White water and death

The moon was nearing climax, casting a blue glow over the faces in the circle of chairs. The sloping walls of the canyon appeared pale and ghostly. My feet were warm buried deep in the still searing sand. In front of me sat the people I had just met only a day ago, who were now allowing me to guide them down the Lower Salmon river. As with the previous trips I had run, one of the other guides had brought up my Class V kayaking experience at some point during the trip. Now the inevitable had happened. I was asked to tell a few stories about some close calls or near misses. With a very relaxed tone, I would recount the time I got a concussion on Clear Creek, or when my paddling buddy and I collided in the large hole in Cascade. Succumbing to the pain of a few dislocated ribs, I passed out doing limp body cartwheels in the the violent froth. The white of their ever widening eyes would contrast the black back lighting of the beach. Feet would shift nervously sifting sand between toes in anticipation. Gasps would slip out of unsuspecting mouths. The same questions would always resonate in my ears after the story would end, "Are you afraid to die?" "How can you be so calm about it?" "You must have some balls." My answers "No" "No" and "nah they are about average" needed more explanation each time those words tumbled from my chapped lips. I am not afraid to die. This is not hubris. This has come from a few close calls. Most I walk away from unscathed, a few with just minor dings, but all with a greater understanding of "the end."

I love kayaking. It allows me to focus, the world to slow, and peace to flood within. The moment before a boof, the lip of a waterfall, and cartwheeling in a hole, are all the quietest the world can be. No sound can pierce those moments. No fear can steal them away. Nothing matters but the next second. This allows me to live in that moment. To realize it for its beauty. To notice every bubble in the water, every heave of my lungs, every crease in the rock, and really see its purity. It is as though I see the secret to life, the key to the universe. If I need to put myself in a situation where I might have a few scrapes with death, then the risk is definitely worth the reward. The pure nature of kayaking forces me to be calm. On the other hand the dangers of Class V kayaking are greatly exaggerated. You are more likely to have a serious car accident then drown kayaking. All kayakers weigh risk with reward. Sometimes the calcuation doesn't work out. Sometimes freak accidents happen, but from experience, there are more close calls than direct hits.