I have always felt that a river has a soul. It’s a living, moving body shaped over time, and driven by exploration. If you have ever been fortunate enough to visit the waters of Montana then you will understand why I was forever changed by my time there.
Twelve years later, when I close my eyes, I can still be transported through time and space to my Montana river. It’s not unlike the perspective offered by one of Dickens’ ghosts, in that I can see a younger version of myself standing on the water’s edge. I can still feel the cool water dancing across my bare feet. I wonder what wisdom would I share with her…if given the chance?
The past version of myself seems taller...I think. Perhaps, it’s just that my long, tan legs appear to stretch on without end. I’m holding a pair of flip-flops in my right hand, wearing cut-off jeans, a bikini top, and covering my short blonde hair is a blue bandana. The warm glow of the setting sun shines down onto my face as I stand with my arms outstretched.
The Clark Fork River in Montana is over 300 miles long, and was named for one of the two pioneering explorers Lewis and Clark. The pair of adventurers set out on an epic expedition of discovery; which took them from the great Mississippi River all the way across the continental divide to the majestic Pacific Coast. The younger, and most certainly blonder, tanner version of myself has traveled down 25 miles of that river.
I remember the morning I was roped into the trip with total clarity. My friend, who could best be described as a small town socialite because I was quite certain she knew every one in our community, was trying to convince me that a trip to the Montana wilderness was exactly what I needed to recharge my batteries.
“You will love this, and honestly I think you need it. You’ve been so stressed out lately,” the Socialite said putting both hands onto my shoulders. Its not often that a friend of mine can look me directly in the eyes. When you are a nearly 6 foot tall woman, direct eye contact is not something you readily encounter. So when she said, “Its rafting….what could possibly go wrong, Slimmer J?” I just rolled my eyes and smiled.
I had once told the Socialite the story of how I had come to possess the nickname Slimmer J and she simply loved it…..possibly a little too much… because even to his day still refers to me by the moniker. When you grow up with the name Summer Friend, you can imagine the unique challenges such a name might bring. After opening my bank account in college, I received the debit card in the mail. As I opened the envelope, I discovered the words Slimmer J Friend had been printed directly onto the plastic. Really?!? I thought. My friends were significantly more amused about the typo than I was, and not unlike famed musician’s J Lo or P. Diddy, my nickname was brought to life.
The Socialite was a difficult person to say no to. She has one of those bigger than life personalities that you either feel totally overwhelmed by, or find yourself completely drawn to. There isn’t really anything in between when it comes to interacting with a high-energy person. Truthfully, I really did need to step back from my own life….even if it was just for a weekend. Before I knew what was happening, I strangely heard myself say, “Alright. Why Not. Could be fun.”
It was just two weeks later, that I found myself loading my bag into the back of a Subaru wagon. Standing in the driveway, I began to assess the seven women that I would be traveling with to St Regis, Montana. Four hours later, I had determined my adventuring companions could be best described as follows: the resolved Cowgirl, who rode horses daily on her family farm. The determined Athlete, who had participated in several marathons and mountain climbing adventures. The dark and light haired Best-Friends, who had known each other since childhood; experiencing so much life together they virtually moved as conjoined twins anticipating each others actions. The Lutheran Minister, who I was strangely not able to read at all. And of course the enthusiastic Socialite, who was the only person I actually knew in the group.
After reaching our destination, we piled out of the vehicle and stretched our legs. The Guides had not yet arrived, and so I took the opportunity to survey the scene. I was slightly concerned that I was not seeing any kind of raft. They were likely going to be bringing the raft with them, I optimistically thought. The only mode of transportation that I saw near the water’s edge happened to be four canoes…which could not possibly be for us.
I had mentally prepared myself to travel the river atop a comfortable, floating, barge. An unstable, hollowed out log….torpedoing towards death…was not in my plans! I had determined, based on the overachieving composition of the group, that this collection of women could certainly make up for any athletic deficits that I most certainly possessed. The raft fit much better into my romanticized notion of how this trip was going to go.
After the Guides arrived any remaining raft illusions that I was still clinging to…. were quickly shattered. “So this is going to be a two day expedition,” the Guide began. “Day one… we will go about 17 miles, and encounter one moderate drop. Day two…. we will only go about 8 miles, but the river will be choppier overall, and we will face one larger drop at the end. For now, the other Guide will take all your gear, and meet us at the rendezvous point this evening. Does everything make sense?” she asked…. without really pausing for any questions. “Why doesn’t every one grab a life vest, pair up, and find a canoe,” the Guide stated, completing her instructions.
…..and there it was. There was definitely not…. going to be a raft.
Everyone else seemed rather comfortable with this shocking adjustment. I, on the other hand, thought I might be having a little stroke. Yes, I was definitely hearing a ringing sound, and was that copper I was tasting in my mouth…I’m pretty sure I was tasting copper. Fun fact…..I don’t actually know how to swim. A small detail… I had neglected to inform the Socialite of… before agreeing to come on this trip.
Naturally, assuming they would make perfect canoeing companions, the light and dark haired Best-Friends nearly ran towards the water, and hopped into a canoe. The more senior members of the group, the Minister and the Cowgirl, paired up and claimed their vessel. “Well, at least I know I won’t be getting wet,” proclaimed the Athlete as she hopped into a canoe with the Guide.
The Socialite, looped her arm into mine and said, “We totally have this Slimmer J!”. Had I been thinking strategically, it might have been smarter for me to pair with the Guide, but that certainly would not have made for nearly as memorable of an adventure.
Upon hearing the “snap….click” of my life-vest buckle, I suddenly felt a strange sensation come over me. It was a bit like some kind of movie scene where the heroine encounters a magical elixir. The mere act of putting on the vest virtually gave me an overwhelming, and arguably totally irrational sense of confidence. I was looking my fear square in the face, and I was feeling invigorated!
The Socialite and I each took our paddles in hand, and claimed the last remaining canoe. I chose to sit in the back of the canoe. Should things go poorly, perhaps the Socialite could serve as a shield for me, I thought.
As we pushed off into the water, I was stunned to discover that we were actually finding a reasonable rhythm. Working in unexpected unison, we talked and laughed as we made our way down the river.
The Best-Friends strangely could not seem to find anything that resembled a rhythm as they navigated the river in a zig-zagging pattern for the majority of the day. They were literally doing twice the work as the rest of us. Their struggle, though personally annoying to them, offered a great deal of amusement to our group.
Additionally, it did not escape my notice that the Cowgirl and the Minister seemed to be gliding through the water with remarkable ease…. for women of their age.
“Okay….we are coming up on some big rapids up here…. just before today’s drop,” the Guide yelled over her shoulder. “Just try and keep your canoes pointed strait ahead.” The Guide and the Athlete were the first canoe to take on the rapids, and they maneuvered the drop with an amazing level of precision. Attempting to follow their lead, the Socialite and I fell in line as the second vessel to navigate the choppy waters.
“Um, this might be a good time to tell you something,” I yelled to the Socialite. “I don’t actually know how to swim.” The Socialite whipped her head around and replied, “What?!?”
Before we had even finished our conversation, the front edge of our vessel had caught a wave, and we were thrown into the water. Much to our amazement, the rest of the pairings seemed to navigate the drop with little to no trouble. This fact was another element of great amusement we discussed at that night’s camp fire.
By the time we reached our campsite, we all felt as if we had accomplished something extraordinary. I can say with certainty, muscles I wasn’t even sure a person should even know about…. were throbbing. That evening I literally collapsed into my sleeping bag, and fell asleep within minutes.
The next morning, I heard the Guide say, “Now remember ladies, today isn’t going to be nearly as long, but the water is rougher, and we will face a large drop near the end. It’s critical that you stay to the right when going over this drop. Should you get swept towards the left you will find yourself pulled into a swirling eddy that will be very difficult for you to get out of. Someone will likely have to rescue you.”
This was not at all sounding good, I thought. If we couldn’t get over the smaller drop yesterday, how on earth would we manage this one?
The second day, I was still fairly impressed with the rhythm the Socialite and I had found as we made our way down the miles of river. It did not escape my notice, however; that the Cowgirl and the Minister seemed to yet again be gliding through the water with remarkable ease. “What secret do they possesses?” I asked the Socialite. “Let’s try and match their stroke pattern,” the Socialite replied.
As we pulled up next to the Cowgirl and Minister’s canoe, we began to dip our oars into the water with a matched level of precision. Despite our best efforts, their canoe continued to pull ahead of ours. Something was clearly going on.
“Alight Minister! What witch craft are you practicing over there?” I called out across the water. “Well…I did row crew…in college. The secret is in the wrist,” the Minister replied, with a glint in her eye. “But…but that was like….forever ago,” I stammered back. “I guess I’m getting better with age,” the Minister said, graciously taking my sarcastic retort in stride.
“Well, we have nothing but time woman….and I don’t care if you are a woman of God….we are coming for you, Sacajawea!” I replied, as I began to row with greater intensity, revealing my clearly competitive nature. The Socialite just threw her heard backwards in uproarious laughter.
After stopping for lunch, the guide yet again reminded us of the crucial element of heading towards the right side of the upcoming drop. Even with all our Guide’s warnings, I was still not fully prepared for what we saw when we rounded that final bend. “Holy crap! Those rapids are insane!” I yelled. “We’re totally not going to make that drop! I screamed, nervously scanning the waters ahead.
“We need to get low in the canoe,” the Socialite replied. “We are so tall….maybe if we lower our center of gravity!” I’m not sure why we thought this same tactic that had utterly failed us the day before would somehow work this time, but we had to do something.
As our canoe felt the drop in the river, I sensed time pause…. for just a moment…. right before we found ourselves thrown from our vessel, and sucked towards the left side of the river.…. into the arms of the aforementioned, avoid-at-all-cost eddy. In what could only be described as nature’s toilet bowl….you could see our oars, our water proof bags, the Socialite, and myself simply floating round and round. Sadly, our canoe was nowhere in sight.
I quickly reached over to snatch an oar, which I thought might serve as some kind of ancillary floatation aid. It was then that a water proof bag containing the camera drifted by me. I was already clinging to my oar, and so I reached out and snatched the edge of the bag in my teeth…..as anyone would logically do in the same situation. The Socialite looked over to see me floating on my back, oar in hand, camera bag in my teeth, and she simply burst out laughing.
We gathered most of our belongings in our loops round and round the eddy, as we waited for a group to a rescue us. Sometime later, an unknown group of gentlemen appeared….on a raft of all things. I could only think in that moment, how this might have all gone differently if we had not been forced to navigate class-four rapids….in what can only be described in the most ridiculous mode of transportation ever invented….the canoe!
Our Rescuers shuttled us down river where we met up with the rest of our group, who had fortunately, or perhaps not so fortunately, discovered our unmanned canoe. By the time we reached the end of the second day’s trek, I could only laugh about the events of the last several hours. Much of the trip had gone far from what I had envisioned in my mind…not unlike life. The deeper lessons that I took from my river adventure, however; resonate within my soul even to this day, and most certainly will stay with me long into the future.
As I wrote this story, I was reminded of the final words of Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, “I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future! The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me.” Sometimes a trip into our past, courtesy of a Dickens’ ghost, is just what we need to remind ourselves…. that our future has not yet been written.
Though our journey down life’s river might at times experience pain, struggle, and failure; it’s also blessed by beauty, laughter, and accomplishment. At the end of the day, I believe the most valuable lessons are learned on the choppiest of waters, and the greatest test of our character is revealed after we have been knocked out of the canoe.
If I could share some wisdom with the younger, tanner version of myself as to the secrets of a life lived well, it might contain a charge to remember we often regret the things we didn’t do more than the things we did, a caution to choose your traveling companions wisely, and a challenge to embrace all that your river has to offer!
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Summer Smith is a speaker, writer, and motherhood blogger. She and her family are currently navigating the suburbs of Northern Virginia. As the mother to four young children, Summer maintains her sanity thanks to her sense of humor, copious amounts of coffee, and Amazon Prime. Maya Angelou once said, when reflecting on her childhood, that her mother left an impression like technicolor stars in the midnight sky. Influenced by these words, Summer blogs at her website Motherhood in Technicolor, and can also be found on her Motherhood in Technicolor Facebook page.