life

Paddle High Five!!

/ Sloan / 2 Comments

When life hands you a paddle you better dig it in the river and paddle as hard as you can! This weekend I spent Sunday in Ohiopyle, PA(yes, that’s really the name of the town!) and was able to get on the Lower Yough and have a turn at some white water for the first time. It was a-mazzzzing! I might be addicted and need to commit to doing this more often.

These guides are incredible, they practically live on the river, ride it daily and know its twists and turns as well as they know the layout of the furniture in the houses they grew up in. But just like life, the river changes—throws the rider over a rock, through a rapid or it rains and the river completely changes it outfit and goes from a level 3 rapid to a level 4 or 5 and tosses the riders for an even bigger ride and you have to adapt. You have to take it, you have to dig the paddle and even if you get air and miss the water completely you’re still trying, still moving forward, and still paddling.

The power behind one good push and paddle is empowering. As the rain fell, (because it rained the whole 7 miles down the river) and drops fell from my helmet, my arms used every muscle, each pull they flexed and I sweat and the 17 year old high school girl and I agreed that we felt pretty bad ass going down rapids on a Sunday afternoon in the thunder and rain. At one point we hit a rock and she and I both went flying—the river was cold, rocky, and rough but our team pulled us out and we started paddling again. Because that’s what you do. You keep going. I repeat. You keep going.

Who knew Ohiopyle, Pennsylvania would show me so much? The river would be a perfect metaphor for my life, your life and life in general. Paddle on friends, paddle on!

 

Check out my Facebook page to see video of us riding down the Dimple!

Water Sounds the Same Everywhere

/ Sloan / 1 Comment

Dad and I wake before school and notice the sun cresting over the horizon. Melting backwards above the water line, shining pink, purple and peaches over the water. Early mornings call for low voices, as if we talked any louder it would disturb the peace, so we whisper. The lake laps the sand, kissing it good morning.

Sitting on the beach on the edge of Lake Huron at 2 in the morning we listen to the fresh water lap on shore, the blanket under us and the moon bright above out heads, just our voices and the water. 17 years old, I felt rebellious being outside with a guy, my dad asleep at the house and the lake as beautiful as can be.

That same beach three years earlier, a small fire and remnants of marshmallows and Hershey wrappers, giggling girls worrying about soccer games, boys and finals week. We were a club that didn’t do anything special. We were watching the crescent moon rise, the stars fall and at 3am the Northern Lights peak above the horizon in an eerie glow that danced to the rhythm of the waves.

Lake Michigan: the other side of the state and bit further south. Eating ice cream with a man I’d later call my boyfriend—the conversation ranging from our pasts, to the confusion of the future. The lake laps laps laps and talks back to us. Months later we call it quits near that same beach. The water listens and doesn’t take sides.

The ocean. I live in the Mid Atlantic now and recently found myself on the beach at 1:30am wrapped in a Mexican blanket having one of those conversations; we talk about the greatness of having paddle boarded this morning, the uncertainties of jobs, relationships, life and decisions that need to be made sooner rather than later. The ocean laps too, the moon shines bright over head and the stars fall just the same as they do over the Great Lakes.

We whisper while putting the kayaks in the salty water, afraid to wake neighbors or disturb the osprey’s nest that is being built not far off shore. Hot coffee (with a nip of Kaluha) is bungeed in front of each of us, PB and Jelly sandwiches in a dry sack for later—we watch the sun rise over the Atlantic, we listen to the lapping of the waves and I notice as drops of water drip off my paddle. I propel myself through the oily water in a smooth cadence. Perfection in a silent sunrise. I’ve  learned that water sounds the same everywhere. Water and water people come together and create something great.