The ME

The canoe is red. It is fifteen feet long. Weighing 65 pounds as it is outfitted. It is outfitted with a plastic saddle that has rounded wings that hug the thighs and a seat that is most similar to a dirt bike seat. Just wide enough to make kneeling and sitting on it with a slightly open stance comfortable. Knees spread and on padded squares for long term comfort. Toes pointed towards the stern of the boat, ankles laying nearly flat. This is not a painless position, but the gains are worth the pains.  There are two thwarts installed that are directly mounted to the pedestal. Three more thwarts cross from rail to rail at varying distance from the centerline of the canoe providing rigidity and shape for the nearly 30 year old hull that has aged incredibly well. When sitting on solid ground the front and rear ends of the canoe hang nearly four and one half inch above the terra, when in the water both ends just barely kiss the surface. This shape gives the boat an ability to spin on its center axis that is not common in most. The boat looks like a banana, and is just as slippery in the water as the aforementioned peel is on solid ground.

The paddle transmits what the water is saying. The water says it is thick, the boat responding to each stroke more profoundly than before, as if the paddle is being dipped into heavy cream instead of thin water. The waves of the rapids smack against the hull, the sound is hollow but thunderous. The vibrations of each impact travel through the layers of the canoe, through the padding on the knees, through the tops of the shoes. The knees tickled by the sounds, the toes rattled. The whitecaps of the standing waves send sprays of cold water into the pilot’s face, onto the pilots chest, hands, and arms. Sunburned chest, sunburned arms scream out in joy, the cooling effect of the freshwater spray is magnificent. The gloved hands are jealous.

Mountains, beautiful, vivacious, teeming with life. Rising on both sides of the gorge are luscious green forests. The curvaceous ridgelines riding up and down against the blue sky like the canoeist down below riding the waves of the rapids. The trees seemingly trimmed into a perfectly smooth line, certainly an arborist must have made those adjustments.

A gentle breeze blows across the water, the surface ripples and millions of tiny reflections shine light in millions more directions. The gentle white noise roar of water crashing over rocks fills the empty quiet of the remote locale. A subtle hush from Mother pleading with us to listen for what she has to offer. Leaves rustle, birds of prey call out a war cry as they dive towards an aquatic buffet. Fish leap from the water and splash back down as they chase damsel flies across the surface.

The paddle reaches the end of its stroke, blade turned vertical and pried off the side of the canoe to adjust the direction slightly. Ahead a large boulder protrudes boldly from the depths, the water giving way and parting to either side. Breadth of six foot or so, the rock has behind it an eddy, water that is filling the void behind an obstruction and is not being moved downstream as part of the current. Aquatic animals hide here in wait for some unsuspecting passerby to float near the edge of the eddy, striking out for a quick meal, then scurrying back in for safety and easy swimming.

The canoeist directs his paddle to direct the canoe towards the eddy. Waves smack and thunder against the hull. On the approach the canoe is angled slightly towards the target. As the tip of the front of the canoe and the lead of the rock pass one another, it begins.

Leaning forward slightly, rotating the shoulders away from the target so as to get maximum reach the paddle is dipped into the heavy cream. The shoulders and torso rotate back to perpendicular with the boat. The hull slides forward, waves booming against the bow.  As the front of the canoe passes into the flat boiling water of the eddy, the rear is still in current being pushed downstream. The paddle is jabbed into the flat water and pulled upon, the boat responds by beginning to spin. The outside knee lifts, the inside knee pushes down and as the boat leans it rotates faster, the current pushing against the rear of the hull, the front of the canoe pulled further into the eddy by the paddle.

All that was behind, is now in front. One hundred and eighty degrees has passed.


Time, however, has stood still.