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Edited on Wed Jun-22-05 10:30 PM by eyepaddle
(My first Vanity Post!)
I sat in the small eddy against the left bank of the river--which since I was facing upstream was on my right, the sandy-limestone walls of the canyon rose high above me, both thickly draped in vegetation after about fifteen feet. Directly above my head is a footbridge which is a converted railroad span, it is this old use which gives name to the churning feature which lies just ahead of me--Railroad Hole.
A hole is a river feature, typically they are waves which either grow too large and steep and have their crests collapse and slide forward across their face or they form below ledges and pourovers. The defining characteristic is the top of the feature has water flowing UPSTREAM against the main current. This hole is formed by a combination of factors, the main being a slide called "triple drop" where the river drops twenty feet in less than one hundred yards. After accelaerating down that chute the water drops over a last ledge and slams into a standing pool. With nowhere else to go the water piles high and begins to recirculate.
I don't give the reasons for the hole any thought whatsoever, I only examine it for hazards and opportunities. The wave starts at the banks and feeds towards the center of the channel with two sharply raked--and ever larger "shoulders." The shoulder in front of me is my target. I muscle my kayak across the eddy line and into the shoulder feeding from the left bank to the center with my bow pointing slightly to center. After crossing the shoulder the main current grabs my bow and attempts to whip it to my left. I am ready for it and pry with my right paddle blade near my stern to hold against the water. I succeed. My boat is balanced on the pile pointing upstream and hanging in place the rush or water downstream precisely counteracting the force of gravity which wants to make my boat slide forward, down the face of the wave.
At least for a second, anyway. My boat is too fast and slides too low on the wave, my bow is buried in river water, sheets of which curl over it, encasing it in liquid transparency. Until the sheets separate from the boat and fly into my face and chest, giving the impression of great speed and its attendant rush of exhilaration and excitement. I plant my left paddle blade and use it as an aquatic form of airbrake, and use the force of the current to drag me up out of the trough. Again, this works for a moment before I overcorrect and spin to the left. I halt my rotation with my kayak almost exactly perpendicular to the face of the wave and feel the recirculating head pound near my left hip. I lean to the left and hold my paddle out wide and use it as a brace to hold me balanced, leaning far out over the water. Shouts of encouragement echo off the canyon walls, "Dude!"
"Way to go!"
"Man you're nailing it!"
"Do a sweep and finish the spin!"
I may not have planned it, but I am in a classic rodeo move known as a side-surf. However my large boat offers too much resistance to the current and I slide up and over the top of the wave and into the confused water in its backwash. With out the rush of water against it, my paddle now offers no real support and I am leaning out too far. Sensing the inevitable I take a breath and close my eyes.
I flip. The rush of noise now takes on a distinct character--still all encompassing, but now somehow slower. The cool water feels refreshing and the dark obscuring embrace does not trouble me. An annoying boss, romantic setbacks, discovering a friend has a substance abuse problem, all of these concerns do not fade they DISAPPEAR as time does an odd compound dilation and seems to simultaneously race and stand still. At this moment, waiting for the flip to stabilize I am happy. A happiness born of total focus, and that even more elusive commodity in life--purpose.
After reaching instant zen, I perform the tasks I MUST do. I coil my body up to the left and feel air caress my knuckles, and then coil a litle further--getting my hands out of the water to the wrist. I drum my finger on the paddle shaft to relax my hands and wait. Once I know I am calm I perform the sweep. My front hand curving away from the bow in a wide arc, despite having my eyes closed I "watch" my lead paddle blade, this keeps my head down and ensures balance as I continue to sweep from the left bow to the right stern. This action causes the boat to rotate underneath me and I pop to the surface scarcely noticing that my face is again in the realm of light and air.
As the last traces of river water drain from my helmet, and amidst more shouts of encouragemnt and joy from my companions I have completed my first "combat roll." I feel an intense though ephemeral joy, born frm the knowledge that I just performed exactly the right actions at exactly the right time. For this profound triumph my reward is contiued access to oxygen, with all of its import to existence.
As I take a stroke to exit the current jet and enter the calm eddy I am content.
I will sleep well tonight.
Eyepaddle
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