The Wolf in Early Spring

Every year since 1983 I have given myself a birthday gift.  My birthday is in early May, which is coming up on the end of winter here in Wisconsin.  I have spent a good deal of the winter in front of the fire with friends and family.  It is a time of togetherness and calmness.  But I have to admit, by late March I am starting to feel the pull of spring.  I want to get out, be on my own, find the adventure that is just outside the circle of the fire.  So every beginning of May I go out onto the Wolf River in North East Wisconsin and canoe or kayak down her powerful form.  Because it is still cold (there's usually still ice in shaded pools) and because She is swollen from winter's melt off, I am usually alone on the river.  This is exactly what is needed at that time of year, a reconnection with the wild part of me, the one that runs silently through the forest, alone and connected to Nature.

But The Wolf is a wild river.  She has dangerous spots on her that can end a vacation and even a life if one is not careful.  She is not there for human needs and wants.  She is free to be herself and she has many moods.  Most people are not foolish enough to try to float her during the spring run off.  I have been doing it now for 30 years this year and I respect her more now that ever.  I never take her for granted and know one wrong move on my part could be the end.  Being by myself on the river means there is no one there to help me if I fail.  But during that time of the year this suits me fine.  I love my people, I love what we humans can do, I like to be with people...until I don't.  Then I crave a solitude that I will risk life and limb for.  It is something that can not be explained, but those of us that have this need understand it without it being spoken of.

Summer in the Rapids on The Wolf

The story I will tell you is something that keeps coming to mind in these changing times.  A day in my life that changed me and my relationship to the river. 

In 1986 I was canoeing down The Wolf as I did every spring.  She was a bit higher than normal, but I knew she could be worse.  This was my third trip down her so I was feeling like I knew her enough to get a little cocky at times.  I took a few more risks than I had before, but I was becoming an expert.  I came across a set of rapids that to that date I had always portaged around.  In high water it was just safer to take to land there and I never felt confident enough to actually try shooting them in high water.  This year was different though.  I had already shot a few new rapids and came through with flying colors. Why walk, carrying all my gear, when the river was right there to do it for me?

I read the rapids, picked my entry point and started in.  Piece of cake.  Yes, there was a good pull and I was going to have to wrestle to stay in the water but there was an exhilaration in being part of this very powerful river.  I had made it over halfway through when the front of my 16 foot canoe caught a rock I didn't see.  The boat lifted right up out of the water.  Since I was in the back (where you sit when paddling alone) I was lifted right up with the canoe.  I can still see the image of the river moving away from me as I was lifted six to seven feet above it.  That moment seemed to last forever as I knew that I had to come down and when I did it was going to be bad....very bad.

The canoe came down sideways, flipping me and a few items of my gear into the water.  I went under and was churned into the rapids.  I tried to put my feet forward but a stronger part of me was trying to get to the surface.   I could see the whitewater above me and hear the current all around me.  The first rock that I hit I think probably saved my life.  I hit it with my left hip and it was enough to snap me out of struggling to the surface.  The second rock I hit I was ready for, I hit it almost textbook perfect with my feet.  Several more I was not quite so lucky but at least I was keeping the vital parts of my body from taking the blows.  If you ask the instinctual, feeling part of me how long I was underwater I would respond "hours and hours."  It felt as if I was never going to find a place to come up.  The world narrowed down to a pin prick of light that was always whitewater just out of reach.  The common sense part of me though would probably say I was under a little less than 2 minutes.

The water slowed enough for me to grab onto one of the rocks instead of slamming against it and I shot to the surface.  I'm sure I gasped, I KNOW I choked.  I looked around and realized I was very close to the shore, close enough to reach out with one arm and grab it.  Doing that was another thing entirely.  It meant I had to let go of my rock with one hand and at that moment I had it in a death grip.  Then the adrenaline dump hit me and all I wanted was out, Out, OUT!!!!  I dived for the shore and climbed up on dry land.  I really don't know a whole lot about the next few minutes, adrenaline helps erase memories I am told, but I do remember seeing my canoe jammed in a log jam.  I remember getting the tow rope and pulling it out.  And I remember crying, lots and lots of crying.  Being that I was alone there I'm sure that the crying was from me.

From a calm place that I was not attached to I did inventory and found out that my first aid kit, camera case and camera, my map and compass, and the spice and utensil bag was missing.  The canoe had a seven inch gash in the bow but other than that looked fine.  Most of me though was shaking, crying and laughing so hard I ended up with a case of the hiccups that I simply could not get rid of.  I remember them being painful.  Other pains did not register until I had calmed down somewhat, with the biggest one being a spectacular bruise on my left hip and the assorted scrapes and cuts. 

Later, while warming up over a gentle fire I, for a short period of time, decided I was not only never going back on The Wolf, but I was giving up canoeing all together.  I wasn't going to float even on a three foot deep pond on a calm day!  Thank goodness after a good night's sleep and a roll of duct tape to fix the gash in the canoe, I was ready to "get back on the horse" or put paddle to water again and be on my way.

The Dells of The Wolf

The lessons I learned that day?  Maybe to NEVER shoot rapids again?  No, in fact I have done these same rapids many times since then without the dramatic results.  I don't try it in a canoe anymore, instead I use a good whitewater kayak with a spray skirt and a much better fitting life jacket.   I learned to respect the river, not to fear her.  And through that respect comes love.  Loving something means loving it for what it is, not for what I want it to be.  The Wolf is a powerful river, wild to the core.  I probably would not canoe her as often with such memories if she was not what she is.  She is dangerous, she can kill, she is cold, she is fast, she is wild, she is free.  As long as I do not get over confident and think of floating her as a ride in the park, I can still enjoy being with her as she is, without ever wanting to change her.

This lesson has been coming home to me a great deal in the last few years and even more so now, having me compare The Wolf to life itself.  My life has become a wild and wonderful ride that I am not always in control of.  I am finding that the old ways of doing thing, the things I have become so comfortable with that I might consider myself to be becoming over confident again, these old ways are changing, forcing me to change with them.  I am going back to the basics, getting away from crazy, over the top thinking and instead doing and thinking in much more simple terms.  If something takes too much to explain, then it probably has a touch of the BS to it.  I'm seeing old family traditions with new eyes.  I'm feeling the energy that I have worked with for a very long time more powerfully than I ever have before.  And I'm learning to let go of things that no longer work.

The problem with letting go means that the river of life may pull us under for awhile.  There may be bumps and bruises, there may be a time we have to hold our breath and watch the churning waters just over our heads.  And there may be a time when we have to grab onto the rock and haul ourselves out for a minute of rest.  But just because we step out of the fray for a minute, it doesn't mean that we will never get back into the water. 

Life has been churning me around quite a bit as all this change is happening.  It seems like everything I have ever hoped for is coming true all at once.  It is a crazy time in my life but I wouldn't trade these lessons for anything.  Still, I'm hanging on to the rock for a minute before I let go and fall back into the water.  Is letting go a wise thing?  Maybe not.  But I will not trade the adventure of life for the peace of death quite yet.

American Indian Burial Mound still under Snow near The Wolf River