What a dramatic and exciting approach to the finish line!
Last night I got out of the river at the Fremont bridge and pulled up in the front yard of a kind gentleman who was interested and welcoming. After we’d taken care of all the stuff, I commented that there was probably high water coming. “Nah,” he responded. “It always does this. It comes up at night and by tomorrow morning you’ll see sandbars out there again.” I was dubious, but he’s lived here for a lot of years.
This morning we arrived back at the river to see that it had risen a couple of feet. Muddy brown water churned and boiled, racing past carrying with it trees and branches. I was elated to see the speed, nervous about the churning. Nevertheless, we readied Plattepus I as a small crowd of fishing buddies collected to watch. They didn’t exactly say so, but it was fairly obvious that they thought it sheer folly to head off on the cusp of a flood. I couldn’t disagree.
Easing into the current, I took off like a shot, slapping small waves and paddling my way through the upcoming bridges. That accomplished, I eased off only to discover that I was headed for a group of standing waves that looked rather too threatening to me and my little boat. There was nothing to do about it but hang on and keep the nose straight, hoping against hope that I wasn’t about to take a swim.
Amazingly, Plattepus I was born to this stuff. She took a breath, put her head down and went right through the waves, leaving them washing across the boat from every direction. I never tipped, never felt like I was about to be thrown overboard. There is enough flex in her hull to make me wonder if she’d break apart, but I had no reason to worry, so that in a couple of minutes I was in relative calm, tearing along at over seven miles per hour but not getting sprayed with waves.
That summarizes the day. I got better at avoiding the largest of the waves, looking far ahead to figure out a route around them. By 10:00 the sun had come out strongly and I was getting burned, but didn’t want to let go of the paddle long enough to dig out my sun shirt. I was in the constant company of whole trees and continuous flotsam and jetsam. When I saw two whole, huge, live trees topple into the river in front of me, I decided to avoid keeping too close to the shore. I didn’t think it would be all that much fun to be under a tree when it toppled.
All of my mileage and time estimates went out the window. Since I could cut corners without running aground, my estimated mileages were all too long, and the speed of the river sailed me from bridge to bridge with breathtaking speed. What I had started out planning to be a very long day ended up being one of my shortest.
If I were living along the river, I’d be holding my breath. One campsite was already under water, the murky brown water running right through tents and RV’s. There are an uncountable number of RV’s and houses just a foot or two above the current river level, so if I were they, I’d be a bit tense right now.
The most fun of the day was my arrival at the fourth bridge, where I-80 crosses the river. I knew that Tammy and Sheila and a couple of reporters were going to be waiting for me there, but when I pulled up I was totally shocked to see Micah and Elisabeth waiting for me as well. They had driven over from Wisconsin on a father-daughter road trip to surprise me at the end of my journey.
So now it’s raining, and there’s a lot more in the forecast. Two and a half hours tomorrow and I’m done. Here’s hoping….
Last night I got out of the river at the Fremont bridge and pulled up in the front yard of a kind gentleman who was interested and welcoming. After we’d taken care of all the stuff, I commented that there was probably high water coming. “Nah,” he responded. “It always does this. It comes up at night and by tomorrow morning you’ll see sandbars out there again.” I was dubious, but he’s lived here for a lot of years.
This morning we arrived back at the river to see that it had risen a couple of feet. Muddy brown water churned and boiled, racing past carrying with it trees and branches. I was elated to see the speed, nervous about the churning. Nevertheless, we readied Plattepus I as a small crowd of fishing buddies collected to watch. They didn’t exactly say so, but it was fairly obvious that they thought it sheer folly to head off on the cusp of a flood. I couldn’t disagree.
Easing into the current, I took off like a shot, slapping small waves and paddling my way through the upcoming bridges. That accomplished, I eased off only to discover that I was headed for a group of standing waves that looked rather too threatening to me and my little boat. There was nothing to do about it but hang on and keep the nose straight, hoping against hope that I wasn’t about to take a swim.
Amazingly, Plattepus I was born to this stuff. She took a breath, put her head down and went right through the waves, leaving them washing across the boat from every direction. I never tipped, never felt like I was about to be thrown overboard. There is enough flex in her hull to make me wonder if she’d break apart, but I had no reason to worry, so that in a couple of minutes I was in relative calm, tearing along at over seven miles per hour but not getting sprayed with waves.
That summarizes the day. I got better at avoiding the largest of the waves, looking far ahead to figure out a route around them. By 10:00 the sun had come out strongly and I was getting burned, but didn’t want to let go of the paddle long enough to dig out my sun shirt. I was in the constant company of whole trees and continuous flotsam and jetsam. When I saw two whole, huge, live trees topple into the river in front of me, I decided to avoid keeping too close to the shore. I didn’t think it would be all that much fun to be under a tree when it toppled.
All of my mileage and time estimates went out the window. Since I could cut corners without running aground, my estimated mileages were all too long, and the speed of the river sailed me from bridge to bridge with breathtaking speed. What I had started out planning to be a very long day ended up being one of my shortest.
If I were living along the river, I’d be holding my breath. One campsite was already under water, the murky brown water running right through tents and RV’s. There are an uncountable number of RV’s and houses just a foot or two above the current river level, so if I were they, I’d be a bit tense right now.
The most fun of the day was my arrival at the fourth bridge, where I-80 crosses the river. I knew that Tammy and Sheila and a couple of reporters were going to be waiting for me there, but when I pulled up I was totally shocked to see Micah and Elisabeth waiting for me as well. They had driven over from Wisconsin on a father-daughter road trip to surprise me at the end of my journey.
So now it’s raining, and there’s a lot more in the forecast. Two and a half hours tomorrow and I’m done. Here’s hoping….
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