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Definition of whitewater: frothy water (as in breakers, rapids, or falls)
Definition of andragogy: the art or science of teaching adults
One of my all-time favorite westerns is Lonesome Dove. Written by Larry McMurtry and later adapted into a TV miniseries starring Tommy Lee Jones and Robert Duvall, it's the classic tale of two retired Texas Rangers leading an epic cattle-drive to Montana. In the opening scenes, the stoic Captain Call played by Jones is seen trying to saddle a spirited dapple-gray mare they have nicknamed the Hell Bitch. It's not going well for Call as the horse tosses off the saddle and kicks him away.
Gus played by Duvall watches on with amusement as Call dusted himself off and walks angrily toward him and the corral fence. In their conversation, Gus utters a line that stuck with me over the years.
"Look who's talking. When did you change last?" he questions Call, "Still breaking horses when there's plenty of gentle ones."
Call refuses to budge commenting on the strength, intelligence, and the beauty of the animal despite its bad temper and willful ways.
For some reason, I thought about that scene as the pace of the river I was kayaking began to accelerate. I was approaching the succession of its oncoming rapids, where the rocks and water collided into a relentless storm of white fury. Frightening and exhilarating all at the same time, it's foaming and churning wild water that showed every sign of being untamable.
In the brief moments, before my anxiety yields to the rush adrenaline, I couldn't help but wonder why a man of my sensibilities is still trying to learn to paddle whitewater rivers when "there plenty of gentle ones" in this world.
"Do hear that?" Kim Sprague asked me as we listen to the low rumble of the rapids in the distance. For many, the sound of running water can be soothing. Who doesn't love the sound of a babbling brook or lake waves lapping along the shore? But that's not whitewater. Rapids roar. Rapids thunder. Rapids boom.
"Those who don't, can't hear the music." he declared.
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| Kim Sprague |
We were just downstream from where gold was first discovered in California on the South Fork of the American River. During the spring and summer, the Northern California river is a playground for whitewater kayakers and rafters seeking a rush of excitement. The first 5 miles from the Chili Bar access is brimming full of Class III rapids with intimidating names like Meat-grinder and Trouble Maker. The Marshall Gold Discovery Historical State Park access to the Greenwood Creek is the so-called easy section through the valley consisting of several Class II rapids including a popular surf spot named Barking Dog.
Descending at 33-feet per mile toward Folsom Lake "The Gorge" features the river's most challenging series of Class III rapids and is the last section of the river.
That section will have to wait for another day when my skills are hopefully more advanced. We decided on the alleged easy course for this lesson.
"We call this rapid Fuzzy Bunny," smiled Kim as we looked downstream scouting the rapid from our boats. He had already led me through a routine of paddling fundamentals in eddy turns and edge control most of the day. He had his work cut out himself, as he tries to break me of years bad habits. A paddling coach through and through, Kim preaches an effective and efficient stroke.
"Look where you want to go. Maintain your momentum and really drive your boat when crossing the eddy line," he instructed, "And no back paddling!"
He continued to remind me and reassure me throughout our time on the river that paddling whitewater can only be developed with time spent on the water.
Out on the river, I followed behind in a swift water version of Simon Says by attempting to mirror every one of Kim's movements. When he went to river right, I went to river right. When he edged to the left, I edged to left.
It's not just bombs away with Kim. He wanted me to catch and work every eddy along the river.
Catching eddies is an invaluable skill in whitewater paddling. In practice, it allows one to break down complex rapids into smaller chunks, but by doing so, paddlers evolve into better paddlers with even better boat control. Of course, for a newbie like me executing these moves can lead to an unplanned swim and rescue. Kim patiently takes it all in stride.
"We've all been there," he explained, "If you're not swimming. You're not working,"
Kayaking is a mental activity as much as it is physical. The hardest thing to learn is to stay calm, focused, and aware while on the water. I did my best to keep up, but like a lost tourist not knowing the streets and paddling tentatively, I missed a few eddies. To slow the motion of the kayak, I instinctively use my bad technique and pushed my paddle in the water as a brake as I moved past Kim safe in the eddy. He slapped the water with his paddle blade in rebuke. "Don't back paddle," he pleaded.
This dog does have a bite, however. While there is a large recovery eddy to left, there is is a powerful back eddy on the right just below the rapid. Churning like an out of control washing machine the water spins forcefully back upstream into a clump of trees that will only add to a paddler's misery. Just like in auto racing, the equivalency of crossing this eddy line is like hitting the wall at Daytona.
"T-Bone the wave," Kim commanded, "Hit it head-on. Keep it straight and stay to the left. If you turn sideways you'll roll!"
There is an electric moment of suspense as I approached and committed to running this plunging trough and its foaming crest. Following Kim, I dropped into the vortex. Suddenly, I was not just in it but I was a part of it. Like a thrill ride at Disneyland, the kayak was shoved down and just as quickly lifted up and hurled forward, only to be driven down again. I lost sight of everything except the bow of the boat as I'm doused with the wave's spray again and again. I scraped against the river rights eddy line swirls and all I could think of in my full-on survival mode is to keep my balance and just paddle aggressively as I can until the water smoothed out around me.
Looking back at the giant wave, I had a sense of euphoric triumph and as well as a bit of relief as I paddled back to join Kim in the foam-laced eddy below the rapids. As famed canoe guru, Sigurd Olson wrote, "In the grip of the river, a man knows what detachment means; knows that, having entered the maelstrom, he is at its mercy until it has spent its strength. When through skill or luck he has gone through the snags, the reaching rocks, and the lunging billows, he needs no other accolade but the joy that he has known."
There were some more trips through challenging rapids along the way to Greenwood Creek. An obstacle course rock garden at Highway Rapids and the exhilarating high mounting waves of Swimmer's Rapids to end the session at the take out.
Like every good instructor, Kim offered praise of success at the end of the day. He added a list of things to work on (don't back paddle) and think about it for next time. But, that will be another day. Tired and feeling a bit beat-up, I picked my boat up and followed behind him on a hike to the parking lot.
Looking back over my shoulder, I caught one last glimpse of the river and its easy flow. At that moment, the scene from Lonesome Dove about the bad tempered pony flashed across my mind.
"I never seen a more intelligent filly," says Call. "Look how she's watching."
"She ain't watching you, cause she loves you," retorts Gus.
Yes indeed, there are plenty of gentle rivers out there to explore, ride and meander. Some of my best days have been spent aimlessly floating along in a placid waterway. But rapids unleash something wild in me. Beyond no doubt with tales of epic swims, lost boats, and even lost lives, whitewater paddling does offer some tough love. But, I want to know and understand its untamed spirit despite its dangers unpredictability. Its thundering rush does certainly does call to me.
Do you hear it? As Kim says, Those who don't, can't hear the music.
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