Whitewater Fever Part I

Whitewater Fever


My kayak drove up onto Danny’s kayak then twisted in a corkscrew motion so that it was now completely upside-down.  The front of the kayak was out of the water and wedged between Danny’s kayak and some rocks and somehow, I had managed to get my head out of the water.  My body was still in the kayak, held fast by my spray-skirt, and I was twisted sideways with my head resting on a flat rock.  Most of my body was under water but at least I could breathe.  The whitewater was crashing all around me with tremendous force, but I was stuck.  Both of my arms were pinned under the kayak.  Danny looked helplessly down at me.  “What should I do?” he asked.  I looked up at him and said, “Danny this bad.  This is very bad.”


Kayaking is one of the fastest growing sports in America and it’s no wonder.  Kayaking is a great sport.  You can get some much needed exercise while taking in the best that nature has to offer.  The gear you need to get started doesn’t cost much and after that, your only cost is gas to get where you are paddling.  But kayaking is also a dangerous sport.  You are taking your body into an environment that is potentially fatal.  All it takes is one wrong move, or more likely, one stupid move and you’re in deep trouble. 


When I started kayaking, there weren’t many outfitters or clubs, so most of my early trips were haphazard at best.  I learned the hard way, but it is my hope that by reading about some of my bone-head adventures, you might learn a little and spare yourself the danger or at least the embarrassment that I’ve experienced.  If nothing else, you might get a chuckle at my expense.


So what happened to Danny and me?  Check back for the next post to find out.

Whitewater Fever: Part II

Whitewater Fever: Part II


They say a little knowledge is a dangerous thing and I guess this trip proved it.  My wife, Andrea, and I had been paddling for about five years.  The first three years we were very careful and only paddled on small ponds and lakes.  Then we took a guided trip down the Delaware River and everything changed.  Once I got hold of nautical charts for the Delaware, I was convinced that I was all set.  I had no idea that the water level changed radically depending on snow-melt and rain. 


We took our friends Justin and Danny with us.  I was paddling a whitewater kayak—thinking I was all that and a bag of chips—while Justin and Danny borrowed our old recreational kayaks.  Andrea paddled her beloved Eddyline Merlin.  It never occurred to us that I was the only one paddling a kayak that was made for whitewater.  No matter, we had paddled the Delaware at least a half-dozen times in those old recreational kayaks and we always wore our life vests.


It had been raining heavily the previous weeks, and the Delaware was running high.  We were smashing through waves and having a great time.  We spotted a feeder creek that was normally just a dry rock bed.  Now it was a raging whitewater siren calling our names.  I asked Justin and Danny if they wanted to hike up and run the rapids and of course, they agreed.  Andrea was far too smart to join us, so she waited by the entrance to the stream for us to come out.  I had estimated that the whole side trip would take us 15 minutes.  45 minutes later when Andrea saw no sign of us, but saw debris floating down the stream, she began to worry.
To be continued…