River Rat

We drove down the back country road and were amazed at the scene that surrounded us. The river was flooded. It had seeped its way right up to the road. Tree trunks were submerged from toe to girdle. My friends whooped. Our kayaks shivered in anticipation. I swear I heard the Sugar say, "Welcome, Teach. I've got a thing or two to teach you about swimming." My belly quivered.

Kayaks unloaded, and with 20 minutes to kill while a car was shuttled to the takeout point, I stood on that foreshortened shoreline. I pulled on my swimcap, wet my goggles, stretched my shoulders, and sized up the Sugar.

I never have been good with sizes.

My first step in took me over my head. I had chosen to step right off the edge of the former river bank. Never to fear, I know how to swim. I thought. I struck out for the middle of the channel, neatly crawling my way along, thinking I was the boss of this bus. I attained the middle and looked over my to my friends on shore. Huh, how'd they get up there?

OK, I would just swim back upstream to them. I maintained the illusion that I was in charge for another 15 seconds or so. Neat strokes and controlled breathing rapidly deteriorated into pure flailing for all I was worth.

To no avail. My attempts left me gasping for air, shoulders aching - and mere feet farther upstream. I changed tactics (midstream as it were) and angled for the side. I reached it and grabbed hold of some bushes and hauled myself, hand-over-hand, branch-over-branch to the landing.

Standing on the shoreline, I shook myself out. My friends shook their heads. But I was ebullient. "I've never swum in anything like this before! I couldn't even swim upstream! I understand how people get swept away and drown." Safety Friend hastened to grab the rescue buoy and clung to it with one eye and me with the other. He knew that I intended to have another go at that river.

I was scratched and bruised, but I had learned. Let the current take you downstream but swim diagonally to shore so you can catch onto something. Anything will do. I continued to add to my collection of scratches and bruises. And to my appreciation for the power of water.

By the time my companions returned from the shuttle, I was ready to sit for a while. We put our kayaks in. I stayed with my paddling friends, on top of the water - above the water - dodging obstacles and wending our way through flooded forest land for 2 hours. Then the swimmer in me poked at my insides. I craved more. Communion with that water. A need to be swept away but to regain myself, find my strength, strategize for equilibrium in the midst of an awesome power.

My friend barely grabbed my kayak and I was off. River-rat-diving under the surface, swimming faster than I had a right to. The current allowed me to keep up with the kayaks. I picked up my head, saw the kayaks pacing ahead of me, and yelled, "I feel like the lead swimmer at Ironman!" I dove, I crawled, I somersaulted and dragged my fingers along the bottom, tracing wavy lines into the sand, feeling that river with my fingers, drinking it in with my face - a tactile overload - down to my bones.

And then I remembered the logs. We dodge them and jump them and limbo them in kayaks. What could a swimmer do? Welcome to LogLand - a playground that's not sure if it's marine or terrestrial. I was never able to tell a log's stability until I hoisted myself up onto it and started my walk down its gangplank. Some sunk slowly beneath my weight, just allowing me to dive before it sunk me completely. Others held fast and allowed me to walk their length - dip walking just to be fancy (and really, what an aptly named walk for me) - to choose a diving spot of my own.

Then I was swept into that current again, swimming, diving under, flipping, writing my life story in the sand - free. I swam like that until my legs were gelatinous. Until stroking downstream made my shoulders protest. But how can you end such a swim? How can you willfully close a chapter in which you feel beautiful, at one, at peace?

You can grab a friend's hand and let him help you into your kayak. Accept a peck on the cheek, a beaming smile on your face, a sparkle in his eyes.

You can go from one beauty to the next.