How
Whitewater Paddling
Woke Me Up Story by Dawn Groves
T
he Life Calendar on my wall is a tall stack of 1080 rows divided into groups of 12. Vertical columns divide the rows (months) into 31 boxes each, creating a giant grid representing every day/month/ year of a life spanning 90 years. I highlighted in green all the boxes corresponding to my past. Days I’ve lived. A thin band of rows remained at the bottom of the grid, which I highlighted in blue. These boxes represent my future, the days still to come.
bad swims, I stored the whitewater boat and returned to the sea kayak.
…As you discern the splash zone, the current picks up. Suddenly there’s thunder everywhere. Kathy stayed with it and now travels for days, sometimes weeks, enjoying spectacular settings with her Class IV whitewater buddies. She always figured
On May 30, 2022, my nephew, Rob, died suddenly during the cyclocross leg of the Ski to Sea race. I was the kayaker waiting for his handoff. That was when I stopped paddling. Stopped doing much of anything. Seven months later, a kayak buddy, Kathy, took me to task about my never-ending inertia. “You’re a woman of a cerPhoto by Simon Berger tain age. Your body needs activity, or it shrivels up I gave up too soon. and collapses.” She suggested I enroll in Back to the present, I was turning the spring whitewater course offered by into mush. Rob would be so disappointed Washington Kayak Club. in me. I had to shake things up. Go big. It wasn’t an unexpected suggestion. So, I took Kathy’s advice and signed About twelve years ago, we were part of a up for the whitewater course as soon as group of sea kayakers learning to paddle the Washington Kayak Club posted it rivers to better our ocean skills. I loved in January. Because it didn’t start until it—such fun. Unfortunately, after a few 28
The heartbeat of Cascadia
March, I’d need a big, hairy push to force me to show up. Enter the aforementioned Life Calendar. There’s nothing quite as disturbing as seeing your future compressed into a few rows of blue boxes at the bottom of a giant grid. Procrastination was no longer an option. One day in March I found myself standing in a Seattle conference room getting to know nineteen other whitewater wannabees. I was definitely the mushiest. The course syllabus was no-nonsense: Show up every weekend in March, no exceptions. Be on time, wearing proper gear. Saturdays were pool sessions, and Sundays were rivers. After the morning meet-and-greet, I dragged my kayak into a scatter of fellow participants rinsing whitewater boats for entry into the pool. We practiced two hours of basic strokes and the beginnings of what would morph into kayak rolls. Good stuff but exhausting. I left wondering if I was out of shape or just plain old. Sunday was the first river day. I arrived tired but committed. We paddled in a light current, practicing a series of strokes and skill development games. The goal was to build confidence. We learned more than a skill’s how; we also learned the why. At the end of the day, I was dead tired but happy. The second weekend, we put in at >>> Go to
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