‘RIVER ABOVE THE RIVER’
Sasha Chudacoff
SLIPPING INTO THE OH BE JOYFUL FLOW – ON SKINNY SKIS. By Leath Tonino
Oh Be Joyful – the stretch of steep, rambunctious creek, the daisy chain of waterfalls spilling from designated wilderness, the secret little swimming holes and mossy boulders and polished slabs and glittery veils of spray, the intricacy and dynamism and power. Of the valley’s innumerable beloved landmarks (watermarks), OBJ ranks at the top of my personal list. Accordingly, I’ve tried again and again – compulsively, enthusiastically – to engage it, explore it, make visceral contact with it: body, mind, soul, spirit, etc. Camp beside OBJ during the spring melt, listening through my dreams to a thousand singing voices in the surge? Been
there. Wade barefoot up OBJ when the water is low and the summer sun is bright, scrambling the cascades, sloshing through the slippery pools? Done that. Read ancient Zen texts about sweet achy ephemerality – about change being the sole constant – while sipping dark beer on a golden autumn evening, breaking now and then to gaze into the eddies and foam? Yup. Shy of kayaking the rowdy rapids (above my pay grade, though I do relish the vicarious thrill of witnessing friends huck their meat), I’ve experimented with darn near everything. Or so I thought. Then came one of the best Sundays ever: last April, tail end of a decently snowy winter, gauzy clouds 95
