River Journey
Well, actually, as I think of it, the mystical part started at the top of the run on Tuesday.
As I started the run, I was out front of my paddling friends, with them in a long line behind me like bobbing buoys on the water. It isn’t my favorite place in a line of paddlers, as I like being in the middle somewhere. But for a moment I was at point, feeling alone on the river, watching the sunlight light bounce off the wave-tops, glorying in the feeling of solitude though there were likely a hundred people within shouting distance.
And… this raven flew along the length of the river, between the boaters. Straight downstream at me. Looking me in the eye the whole way. It passed within three feet of my boat, fluttered its feathers, and landed just in front of me on a branch. And turned and looked at me with one golden-brown eye. And stared. Time did a little twitch-and-pause. My boat seemed to slow and sit still in the rushing water. The bird and I stared. Apprehension raced down my spine like a trickle of ice water as I considered what I know of such things, and as the bird stared at me.
A portent? An omen? There are those who will think it a portent of death. I did.
In that odd, prolonged moment, I did one of those little “look at my life” things that I have done several times over the years. Okay, often over the years. And as I stared at the bird and the bird stared at me, something happened.
And I still don’t know quite what it was. If I have to say, I’d state that some, strange, nameless, fearful part of me slid away on the water, drowned, and left a more peaceful me in its wake. But that is in retrospect. At the time, I just felt a sense of dislocation.
And then… then I passed the raven, carried by the water. Rod paddled up next to me, worried. He had seen the odd interplay between the bird and I. He knew how weird it was. He’d felt something happen too, between the bird and me. And he knows as much about portents and omens as I. He knows what the raven can mean. We talked about it. And I decided we both would be very careful for the next 24 hours, though the raven can mean death for the next moon phase.
I wasn’t afraid, mind you. Not at all. Merely cautious.
Yeah, I know. Death is possible at any moment. But, while I don’t fear death, I am not ready to welcome it with open arms, a drink and hors d’oeuvres.
And you already know I survived the rest of the run… But that interplay between the raven and I set the stage for the next day well.
Day two, Wednesday, on the river was… Well, I am seldom at a loss for words, but it was too big, too intense. I want to do it justice, and I fear that maybe I can’t. The water of the Nanty was a cold 45 degrees, the weather was a chilly 60. A constant slow rain fell in a spatter on the water and lowering clouds fell from the sky… And our little group was alone on the river.
Which sounds totally awful. But I have really good cold weather gear, so I wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead, I was sitting in a boat, on a river abandoned by everyone but our small group (a bit changed from the day before) being rocked into peacefulness on the swift whitewater.
Watching Dave Crawford (of Rapid Expeditions) paddle is always a treat, whether he is doing some flamboyant move, taking a Class IV, or relaxing on the water, letting it carry him. I watched the way he feathered his paddle, and the angle of his boat when he ferried across the current - not when he was playing in a rapid, but between the rapids, when the water was uncertain of its violence and yet determined of its direction - moving, but not raucous. And I copied the feeling of his movement. It was a slow, easy use of my body’s resources, not the hell-for-leather play-boating of the hair-head set, but the pure enjoyment of the water moving over the earth and stone. And once again, something happened.
I turned my eyes to the sky and let its tears bathe my face. I watched the way the clouds slid down the hillsides, dancing through the early fall-tinted trees, golden and scarlet with the cold. Saw the heavy mist kiss the river and dance away. I watched the kingfishers darting and diving. I let the earth/mother/river carry me. And whatever part of me had been touched by the raven, was at total peace.
Must be used in a book some day...
Faith