A local sporting goods store,
The Alpine Shop, sponsors a wide array of classes and outings, and I decided to take a fall foliage kayaking trip down the Meramec River for my birthday last week.
It was about an eight-mile run, designed for beginners, so it was a fairly slow current without many difficult spots. (We started at 147.3, Pacific Palisades Conservation Area, and ended at 154.2, Allenton Access.)
I arrived at the parking lot of the store at 8 a.m. as instructed, and saw a large white van was already there, hooked up to a trailer stacked with kayaks...yellow, red, and two blue ones.
About 10 people were going on the trip, so we all gradually arrived and signed away our lives (promising not to sue the Parks Department should we fall out of the boats and drown), and got acquainted. I noted that I was one of only three women there. I also noticed an awful lot of people wearing jeans or sweatpants, which I thought was totally insane. This was a fall trip, which meant it was at least a little bit cold, and there was a good likelihood of getting wet...even if you didn't capsize the kayak (which was my greatest fear) there was bound to be lots of splashing. And they were wearing cotton! I kid you not, I obsessed for days about avoiding wearing Death Cloth on this trip (hmm, are these socks synthetic?), and indulged in a special shopping spree the day before to purchase synthetic long underwear. I have a feeling this is a direct result of growing up in Colorado, where there's a very real possibility of dying of hypothermia in the mountains if you get lost and get wet in any way. So, no kidding, this topic is not only pounded into you by your parents (assuming they're not transplants themselves, of course) but the elementary schools hammer this into your head as well. So I'm standing there in the parking lot making mental notes that these people must be nuts to take a chance on wearing cotton, and then realizing that this is probably my weird background showing through.
We caravanned down to the river (the ''put-in point'') and started unloading the kayaks. I started to untie the boats from the trailer, and several others stepped forward to unload them. We assigned boats, paddles, PFDs (the fancy name for life-jackets, Personal Flotation Devices. Computer nerds like me struggle not to call them PDFs accidentally.) and stowed our gear in the little compartments in the forward and rear, sealing them shut with little rubberized lids.
The van then led the drivers to the place where we'd be ending the trip and we parked the cars there. They opened the back of the van and we got in for the ride back...and this was a vintage working van, so there were no seats or anything. I plunked down on a spare tire while the others tried to balance along the sides and the wheel-wells. Now I noticed that I was the ONLY woman there.
''Jeeze,'' said a very tall guy named Eric, who was busy trying not to bonk his head on the roof of the van, ''I feel like we're going to a bank heist or something.''
''I've never been part of a bank heist, you'll have to show me how that works,'' said one of the three instructors with a shrug.
Everyone laughed and this seemed to break the ice nicely. ''Have you ever been kayaking?'' another instructor asked me.
''No. I have no clue what I'm doing.''
''Did you take the class?''
''Nope.''
"Ok, have you been canoeing?''
"Nope. Only white-water rafting."
''Can you swim?''
Everyone got a big guffaw out of that.
"Well," said Roger, yet another instructor, "There are generally four ways to kayak the river, Plans A, B, C and D." He started ticking them off on his fingers. "B is Plan A backwards. C is Plan A upside-down. And D is Plan A upside-down and backwards."
Sadly, this is true.
"So, Ben," says someone else, addressing a guy sprawled on the floor of the van. "You're a teacher?"
"I taught for...oh, four years or so," he said.
"How'd you like it?"
"It was fun. I taught in the south Bronx, middle-school. So, you know, it was like waking up in the morning with chest pains, the kids didn't give a damn...but uh...no, it was fun. I'm back in school getting a law degree from Wash U."
"Eric, is your wife on this trip?"
"She's eight months pregnant, and she's had some preterm labor problems, so....no, she didn't want to risk it."
"Man, you guys...you're expected to be there for everything these days," said an older guy. "When I was having kids they wouldn't let you anywhere NEAR them, you just dropped the wife off at the hospital and they called you a day or two later!"
The rest of the men seemed to be in some amount of agreement that this would be a preferable route, and they were being called upon too much. I couldn't let this one go.
"My poor husband," I interjected. "I had my second baby at home, so he got to be REALLY involved!"
There were lots of eyebrows that went up.
"Was that intentional, or did it just happen?" asked Roger.
"Oh, it was intentional. I had my first in a hospital and decided I'd rather chew off my own right leg than go through that again, so...it was very intentional."
The eyebrows were still up, but there were some affirmative murmurs.
"Where are you from, I mean originally?" asked Ben.
"I grew up right outside of Denver."
"Wow, Colorado. That's a really outdoors kind of state, isn't it?"
"Oh, absolutely!"
"You ski?"
"Some. But...that's a pretty expensive sport to really get into. I mean, it's fun, but it's pricey."
"How long have you lived here?"
"Oh...I guess we moved here in 1998, so eight years or so."
We got back to the put-in point and picked our way over the rocks to the kayaks which were sitting half in and half out of the water.
Up to this point I'd been the only person whose idea of a hat was a wide-brimmed gardening affair...everyone else was in baseball caps. I don't own a baseball cap, so my only option for a hat with a real brim was the gardening hat, a big, floppy straw one, with a chin strap. Oh well, I'd look like an idiot. Not the first time. I peeled back the lid on the storage compartment and got out my big hat and put it on. When I turned around I noted with some irony that each and every instructor had traded in the baseball caps for a similar wide-brimmed, floppy hat. Oh. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea after all!
I got into the kayak (I got one of the blue ones) and adjusted the foot pegs...apparently you make sure that your thighs are snug up against the inside rim of the kayak, it's how you distribute your weight across the width of the thing and it stabilizes the incredibly tiny boat...I gripped my 220 paddle, and one of the instructors gave me a shove into the water.
Surprisingly, I didn't immediately flip upside-down. (I had fully expected to do this, to the point of NOT bringing the digital camera (digital cameras don't enjoy full immersion experiences) and even taking off my wedding ring should it somehow have found its way off my finger and down to the bottom of the muddy river.) I took a few tentative paddles, got a couple of tips from some of the more experienced paddlers, and we slowly made our way upstream to a little side pocket of still water where the entire crew reviewed the trip, the timing, a few more techniques, safety, etc. and we headed out into the river.
It was really very pleasant. Most of us were rocking the kayaks side to side a little, getting a feel for their stability and temperaments. I made a few adjustments to the paddle grip and the way I was trying to move, and it got a bit easier. For the record, helps to remember that you aren't moving the water with your paddle, you're moving yourself. Deep digs and pulls seem to be more effective. If you need to turn, a wide sweeping motion works well, but if you have to turn sharply (the "Oh shit!" kind of turn), stabbing your paddle deep, vertical, and extremely close to the kayak works best. Of course you sacrifice any kind of momentum you had in doing this, but by the time you reach this stage anyway, you're quite happy to do so. That looming deadwood/submerged truck/whatever isn't something you want to be charging at Full Speed Ahead anyway.
I was behind most of the group to begin with, getting my bearings and making sure that I was sticking close to the most people possible. The river was very wide (well, to me, anyway) and while there was plenty of room, there were still lots of opportunities for all of us to accidentally run into one another, which we often did. The kayaks were recreational kayaks, anywhere from 14 to 16 feet long, and they seemed quite stable; at least more so than I'd expected! After a while the sun really started to warm up to a comfortable temperature, and I was perfectly happy in two layers of clothes and an outer shell. (I'd taken the fleece lining out of my ski jacket.) I did get splashed quite a bit...once you raise one end of your paddle up out of the water and high into the air, you get dripped on quite a lot, and immediately get the whole concept of a spray skirt.
Most of the fall color had already changed, and the hills were turning a uniform red/brown. There were a few cliffs rising up on either side of the river which were very pretty, and sweeping along with the river, listening to the light paddle splashes and the water chattering out of the way of little thin boat, I could see how this could really be an efficient means of transportation. We watched a huge Blue Heron spread his wings and leap up from the driftwood into the air, and a smaller blue bird flitted along the surface of the water. "That's a Kingfisher," said Roger, one of the guides/Park Rangers, pointing after the rapidly disappearing bird. "They move like woodpeckers with that quick up and down motion."
After another mile or so there were little splashes that you could see here and there, breaking the surface of the river. I assumed they were fish. I slowed down and saw that they were fish, popping up to the surface and splashing. "The river must be warmer here," said Rachel, one of the other kayakers. The guides agreed, saying that the fish were more active in the warmer water. "What kind of fish are those?" I asked. "Who knows...crappie, blue gill...there's a lot to pick from here. They're probably feeding." How perfectly marvelous, I thought, to be sitting here inches from the water's surface and watching dozens of fishtails flash in the sunlight and leave behind a cold, silver splash.
I remembered a little factoid from my trip to the Missouri History Museum...the name Missouri is a mangled bastardization for one of the Native American words for "canoe," miss-ou-ly. The Native Americans who were in this area were called "Canoe Men" by the other tribes, as this was almost exclusively how they traveled.
I was still thinking about this as my boat caught up to Ben's. "Hey," he said casually. "Ya having fun?" We chit-chatted mildly and I learned that he was finishing up law school...his current law professor was actually the lead prosecuting attorney for the Enron case. (Even though he gave no names, I have to assume this is Buell. At least according to a quick Google search.) He also worked for a U.S. Attorney, and had some interesting stories about his time there...like the 60 year-old grandmother who was prosecuted for stashing her grandson's drug money. Of course the marijuana conviction already on her own record didn't help her case much! He's rather newly married, and says he was on the trip only because his wife had organized the whole thing. "I just agree. Tell me what to do, and I'll do whatever."
"That's good," I told him. "Obedience helps keep you married."
He laughed. "I guess. Don't win too many arguments, though."
"Hey. You can either be right, or you can have peace in your home. Which is more important?"
"Too true. You know, every time I interview for a job, I tell them that I think everyone has a certain balance of arguments that they win in their life, and that I'm definitely due, because I haven't won very many since I got married!"
I like this guy.
After a bit longer I ended up following Roger though a narrower channel that was just chockfull of driftwood. One of the currents caught me and although I tried to get out of it, it was no good. I quickly gave up and focused on not getting stabbed by wood, which ranged from submerged tree stumps to huge branches that poked up out of the water and stretched above my head. I was headed sideways into a dam of driftwood, so I held my paddle out of the way and tilted the kayak slightly into the wood. (If you try to tilt away from the obstruction, the current is more likely to grab the edge of your kayak and flip you over, which is infinitely worse. So you lean into the obstruction and at least remain upright. I have no intention of swimming in a river in late October in 50 degree weather!) The boat knocked into the wood, but the current carried it swiftly around the dam without incident. "Nice recovery," said Roger. "That was no recovery," I retorted, still leaning hard on the paddle and swinging around to the left. "That was blind luck!"
They announced that we'd be stopping for a break at the next gravel bank. I got my first lesson on how to pull up to a bank sideways, and how to get OUT of a canoe. At least, with any hopes of staying dry. It has a lot to do with putting the paddle behind your back and holding it with both hands, keeping your weight shifted on the bank side of the paddle, all while lifting butt out of the boat and hoping that the kayak doesn't shoot out from under you, dumping you on your arse and disappearing down the river in a fit of gleeful abandon. I got a LOT of help (sad, really), and pulled the kayak further up on the bank.
We got our food out and moved around to an area that was a little more sheltered from the wind, and plunked down to eat. I ended up sitting next to Roger, and he asked how I was enjoying the trip. "It's really fun," I said. "I've always wanted to try paddling in some form or other. This is actually my birthday present."
"Nice present!" said Roger. "You should take the classes, too. There's also a kayaking club in the area if you're interested, they do a lot of trips."
I mentally tried to guess the price of a kayak and gave up. (Answer: $500 to $5,000, depending on extravagance and style. Mean average for a sit-in kayak that I would be interested in: $1,500.)
We got to talking and I told him a great deal about our bicycle trip in Europe, and a couple of fun camping stories I had.
He was pretty interesting, too. Probably in his mid to late 50's, and he used to be friends with a guy who was the lead architect for the Capitol building in Washington, DC. "The lead architect actually ends up being in charge of all maintenance kinds of stuff, too....all the electric, plumbing, all those physical plant things you associate with keeping a facility up and running," said Roger. "This fellow had constant contact with all the member of Congress, of course, because of his job, and he was always very...circumspect, he never said anything about any of the politicians who were living. But if the politician had died, he felt it was OK to talk about them, and he had some great stories. He said he knew Lyndon Johnson, and said he never knew anyone who could read people like Johnson could. He could talk to you for only four minutes and figure out just what made you tick. There was a Congressman from Indiana in the 1960s...a real jackass, he only lasted a couple of terms... who really thought he was something else, figured he was Presidential material. And he felt that his office wasn't sufficient, so he approached Lyndon Johnson very early on and told him, 'I'm Congressman such-and-such, and I'm an extremely important member of the Democratic Party, and I need to have my office moved to the Capitol building.' He said Johnson sort of looked him over head-to-toe, nodded slowly and said, 'I think I can help you, Congressman.' He came to my friend and told him to punch a hole in the wall of a storage closet to make an outside door to the hallway, and run a few wires to the closet in order to convert it into an office. It was a tiny space, but the guy was in Johnson's pocket from that moment forward, all because he got that office."
Now see, I would NEVER have thought to do that. I personally think that's just brilliant. I would have been so put off by this guy's attitude of superiority that I would have considered actively blocking him any access to the Capitol building at all, ever. But instead Johnson used that attitude and burning desire to make the guy an ally instead of a pain in the butt. That just never would have occurred to me! (I'm impressed, can you tell? A whole new way of thinking.)
After about an hour or so we packed back up and shoved off again. This time I managed to get into the kayak and pushed off on my own. For some reason I was one of the first ones back in the water, and the going seemed to be much easier. I felt pretty refueled, and I decided to see what I could do, so I started getting up speed and practicing turning, going forwards and backwards, etc. while everyone else was catching up. After awhile I started getting a better feel for it and picked up a rhythm. Eric and I were pretty much keeping up with Roger and we headed downriver. We passed some limestone cliffs (very nice) and picked our way through some quicker currents. I made my way through one and then turned the boat around in a pool of slower water to wait for the rest of the group. Roger grinned. "That's a technique, you know," he called. Huh? "You did that well. You ride the eddy through and pull to the side." Others started to make the turn, so I turned back around and started off again.
We saw some more Blue Herons, and thought how fun this would be to introduce David to a river...this would make a fun Science lesson! I watched some yellow leaves flutter down off the trees and spin through the air, softly landing in the water. (I also saw a cricket float down from the air and plunk into the water. Um...bad career move, dude. There are fish in here.) Pretty soon we could see the parking lot come into view, and there was a very small (!) concrete ramp to land on. Roger landed first, and helped Eric out. I had a devil of time trying to get sideways again and Roger said, "Just pull it in nose-first, I'll pull you up." So I did and he dragged the kayak forward. I got out and stretched while Roger and Eric started carrying one of the kayaks to the waiting trailer. Pretty soon some of the others started to arrive.
"You guys sure took off!" chided Eric from the water. "We were really digging trying to keep up with you, and then just gave up!" Rachel started to pull her kayak in and I stepped forward and grabbed the little pull handle to help haul the kayak up onto the ramp. She yelped a bit as the kayak threatened to tip, so I braced my feet and hauled it up quick so it wouldn't have the chance to capsize. I accidentally pulled nearly the entire boat out of the water and onto the ramp. Well...at least it didn't tip! Rachel's eyes got wide. "God you're strong," she said, slowly getting out of the kayak. I smiled at her. "Nah, you're just skinny," I said, leaning down to get the pull handle on Ben's boat. I ended up pulling nearly everyone out of the water (it was only about an eight-foot landing, you didn't have a lot of wiggle room, so I figured it was how I could be most useful.
The guides went to work packing up the kayak and there wasn't anything for us to do except head to our cars. I figured I'd be feeling the muscles in my arms the next day, but I wasn't prepared for how they hurt by the time nightfall rolled around. I took a couple of aspirin, but it didn't do a whit of good. They were sore mainly in the forearms, and all the way down to my knuckles! Ow, ow, ow! I was cold, so I put on Doug's fleece pullover, and he suggested that we go out someplace to eat. "Let's get you something to drink," he said. "I suspect you hurt due to your muscles being tense. I'm willing to bet that a little alcohol would do wonders for you." So we went to a Mexican restaurant nearby and I got one of their Margaritas...an extremely strong affair that was served with a tiny margarita glass and a separate container of yet more of the drink. It filled the glass around five times or so, and whaddya know, Doug was totally right. By the time I got through that thing I was feeling JUST fine, and we came home and I went to bed right after the kids.
