  No catch.

I put my gear back together on the kayak and reached for the oars….

Next, I continued to walk myself and the kayak upstream.  My oars were on their way to Oregon. 

The current was so swift that the water felt as if it was a million oscillating fans blowing in my direction.  The river is clear and I can see the riverbed’s soft sand mingled with loose multi-color pebbles.  Dotting the watery landscape are large thick clumps of river grasses.  They look like giant hula skirts dancing to the same tune.

For at least an hour I leaned into the river, begging my feet to gain solid purchase.  Every few feet forward were followed by a few more lost.

“A game of chess!” the river insisted.

“I’m not that good,” I sighed.

“Don’t die!” was its reply.

“But seriously,” I wanted to know.  “How do I win?” I urged the ole man.

“Learn from before, but you must explore.  Mistakes are the bricks of the roads we lay.”

Another attempt to move ahead was met with more strife, and now my fishing rod is heading for Oregon.  If this keeps up, I might be reunited with them on the West Coast. 

I finally surrendered for good and waived my flag.  “Help with a boat!” I called across to a john boat with two guys.  “Help with a boat!” I hoped and prayed.  They answered the call, but wouldn’t let me in their boat, so I clung to the side and held on to it and my swim trunks.  Ten mile per hour waterflow means the boat had to do at least eleven to gain ground.  This means I was literally being drug between a john boat and a kayak, at fifteen plus miles per hour.  As I floated on my back, I could look straight up the nostrils of one of the fishermen.  After ten minutes of being baptized, the guy leaned over the edge, looked down at my waterlogged self, and said, “So, what happened dude?”