"The beauty of rivers is in large part the same kind of beauty that good music has. It has patterns that delight us and evoke our deepest feelings of excitement, awe, and mystery. Even the simplest surf wave is changing and surging, and even the simplest eddy line is a wonder of complexity. Add up a river full of such things, and you have the treasures of the planet spread before you. The river is the essence of creativity and change, and slight unpredictability's, the very things that create our pleasure, lie features that can injure and kill us. The river doesn't care. It is a force of nature, following the laws of physics and showing us continually, that flowing water contains all the beauty and magic of the world. Learning to engage that magic is what creates our sport. Challenge and fun, as well as danger and death, all come from the same place. It is up to you to decide what that means, and to treat it with the care and respect it deserves." Doug Ammons, "Whitewater Philosophy."
There have been two times in my life where I thought I was going to drown. Both times, my husband saved me. The first time took place on the Cranberry River in West Virginia. I was 25 years old. I was somewhat of a beginner at the time and had very little experience with boulder gardens or running drops that were blind. I remember sitting in my boat on the river bank with John and our friend Matt McHale, and nervously latching my skirt around the cock pit before pushing off into the current. The first few rapids seemed fine, fairly manageable. As always I was following John through each one, who seemed to always lead perfect lines. Slowly we approached what appeared to be a blind drop. John told me he would run this and then show me his paddle below to let me know it was OK. He ran this drop gracefully and within a few seconds, I saw the blade of his paddle appear just above the horizon line. I took a few paddle strokes and attempted to launch myself off of this drop. I landed in a small boil and immediately flipped. While flipping, I somehow managed to lose my paddle. I attempted two hand rolls and failed. I realized at this point I was going to have to swim so I went for my grab loop. This is when things really started to go south. In my nervousness, I had tucked my grab loop into my cock pit, leaving me nothing to release my skirt in order to free me from the boat. At this point, I remember panicking. I started frantically kicking and slamming my hands up against both sides of my boat to signal for help, hoping John and Matt were close by. I was running out of air at this point and when no one seemed to be near, I remember thinking, this is it, I am going to drown because I wasn't paying attention. Just as I was about to involuntarily breathe, I felt two hands grasping around my waste and two massive tugs. Within a few seconds I was being ripped out of my boat and thrown onto the top of John's boat. To make matters worse, my dry suit had somehow opened up during this struggle and my entire suit had filled with water, so I was quite heavy. John had me hold onto the back of his boat while he paddled us both to the shore. I remember feeling like my lungs wanted to explode and this deep ache in my chest. When we finally got to the side, I burst into tears. I ended up walking off the river that day. It really shook me up.
The second time was on the Upper Klamath River in California. I was 29 years old. I had only been out west for a month with John and it was a foggy Fall Saturday in Southern Oregon. John and I rode down to Northern California with our new friends Jared, Hunter and Jon. The Upper Klamath is a big water Class III-IV+ river that flows through a tall remote canyon in Northern California. The first major rapid on this section is a rapid called "Caldera", a Class IV+ long big rapid. It is so long that scouting the entire thing from the top is really hard. I remember John got out and scouted it while I sat in the eddy watching his eyes scan the water, picking out our line. I was already nervous so honestly I didn't want to look at it. I figured if I did I'd probably walk it which would result in an impossible portage, so I chose not to look. John stared at it for a few minutes and then looked at me and said "you'll be fine." We both pushed out into the current and as we approached the horizon line, I just saw this explosion of white water every where. John told me to stay close to him and brace hard through each hit. I got about half way through the top part of this rapid before getting slammed by two different wave curler's that happened to break right as I was passing them. I was immediately upside down and felt my paddle being forced behind my head. To add to this, I could feel my paddle and arms behind dragged across what felt like some sharp rocks. I made 3 roll attempts that were unsuccessful. Running out of air, I realized I'd have to swim. I ditched my paddle, pulled my skirt and was immediately blasted with a mouth full of water and and then pushed under. I remember flailing and trying to keep my feet up but only getting a second or two above water before being pushed under again. It felt impossible and helpless to find the surface or see where I was heading. I actually remember having a brief second during this beating where I thought, "this is how people flush drown." I remember beginning to feel helpless and defeated. This went on for what felt like forever and I felt as if I had nothing left, I was a rag doll at this point. I finally caught a breath and a glimpse of John on the river right bank with a throw rope yelling for me to swim. He helped pull me into the eddy and up onto this rock. I started to puke up water and cry. John even looked panicked and later told me he actually thought I was about to drown. He said a solid 10-15 seconds went by where he could not see me at all, until finally I popped up at the bottom. Once I pulled myself together, John asked me if my legs hurt. I looked down and saw blood running down both shins. I had been dragged over lava rock, ripped part of my pants and dry top in the process and later discovered a softball size bruise on my ass. The Upper Klamath had literally kicked me in the ass as John put it. But, he was there to save me. He was always there.
You know what is interesting about both of those experiences. Both incidents really scared me and made me question why I go. Yet, I returned to both rivers, and ran those same rapids again, the second time successfully. There was something in me after both experiences that drove me back, feeling the need to try again. An urge to conquer what I could not. To return to my fear and revisit those mistakes that caused me to swim.
John was the kind of kayaker that would run a rapid 5 times in order to get it right, regardless of how many beatings he took. He carried this mind set, not only on white water but in mountain biking, graduate school, friendships, cooking, forestry, training Jake, planting a garden, and being a husband to me. He was a true perfectionist which is also why he could be labeled as a procrastinator. He'd take forever to ensure it was perfect. Half ass was not in his vocabulary, ever. Everything John did, he wanted to do it right. That's the kind of man that he was. I adored him for that.
I started thinking about these past experiences after spending an afternoon rafting the New River Gorge this past Sunday with my buddy Sherry Spilker and taking an involuntary swim together. Sherry and I met late last fall while embarking on a dinner at Diogis restaurant with some mutual friends. I have to say, after a simple meet and greet, I could tell that the two of us would become great friends. I have been really blessed in my life to come across some incredibly strong, unique, kind, hilarious, like-minded women. Sherry is one of these women for me. There is no other friend in the world that I can send inappropriate hash tags to in a text message and get yet an even more inappropriate response. She gets my sick sense of humor. Beyond our ridiculous hash tagging, she's just an incredible friend all around, a true soul sister.
Sherry and I recently started rafting together. Sherry is an extremely efficient guide with tons of experience, so rafting with her has been not only fun but a great learning experience, for it is teaching me a whole new perspective on the river. We've rafted the New and Gauley together at higher water a few times. Rafting is definitely new for me and very different from kayaking. John and I took my sister and brother-in-law rafting down the New years ago and had a blast. It was the weekend of the derecho in West Virginia. We had no power, warm beers, and endless white water, a charcoal grill and Nick's awesome caboose to camp at. I also got to raft the Upper Gauley for the first time this past Gauley season with some amazing ladies, including one bad ass guide, Liz Arnold. Beyond those two experiences, I really haven't spent much time in a raft, so the concept is really new to me.
Rafting requires team work, communication and a deep level of trust for the guide. After rafting together a few times, Sherry and I decided to purchase a raft together. Our goal is to be able to R2 the Upper Gauley together this fall and to be so in sync with each other that we can simply react to each other's moves with the current instead of yell commands. R2 means it's just her and I maneuvering our raft through each rapid. This past Sunday, the two of us decided to test out a 10 1/2 foot raft down the New River at around 9 feet. We asked our friend, John Petretich to safety boat along side of us. We knew this was going to be big water and we wanted to see how we could handle a smaller raft at this level. We noticed pretty quickly that this raft liked to turn to the right or left with every big wave hit. We could tell it was going to be "tippy" and we would need to paddle strong and together through each rapid. The two of us successfully made it through the Keeney's and Double Z (two well known series of rapids on the New), and two areas where we knew we did not want to swim. We we're feeling pretty confident, in fact I actually felt like we were bad asses. Two women combined weighing about 220 pounds taking a 10 1/2 foot raft through the Keeney's at 9 feet was awesome. We came up on Upper and Lower Kaymoor (two rapids that seem to blend together at this level). Right before entering these rapids, I turned to Sherry and told her that I had not had to swim since John died, and I was somewhat afraid to. I feared how it would feel, I feared picturing him.
We entered the rapid and after about 3 big wave hits, we came up on this huge breaking wave that happened to break on us just as we took a paddle stroke together. The next thing I knew, Sherry and I were both being ejected from our seats and suddenly, the cross tubes that we were sitting on were now above us. The raft then slammed down on top of us, dunking us into the river. At that point, I was under water. When I came up for air, I was blasted with another big wave hit. I turned and saw Sherry about 10 feet behind me. Both of us I think we're a little shocked at the fact that we were no longer in our raft. I could hear John P yelling at us to swim left. There is a nasty hydraulic called "Teacher's Pet" on river right that is extremely easy to miss, but while swimming it would be potentially hard to see. I realized at this point I needed to work , I needed to swim. I started kicking and pulling my arms through the water. I couldn't really see what was up ahead, I couldn't seem to catch my breath, and I quickly felt exhausted and out of shape. I felt my mind wandering to my past and once again picturing John swim and with that, I felt somewhat panicked. We flushed through the rest of the rapid and finally came up on some calm but moving water. I turned around and Sherry had managed to get a hold of the raft and flip it over herself. Her and the raft quickly caught up to me and she pulled herself into the raft within seconds. I made this attempt myself and failed. I was so tired. Sherry reached down, grabbed a hold of my life jacket and pulled me into the raft. I think I resembled a noodle at this point. Everything felt heavy. Sherry asked me if I was OK before grabbing our spare paddle. We paddled over to an eddy so I could catch my breath and pull myself together.
We blasted through the last few rapids together and even hit the "million dollar wave" in Fayette Station before taking out for the day. It was a true adventure together and we were really grateful to have John P along side us. Needless to say, I think we'll be purchasing a bigger raft. One with a little more girth to it!
I've been thinking a lot lately about why I kayak, and why I'm having this new drive to go rafting with my good friend. Why I enjoy the adventure of white water. In the past, I enjoyed my time on the river so much because it was a shared love with my husband. White water developed a trust between the two of us, a deeper love for each other. To see the beauty all around me from the current, and then to see John's face light up beside me was precious. I trusted John on the river, and I knew that if I was ever in a life threatening moment, he would be there. I've really struggled with the fact that I was not there when he needed help. I couldn't rescue him and the image of him swimming haunts me, in fact it sickens me. Swimming through white water can be scary, it can feel helpless and exhausting. It is true, the river doesn't care, and when we find ourselves alone in it swimming, we are at it's mercy. These are my own demons I've had to face and it's part of the reason I've pushed myself to get back in my boat and face it, own it, work with these struggles through each rapid.
I had a moment of clarity as my good friend pulled me back into our raft. John was always there for me through each rapid and after the river took him, it scared me to put myself back out there without him. He was the strongest boater I knew. Yet, every time I am out there, every time I push off into the current, it is then that I feel him so near. I saw him in my bad ass friend Sherry as she pulled me to safety. I heard him in John P as he told us where to swim. I felt his strength rise within me as I kicked and pushed through the water. It was my first swim since losing John, and it was OK. I don't have to relive his death with each swim. I know in my heart that he is well beyond that experience, and I need to move beyond it too. I am so grateful for the ability to kayak and now raft. I am so grateful for the incredible bond I had with my husband and the river. I am grateful for the constant reminder of my creator through the turns of each river bend. I am grateful to enjoy my time on the river again and smile through each rapid, remembering and respecting my past but continuing to look ahead to the next rapid. I am grateful to be present with the current. I am grateful for the reminder that I am still here. I believe that is why I go.
You know what is interesting about both of those experiences. Both incidents really scared me and made me question why I go. Yet, I returned to both rivers, and ran those same rapids again, the second time successfully. There was something in me after both experiences that drove me back, feeling the need to try again. An urge to conquer what I could not. To return to my fear and revisit those mistakes that caused me to swim.
John was the kind of kayaker that would run a rapid 5 times in order to get it right, regardless of how many beatings he took. He carried this mind set, not only on white water but in mountain biking, graduate school, friendships, cooking, forestry, training Jake, planting a garden, and being a husband to me. He was a true perfectionist which is also why he could be labeled as a procrastinator. He'd take forever to ensure it was perfect. Half ass was not in his vocabulary, ever. Everything John did, he wanted to do it right. That's the kind of man that he was. I adored him for that.
I started thinking about these past experiences after spending an afternoon rafting the New River Gorge this past Sunday with my buddy Sherry Spilker and taking an involuntary swim together. Sherry and I met late last fall while embarking on a dinner at Diogis restaurant with some mutual friends. I have to say, after a simple meet and greet, I could tell that the two of us would become great friends. I have been really blessed in my life to come across some incredibly strong, unique, kind, hilarious, like-minded women. Sherry is one of these women for me. There is no other friend in the world that I can send inappropriate hash tags to in a text message and get yet an even more inappropriate response. She gets my sick sense of humor. Beyond our ridiculous hash tagging, she's just an incredible friend all around, a true soul sister.
Sherry and I recently started rafting together. Sherry is an extremely efficient guide with tons of experience, so rafting with her has been not only fun but a great learning experience, for it is teaching me a whole new perspective on the river. We've rafted the New and Gauley together at higher water a few times. Rafting is definitely new for me and very different from kayaking. John and I took my sister and brother-in-law rafting down the New years ago and had a blast. It was the weekend of the derecho in West Virginia. We had no power, warm beers, and endless white water, a charcoal grill and Nick's awesome caboose to camp at. I also got to raft the Upper Gauley for the first time this past Gauley season with some amazing ladies, including one bad ass guide, Liz Arnold. Beyond those two experiences, I really haven't spent much time in a raft, so the concept is really new to me.
Rafting requires team work, communication and a deep level of trust for the guide. After rafting together a few times, Sherry and I decided to purchase a raft together. Our goal is to be able to R2 the Upper Gauley together this fall and to be so in sync with each other that we can simply react to each other's moves with the current instead of yell commands. R2 means it's just her and I maneuvering our raft through each rapid. This past Sunday, the two of us decided to test out a 10 1/2 foot raft down the New River at around 9 feet. We asked our friend, John Petretich to safety boat along side of us. We knew this was going to be big water and we wanted to see how we could handle a smaller raft at this level. We noticed pretty quickly that this raft liked to turn to the right or left with every big wave hit. We could tell it was going to be "tippy" and we would need to paddle strong and together through each rapid. The two of us successfully made it through the Keeney's and Double Z (two well known series of rapids on the New), and two areas where we knew we did not want to swim. We we're feeling pretty confident, in fact I actually felt like we were bad asses. Two women combined weighing about 220 pounds taking a 10 1/2 foot raft through the Keeney's at 9 feet was awesome. We came up on Upper and Lower Kaymoor (two rapids that seem to blend together at this level). Right before entering these rapids, I turned to Sherry and told her that I had not had to swim since John died, and I was somewhat afraid to. I feared how it would feel, I feared picturing him.
We entered the rapid and after about 3 big wave hits, we came up on this huge breaking wave that happened to break on us just as we took a paddle stroke together. The next thing I knew, Sherry and I were both being ejected from our seats and suddenly, the cross tubes that we were sitting on were now above us. The raft then slammed down on top of us, dunking us into the river. At that point, I was under water. When I came up for air, I was blasted with another big wave hit. I turned and saw Sherry about 10 feet behind me. Both of us I think we're a little shocked at the fact that we were no longer in our raft. I could hear John P yelling at us to swim left. There is a nasty hydraulic called "Teacher's Pet" on river right that is extremely easy to miss, but while swimming it would be potentially hard to see. I realized at this point I needed to work , I needed to swim. I started kicking and pulling my arms through the water. I couldn't really see what was up ahead, I couldn't seem to catch my breath, and I quickly felt exhausted and out of shape. I felt my mind wandering to my past and once again picturing John swim and with that, I felt somewhat panicked. We flushed through the rest of the rapid and finally came up on some calm but moving water. I turned around and Sherry had managed to get a hold of the raft and flip it over herself. Her and the raft quickly caught up to me and she pulled herself into the raft within seconds. I made this attempt myself and failed. I was so tired. Sherry reached down, grabbed a hold of my life jacket and pulled me into the raft. I think I resembled a noodle at this point. Everything felt heavy. Sherry asked me if I was OK before grabbing our spare paddle. We paddled over to an eddy so I could catch my breath and pull myself together.
We blasted through the last few rapids together and even hit the "million dollar wave" in Fayette Station before taking out for the day. It was a true adventure together and we were really grateful to have John P along side us. Needless to say, I think we'll be purchasing a bigger raft. One with a little more girth to it!
I've been thinking a lot lately about why I kayak, and why I'm having this new drive to go rafting with my good friend. Why I enjoy the adventure of white water. In the past, I enjoyed my time on the river so much because it was a shared love with my husband. White water developed a trust between the two of us, a deeper love for each other. To see the beauty all around me from the current, and then to see John's face light up beside me was precious. I trusted John on the river, and I knew that if I was ever in a life threatening moment, he would be there. I've really struggled with the fact that I was not there when he needed help. I couldn't rescue him and the image of him swimming haunts me, in fact it sickens me. Swimming through white water can be scary, it can feel helpless and exhausting. It is true, the river doesn't care, and when we find ourselves alone in it swimming, we are at it's mercy. These are my own demons I've had to face and it's part of the reason I've pushed myself to get back in my boat and face it, own it, work with these struggles through each rapid.
I can't let go of the perspective I get from the river. The beauty. The wild life. Those moments in the current when it becomes so clear that this world we live in is a part of a much bigger picture.
The feeling of being on the perfect line and watching an explosion of white water all around you, yet where you are is smooth, a green high way.
The feeling you get from catching air off an awesome boof.
The incredible bonds I've made on the river with women that have been there with me through my grief.
I had a moment of clarity as my good friend pulled me back into our raft. John was always there for me through each rapid and after the river took him, it scared me to put myself back out there without him. He was the strongest boater I knew. Yet, every time I am out there, every time I push off into the current, it is then that I feel him so near. I saw him in my bad ass friend Sherry as she pulled me to safety. I heard him in John P as he told us where to swim. I felt his strength rise within me as I kicked and pushed through the water. It was my first swim since losing John, and it was OK. I don't have to relive his death with each swim. I know in my heart that he is well beyond that experience, and I need to move beyond it too. I am so grateful for the ability to kayak and now raft. I am so grateful for the incredible bond I had with my husband and the river. I am grateful for the constant reminder of my creator through the turns of each river bend. I am grateful to enjoy my time on the river again and smile through each rapid, remembering and respecting my past but continuing to look ahead to the next rapid. I am grateful to be present with the current. I am grateful for the reminder that I am still here. I believe that is why I go.
