Blue Snow White Wind

Blue Snow White Wind from Brett Mayer-Aschhoff on Vimeo.

I opened the shed door. It was dark. I could see a few shadows on the wall. I held up the match, and was able to spot my boots. I walked over to the shelf. The boots were cold. The laces hung down and dragged on the dirty plywood floor as I made my way for the door.

I wanted to load the Jeep so we could make a quick getaway in the morning. Plans are simply plans. They have a way of falling apart. We were overly tired. I opened my eyes at seven o'clock in the morning and desperately wanted to keep them shut.

We finally arose. The car was packed, but there were a few random sundries that did not make it to my gear bag. The slow process of gathering things I could do without began. I could not find my outer shell. Two hours passed before I shut the car door and stepped on the gas.

We arrived in Seneca Rocks close to two o'clock in the afternoon. The day was not entirely wasted. We decided to try and move past the frustrating morning and go for a hike. I cannot think of how many times I passed Seneca Rocks, but it was not until Saturday that I stood atop the ten foot wide fin of rock and stared into the valley below.

There was a dusting of snow on the ground. I wondered how the snow conditions were on the other side of the mountain. It was hard to believe the reports. Fifteen miles up the road we were surrounded by two feet of snow. Canaan is truly another world.

Hellbender Burritos is always a great time. Kerry and I managed to post up in the corner of the bar for four hours. It is one of the only places in town with a television. We were glued to the playoff action. The Steelers pulled it out. The Raven's season was over. I discovered Yellow Snow IPAs.

We deliberated for some time about where to sleep. I voted for the back of Jeep. This was perhaps a rather silly romanticism of mine: me, the wife, the dog, squished into our sleeping bags, piled under blankets, tucked away from the blustery cold and dark of night. In reality it was craned necks, sore hips, dog hair, frozen feet, and baggy eyes in the morning.

Nevertheless, we perserved. We woke up in the Whitegrass parking lot. Our plan was to go cross country skiing. We decided breakfast was a good idea. We changed our minds and decided to go skiing. We changed our minds again, and decided to walk the dog. We finally decided we better head into the shop and rent some cross country skis. There were so many people trying to ski there were no skis left. We decided downhill skiing was a better idea anyway.

Timberline was great. The slopes were coated with a few fresh inches. It was a relaxing day. We took in the scenery, enjoyed the terrain, and took a rest here and there to check the scores of the playoff games.

Kerry learned to 'drop in' in the terrain park. I attempted to learn to throw a 360 under the superb tutelage of a young lad who seemed to consider himself the czar of the mountain. He invited me to try. I was intrigued and took him up on the offer. I almost landed it on my first try. The following ten attempts did not end so well. On the last attempt I knocked the wind out of myself and smashed my face in the snow.

All in all, it was a great weekend. Canaan increasingly feels like a home away from home. If we end up on the east coast, I may have to make the relationship official one day.

Until next time...

Milepost

It is hard to believe, but this is my one hundredth entry. I started 'Homegrown Locals' four years ago. The original title of the blog was 'Kayak Harder'. I started writing simply in the spirit of wanting a written record of some of my adventures on the water. In many ways, my writing remains true to my original intention. At certain points I approached the endeavor more seriously, and on other occasions let many months pass in between entries. When I look back, it is easy to see how my writings and adventures coincided with where I was and how I felt about life.

There were times when I considered giving it up. There was this nagging insistent feeling that what I was doing was simply a waste of time. I am glad that I continued. My life changed dramatically in the past four years. I feel incredibly lucky to have had so many opportunities to see and do things I never imagined I would have the chance to do. I am thankful for the friendships I forged over the past several years. My friends are often my inspiration for doing, exploring, and seeking the truth in life. Paddling whitewater often seems the glue that keeps us all together, but over the years our friendships have grown far beyond the river.

I moved to Bethesda, Maryland when I was twenty-five years old. In all these years, I never really felt like I moved to Bethesda. I always felt like I moved to the river. I remember my first night in my old apartment at Landon. I put my boat on my Jeep and asked for directions to the river. I pulled in the parking lot and carried down to Sandy Beach. I surfed a few waves around S-turn rapid, and met an old guy named Frank. He had long scraggly white hair, and a peppered beard. He had an old school surf boat. It was a warm summer night. We laughed and surfed until dark. The sunset in the gorge was beautiful. I was completely hooked.

It is an interesting thought; the river has been the most persistent presence in my life since I started all this. It never leaves. It is always flowing. It is always there. It is always calling me back. I have driven to the river feeling brave. I have driven to the river feeling sad. I have driven to the river feeling angry, lost, and confused. In every instance, I left feeling a little better than I did when I arrived.

None of us ever really know what's over the next horizon line. I feel like I spent a lot of my twenties seeking out new horizons and running most of them blind and backwards. I broke a lot of boats, drank a lot of beers, slept on the ground in a lot of different places, and broke my own heart more times than I care to admit to even those that are closest.

The river flows on though. There is no slowing it down, no holding it back, and whatever I was before, I know that I am now not the same. I am bits and pieces of all the rapids I ran clean, my worst swims, and all the times I hiked out. I am the best and worst of what I have always been, but just a little bit different every day.

I think most of us are this way.

So, I suppose I shall mark this post with a toast: to falling apart and pulling your heart back together.

I hit the river this afternoon. It was cold and I was alone...

but that was just an illusion.

'Keep it together Mayer, keep it together'.

Here's to one-hundred, and the best yet to come.

Cold and Alone from Brett Mayer-Aschhoff on Vimeo.

Seneca Mission

Seneca Creek from Brett Mayer-Aschhoff on Vimeo.

The Rescue

I am finally finding a quiet moment to sit down and write this story.  I hope I can recapture the emotion from last week, but I am afraid doing so is going to be a difficult task.  Nevertheless, I am going to give it my best shot. 

A little over a week ago I saved a woman from drowning on the Potomac River.  Perhaps I should correct myself in laying claim to being in control of the event of saving this woman, but in the common vernacular it was in fact me who paddled out into the water to save her.  I am simply not so sure I was working alone.

It was Friday.  I left school on a warm, sunny afternoon.  I jumped in my truck and headed to the Falls to unwind with some afternoon laps.  I could not stop thinking about something I caught on television the night before, a documentary about a spiritual healer in Brazil.  As strange as it sounds, after I watched the film I was markedly calm.  I went to sleep.  When I woke up the feeling remained.     

I arrived at the river.  The parking lot was mostly empty.  A couple strolled the towpath. A woman walked her dog.  The temperature was above average for the time of year, but it was an otherwise normal afternoon.  I crossed the canal and headed down the path to the river.  The water level was high. The river had been low for months.  It was the first time I saw it with real water in it for quite a while.  I decided to walk around 'Grace', and ran one lap on the 'Fingers'.  I paddled down through O'Deck.  I surfed the wave for a bit, but was not really in the mood.  I really just wanted to be outside and enjoy the afternoon.  I paddled down to the 'Fishladder' to take out, but decided to float down through 'Rocky Island Waves'.  As I paddled downstream, I noticed a woman crouched by the side of the river in a small pothole.  I noted she was pretty close to the water, it did not seem too unsual. 

I looked up at Rocky Island.  The sky was bright blue and it was warm.  I knew there were not too many warm days left in the season, so I hopped out of my boat and climbed the cliff to sit in the 'King's Chairs'.  The chairs are natural stone formations that look like someone took a huge ice cream scoop and scooped out a chunk of rock to make a  smooth stone lounger.  It was the perfect spot for a warm sunny November afternoon. 

I was sitting for a while.  I was thinking about the film I watched the night before, God, being in the moment, and a smathering of other utterly idealistic notions for which my mind is all too commonly attuned.  I decided to close my eyes and try to clear my mind of any extraneous thoughts.  I placed my hands on the rock, and started breathing in and out very slowly.

Suddenly, I opened my eyes.  I am not sure why I opened them at that moment, and I am not sure for how long I had them closed.  I scanned the river.  Immediately I noticed the pink hat bobbing up and down through 'Rocky Island Waves'. 

I yelled out.  I was too far away.  No response.  I ran quickly.  I down climbed.  Loose rock slid as I scrambled down the vertical pitch.  My boat sat in the shadows.  I jumped in and strapped my helmet.  No time to pull my skirt.  My arms stroked voraciously at the clear crystalline water.  My body tired. I mumbled words of encouragement under my breath to keep going.  Finally, I reached her. 

'Are you alright?'  She looked up with a milky white stare. 

'I'm fine'.  I was confused.  The water was freezing.  She was not flailing around.  She was drifiting in the current like a floating stone.  She was anything but fine.  Several hundred more yards in the main current and she was going to float straight to the bottom.  This stretch of river sees an average of six or seven deaths per year.  This year, the park service had already seen eight.  Nine was not an option.

'Do you want me to tow you to shore?'  The answer seemed obvious, but I awaited her response anxiously. 

'Yes'.  I pulled hard.  We made it to the rocky bank in the nick of time.  There was no one else on the water.  There were no hikers.  There were no climbers.  The gorge was empty.  I took off my dry top and gave her my t-shirt.  She pulled off her wet top.  I stared up at the cliff face.  We were not in a good spot.  The only way out was up.  We had to get back to her car as quickly as possible.  Hypothermia can set in quickly.  I was thankful we were not miles from help, but we still had to negotiate the cliff. 

I asked her name, and a few other basic medical questions.  I explained I would scout a route for us to make it up and out.  I looked carefully, trying to find the easiest way up.  After a few moments I was satisfied, and we proceeded to climb.  There were a few places where exposure was a big risk.  One misplaced step and we could both wind up in the river, or worse breaking our fall on a rock ledge fifty feet below.  I spotted her, braced her, gave her hand holds, and hoisted her to the top.  It was a relief when we were off the rock face. 

She was in relatively good spirits.  Cold, but not too distraught.  The hike out was short.  After ten minutes the trail came to an end and we were near the parking lot.  I noticed the park police car, but there was no ranger.  I figured it was a good idea to report the incident if someone was around, but it was most important to get her a change of clothes and into a warm vehicle.  There were two kayakers in the lot changing after their surf session at O-Deck.  She changed her clothes.

I was cold.  We hopped in her car.  She blasted the heat.  I felt there was something more to the situation, but I was not sure what.  I told her there was no good reason for me to be sitting on Rocky Island that afternoon.  There was no good reason I opened my eyes to see her hat at that moment. 

She asked if I believed in God.  I said yes.  I was sitting on that rock for a reason.  She said she was glad I rescued her, because she was beginning to feel forsaken by God. 

I asked her why she felt that way. 

'My life has been a lot of pain.'

'Why is that?,' I replied.  She responded with a long list of abuses, broken relationships, and recent misfortunes.  She recently lost her job and was working as a cashier at McDonald's to make ends meet.  She said she had no friends, and asked if I had a lot of friends.  I told her I was lucky to have some good ones. 

She leaned her head on my shoulder.  The bright lights shone through the car window.  It was the park police.  I hopped out and met the officer halfway. 

'Is that your boat?,' he asked.  I told him it was.  On our way out of the gorge, he was hiking in to do his nightly rounds.  He was making sure there was nothing unsual going on in the park at dusk.  He noticed my boat, and assumed an accident had taken place.  He called in the park helicopter to do a search.  They were looking for me. 

There was no way I could have known.  I explained what happened.  He walked up to the car and questioned her.  I sat in his police car, and cranked upt the heat. 

He came back and was about to back up his car.  I told him he may want to make sure she leaves the park.  He asked what my intuition was.  I told him I was not exactly sure, but it was possible she did not just trip and fall. 

He asked her as politely as he could if she had thrown hersel f in the water.  When she responded no, all he could do was let her go.  I got out of the squad car.  I walked up to her and gave her a hug goodbye. 

'Take care of yourself,' I said.  I thought to say 'I love you' for some strange reason, but held back.  She understood. 

The officer drove me back to my truck on the Maryland side.  It took nearly an hour to make it there with Friday night traffic.  I shook his hand and bid him a good night. 

'It was good thing you did tonight,' he said.

I closed the car door. 

I am not sure I will ever by able to explain that evening, but I do know the entire event was not a coincidence.  I will never know if she threw herself in the water.  I am not so sure she did.  Maybe it was more like she was 'pulled' in by circumstances outside of her control.  Perhaps the circumstances of her life led her to the edge of the river in the strangely cushioned depths of an ancient stone pothole to contemplate the meaning of it all.  Perhaps she arrived at the river's edge in the same way as I arrived at the top of the rock, likely contemplating the same questions. 

There are things we cannot see.  There are things that happen that are far outside of our control. 

The river is wide.  The river is deep.  It is shallow.  It is rocky.  It flows in straight shots.  It meanders back upon itself at the strangest of times, but all the while it is creeping ever forward.  There are a million ways to be dashed to bits. 

That afternoon I felt light in the deepest of my bones. 

We are not foresaken.   

Thanksgiving Sessions

The fall season is flying by in a hurry.  So far the weather has been unusually mild, and there has been relatively little rain.  The Falls are typically starting to run high again this time of year, but we've had water levels hovering around an average of three feet for the past several weeks.  It is hard to complain.  The boating has been great.

This weekend offered some more beautiful weather.  A lot of guys were in town for the holidays, so we met up for a 'Thanksgiving Session' this afternoon.  I caught some good footage and filmed a few new angles. I climbed on top of the rock in the middle of the river above 'Sweet Drop'.  The video short is compiled from today's session.

Congrats to Scott and Katy on their recent engagement.