Examination Rapid

There is a river in Quebec called the Dumoine, and it is one of the places where I cut my teeth as a younger paddler. It is known as a great 'teaching river' for the progression of difficulty of each subsequent rapid. It starts gently, giving you places to practice basic manoeuvres, figure things out. Like the way the canoe moves when fully loaded, the balance and strokes of our paddling partners, the effect and synergy between river current and hull. As it moves downstream, the Dumoine river gets increasingly technical, forcing you to up your game; combining whatever skills and water sense you have accrued. The last major rapid on the river has been named "Examination", a set whose overlapping features require more finesse and precision in boat manoeuvring and teamwork. This is a river that teaches us as we go along and presents new challenges usually just at the point when we are ready.

I find myself wondering this week that I am being tested. I have sunk deeper into myself of late, remembered who I am more profoundly. I have been learning how to love things with less attachment, and have the courage to leave my heart open despite the risk. I am learning to turn shit into fertilizer, to put it another way. I have felt...happy. At peace. Despite the mystery that yawns before me and the broken path and burned bridges behind me. And I am being presented with a challenge this week.

Bridge Rapids on Beaver Creek (not the Dumoine).
As a friend said recently "We'll burn that bridge when
we come to it."

It is my real work: To stay put in myself despite what swirls around me, or threatens to pull me off my line. To see the obstacles ahead and what came before and take note, but not stare into them. To not get pulled into the maw of that recirculating wave that looms ahead. To thread the needle when necessary. And to love the beauty and intricacy of the river, despite it's hazards. To be myself, as graceful or clumsy as I might be from moment to moment.

River paddling is often about finding the quiet water that lies in the midst of the maelstrom. To hit the glassy black tongue between rooster tails and standing waves, however narrow it might be. At times, often when we are paddling more challenging rapids, we end up off line, in a place all our scouting from the shoreline did not reveal. We are faced with the need to execute "plan B". Here we are required to be fully present in the flow and pay attention to what is emerging from moment to moment, and respond with whatever skill and precision we have learned on our journey.




If I have hurt you I see that, and am sorry. If you have hurt me, thanks for the shit, it's proving to be rich ground for growth.

On the Loose

There will come a time, a month or so from now, when I will be loosening my grip on this home place for a time. A longer absence, most of a few months with only short breaks.

I have gotten used to this staying put thing, especially so this winter. I have revelled in it, become attached to this way of being still. Although I know the anticipation of the departure is worse than the actual doing will be.
It worries me, makes me uneasy; this looming period of being on the loose. I have gotten used to my temperature controlled existence, the comfort of my version of 'routine'. The time I have had to be within myself, the pauses I have built into my days. Down in there somewhere I also worry that by pulling up anchor, I will be forgotten again.

But I am about to be unleashed upon the wild places. Mountain, ocean, river will become home once again. I will forget the patterned safety of the day to day in favour of something magical. I am supremely lucky. Privileged to opt out, at least in part, of this modern existence. The rhythms of wind and tides and currents will reshape my senses, and loosen whatever plaque has built up in my mind. I will reset my internal clock, sink into a quieter way of being, forge new connections with myself and others. I will relearn what it is to be me, and the true meaning of 'staying put'. I will have permission to unplug and be accountable only to the here and now. I will walk beside those who may or may not know they have come to do the same.
We will be washed clean by this wildness, find space to breathe more fully, and will leave distractions and  trivial concerns behind. We will remember what matters and heed our own truth, which is simple and elemental. It can be found in wind sculpted stone, in the confluence of salt water and sand, and in the potential energy of a building storm over mountain passes.

As I approach this transition, I may sometimes crave the safety of the harbour, but this ship is made for more than that.