by Maria M. of Safety Harbor, FL
“Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live.” -Dorothy Thomas
The October Saturday was chilly as the group traveling with the UCF Recreation and Wellness Center’s Outdoor Adventure program stood on the bank of Tennessee’s Nolichucky River. It was in the high fifties and the river temperature was even lower. Wearing my purple wetsuit, helmet, lifejacket, and holding a yellow paddle, I approached my blue inflatable kayak barely able to contain my excitement, not listening to the banter about who would be the first in the water.
It wouldn’t be me.
I’ve been whitewater rafting before and have never fallen out of the rafts. I rationalized that even if I did, it wouldn’t be a big deal because as a lifeguard, surfer, and former competitive swimmer, water doesn’t intimidate me. I assessed myself to be an average kayaker in comparison to the skill of the others on the trip. However, by the end of the day, I had established myself into a newly-created category underneath beginner kayakers, called the Absolutely-No-Idea-What-I m-Doing-Just Hold-the Paddle-in-the-Air-as-the-Kayak-Floats-Out-of-Control-Down-The-Rapids category. I took to whitewater kayaking like a brick takes to floating on top of water.
My first inkling of foreboding came as we practiced paddling in a giant circle off the riverbank. My kayak zigzagged around instead of following the person in front of me. There was also a bigger gap between my kayak and the person I was following, and hardly any gap between the person following me.
But, with a shout from the lead guide, we started down the Nolichucky. Each stroke of my paddle surged powerfully through the water, propelling my kayak forward. My eyes searched for wildlife as the trees and towering cliffs lining the bank went past. Going down the first set of rapids was easy, with barely any whitewater. I stuck my paddle in once or twice, mimicking the person in front of me, and emerged exhilarated. I was ready for whatever else the river could throw at me.
Near the bottom of the next set of rapids, I began to head toward the group waiting by the shore, when suddenly; I was in a giant bathtub full of ice cubes. Yes, I was the first person to fall in. Hauling myself back into my kayak, I shook it off.
The group continued down river, and I made it down the next set of rapids unscathed. Having regained my confidence, I sliced my paddles through the water on the fourth set of rapids, and near the bottom, promptly flipped out of my kayak. As my friends helped me climb back into it, I had second thoughts about successfully completing this river run. The Nolichucky was starting to intimidate me.
Coming across a portion of the river where we would have to portage, or carry our kayaks on foot, around a particularly dangerous set of rapids, I found myself near the head of the group, singled out by the lead raft guide with another student to stick near the front in hopes of doing better. Dragging our kayaks behind us, we made our way across the rocks. In order to get back onto the river, we had to drop our kayaks three feet down into the water, and then jump into them.
The first guy did it with no problem. When I jumped after my kayak, I miscalculated and once again found myself in icy water. Clamoring back into my kayak, I tried not to think about how good everyone else was doing and how utterly out of my element and miserable I felt.
The group stopped just above the next class four set of rapids and the guide told us how to paddle down it. Two other inexperienced members of the group set off first after the guide. My friend Austin helped me get my kayak unstuck from a rock near the shoreline and let me go in front of him. I started paddling, but as the kayak went down the rapids it turned. Everything the raft guides told us flew completely out of my head and I went down the rapids backwards, holding my paddle up out of the water, paralyzed with fear and having no idea what to do. All I remember is watching Austin’s horrified face as I went backwards; an expression that I’m sure was mirrored in my own face.
Somehow, I made it to the halfway part of the rapids and the lead guide told me to rest for a minute on a rock. As the rest of the group passed by, I hysterically sobbed to the guide bobbing in the middle of the river, I can’t do it anymore! I’ll just walk back.
The guide replied, You have no choice!
He added that if I walked around to the bottom of this set of rapids with my kayak, I could finish out the trip riding in the mini-raft with the guide bringing up the rear of the group. Sniffling, I agreed, and made my way to the bottom, thankful I wouldn’t have to do it by myself anymore.
I was giving up. The river won.
At the bottom, the guides deflated my kayak and stowed it in the mini-raft. I climbed in near the back and felt relieved. As we continued on, the mini-raft guide, Red, told me when to paddle, calling All forward! All back! Take a break!
This was the type of paddling I could do.
The Rooster’s Tail, a class four rapid, was up next. We went first in the mini-raft, stopping in the middle to help guide the rest of the group down. After they passed us and were waiting near the bank at the bottom, we mini-raft folk set off. Paddling forward, I suddenly launched through the air and into the water. Again.
The mini-raft had flipped over and dumped the two of us and all the extra gear into the river. As I came sputtering up for air for the fourth time that morning, I started to laugh. This wasn’t new. Clutching my paddle, I bumped my way against rocks to the group, amidst their shouts of encouragement. After the mini-raft, Red, and all the gear floated to us, we loaded everything in and made our way to a picnic spot with no other incidents. As I ate my sandwich, I decided that I would make it through the rest of the afternoon. What was the worst that could happen? Fall in? Been there, done that.
After lunch, the group set off back down the river. Now that I wasn’t afraid of the river anymore, or rather, the lack of control I felt when kayaking down the river, I started to enjoy the rest of the afternoon. Red even explained why different methods of paddling at certain spots was more helpful, and being high enough out of the water I could see what he was talking about. Paddling started to make sense, but more importantly, I made it to the spot where the bus was waiting without falling into the Nolichucky again.
There will be another Outdoor Adventure whitewater kayaking trip scheduled soon. I’m going to sign up for it because having faced my limits, whitewater doesn’t scare me anymore.
photo credit: Nathan Renstrom
