A River Moment

The kayak gained speed as it swept down the chute. Steering carefully, dabbing the paddles between boulders, he shot through the final drop and glided into the pool at the bottom where the river met the chalky limestone bluffs. Letting the kayak float sideways, he grabbed his fishing rod and made a cast back towards the top of the pool. The current was stronger than he anticipated, however, and it was already sending him backwards towards a boulder that split the current in half. Dropping the pole, he grabbed the paddle to make a move around the rock. At the same time, though, his lure snagged in the water and the pole jerked and jumped. Caught momentarily between tasks, he reached for the pole with one hand, while the other tried to hold the paddle with one end in the swift water.

Neither was a good option. The pole leaped into the water and the kayak slammed awkwardly into the rock. Still reaching for the pole, he was off balance and the kayak tipped precariously towards the water. Pay attention! He let the fishing equipment go and concentrated on getting around the rock, gripping the paddle and getting back in good paddling position. Once back in control, he was able to beach the kayak and got out gingerly. The water was still swift next to the bank.

Damn, that all happened quick.

He stood on the bank and scanned the river wondering what to do about the fishing reel. Not much hope of recovering anything in that swift water. Looking upstream, however, he saw no sign of his paddling partner so he had a little time to kill. Carefully he waded into the icy water. It was thigh high and running fast. He had to brace himself against the current. Still holding the paddle in his hand, he used it as a probe but the rush of the water swept it away before he could even rake the bottom. Pointless.

Wading back to shore, he stowed the paddle and looked around for a stick. If the lure was still snagged upstream that meant the line was likely still attached to the reel. If he could drag the bottom and intersect the line, he might be able to pull it up. The bank was littered with driftwood and flood debris. He picked through it looking for something with a “hook” on the end but found nothing that seemed appropriate. Finally he found a slim but sturdy stick and walked back to the river. Looking back upstream and still seeing no sign of his friend, he waded back into the river.

It was not easy dragging the stick through the fast water. The current wanted to sweep it away before he could get it to the bottom. Finally though he was able to position his body in such a manner as to bring his weight to bear on the stick. He was able to drag the point across the bottom. It was still difficult to feel anything through the trembling of the stick but, wait, was that some kind of resistance? He raked the area again. And again he seemed to catch on something. Concentrating, he repeated the process, increased the angle and, yes, it was caught on a line. Reaching into the cold water, he grabbed the line and the tip of the pole appeared out of the water.

Ha! Immensely pleased with himself, he was gathering his equipment out of the water when he looked up and saw a parade of items coming down the chute. A small cooler, a water bottle, a tackle box...

Oh shit.

He waded out of the current and ran back to his kayak. Tossing the fishing pole in, he made a quick running shove off and turned into the current. Just in time, he snagged the cooler sweeping past the large boulder. Paddling upstream he started plucking things out of the water while trying to keep pace against the current. He smiled to himself. In big rivers these “recovery pools” were serious business—a place where the paddlers who successfully negotiated a bad rapids waited for those who didn't. In those instances, not only did you wait for personal items, but boats and bodies as well. In this kind of river, however, all he had to look for was floating lunch and pride.

Soon enough, the friend appeared on his kayak at the top of the chute. He glided through easily enough, sopping wet with a sheepish grin.

“Man, things happen fast. One wrong move and then everything goes wrong.”