For starters, just learning to Eskimo roll your kayak is more than enough to discourage lots of folks from ever picking up the sport.
I mean, you’re trapped upside down underwater in your kayak. And you have to execute this counter-intuitive, non-instinctive maneuver to upright your kayak. Trying it for the first time in flat water can be scary, or terrifying, enough. But executing a successful roll in the middle of a gnarly whitewater rapid, while you’re taking body and head blows, well, that’s quite another matter.
Then, along your path to becoming a sound kayaker, well, you’re going to have a few epic swims.
Times when you’re forced to wet eject from the cockpit of your kayak, or the current literally rips you out of your kayak. And now, you’re somewhat at the complete mercy of the currents, always at the worst possible time.
And sometimes, you might even feel like you’re fighting for your very life.
Yeah, I’ll never forget a few of those “epic swims” that I took along my learning curve to becoming a solid and competent kayaker. Indeed, a few of those swims are etched upon my mind. Particularly, my swims at Lost Paddle on the Gauley; Powerhouse on the Ocoee; Baby Falls on the Tellico; and even Big Wesser Falls on the Nantahala. No, I won’t go into details about those.
But I will say that every one of those swims that I took along my journey to becoming an expert kayaker all taught me an immense respect for the power of the river.
But also, awakened me to the fact that, as a kayaker, that you have to put all your strokes together just right to have a successful run of a particular rapid, not to mention, to successfully kayak an entire stretch of river, blessed with mile after mile of whitewater rapids. That is to say that on a challenging whitewater river that you have to be exquisitely focused in the zone, and absolutely committed to your chosen line, or place downriver, where you’re going.
Or put most succinctly, as the whitewater kayakers like to say: Paddle or die!
And so, I continued along my tumultuous journey to becoming an expert kayaker with my friends and I constantly cutting our teeth on almost every exciting and challenging whitewater river and creek within a weekend striking distance of Washington D.C., and the vicinity. Until one day, one of my boater friends actually kayaked Great Falls. And soon, another one did, as well. Then, another. Until I was the only one left, who hadn’t run it.
Did I feel left out? Not really. My kayaker friends weren’t pushers.
Although, whitewater kayaking was a strange kind of drug, for sure. Still, there was no peer pressure for me to do it.
But in my heart, I absolutely knew that it could be done. Likewise, I also knew that I had the right mindset, skills, and guts to do it. With grace under pressure. And no mistakes. As there better not be when the stakes are so high. Because they are. I knew that. You know it, too. And if you don’t, why don’t you just go gaze upon those falls, someday.
No, you probably won’t envision all the perfect lines that you’d have to follow to kayak Great Falls. All those intricate paddle strokes, angles, edging, and expert maneuvers of your kayak that you’d have to execute to have a successful run of the falls without risking loss of life or limb. But I sure as hell did. And I knew that I wouldn’t fail. I had no doubt about it. In fact, at this point, when I broke it all down rapid by rapid, safety eddy by eddy, it looked easy to me.
And so, I kayaked Great Falls one day. Not even with my favorite kayaking friends. Just with another hyper-skilled kayaker, who I met near the base of those falls one day. I’m ashamed to say now that I don’t remember his name. But we both kayaked Great Falls that day. Specifically, Pummel Falls, or Sunburst, as we liked to call it. Then, we navigated Pencil Sharpener, staying far away from Charlie’s Hole. And finally, we both “boofed” Horseshoe on the right.
That’s it. You’ve done it! At long last, you’ve kayaked Great Falls!
Thing is, no one comes to give you a trophy or an award. There’s no cheering crowds. And there’s certainly no financial reward for all your years of whitewater training.
But that moment. That moment you dreamed about for your whole life, it seems, gets crystallized in your mind. And, you keep going back to it. That first drop at Sunburst…
Oh, if you only knew what it’s like to have grace under pressure. To approach such a staggering drop in the river with no fear. No intrepidation. All of your senses, every part of you, just totally laser focused on the one safe spot on the horizon line, where you’ll launch your kayak outward, like a glider, off the edge of the falls. With a perfectly timed power stroke and thrust of your body, in a “boof” maneuver, so you can bridge that dangerous hole, lurking at the base of those falls.
Your heart rises in your chest, as you launch your kayak from the edge of the falls. And it feels like you’re flying for just one moment in defiance of gravity.
And finally, if you did it all right, your kayak smacks down, horizontally, in the aerated water. Boofing, in an explosion of whitewater fireworks, guts, and glory. Then, you’re off to the races…
Completing your first successful whitewater descent of one of the most challenging and dangerous set of rapids on the entire East Coast. And you’ve done it. I did it! That day. Not for material compensation, external validation, or virtue signaling.
No, you just do it, because it’s there. And you must. To be the best you can be. To push yourself up against the limits.
And sure, a lot of athletes are willing to go the distance…
Gary Alan
After a long career in the publishing industry, Gary Alan left his corporate job to pursue his next adventures in life as a blogger, writer, investor, fly fisherman, hiker, and traveler. He is the author of the adventure fiction book, 'Big Thunder-Hearted River'.