The River Makes All the Difference

by Elizabeth Slaughter-Ek

"Prepare for impact, Captain!"

"Aye, aye, Mr. Spock!"

Our makeshift raft--two canoes tied together with shoelaces--drifted into the shore and bounced off the bank.

"Don't move, crew! The Boatship Enterprise can handle this. . . no problem!" Julie, my partner, sat back with her paddle and relaxed.

"Another crisis safely averted," said, Dahlia, the Star Trek fan who had nicknamed us and our raft.

"Is that your scientific opinion, Spock?"

"It's only logical, sir."

"Assume tanning positions," Julie exclaimed and we all proceeded to make ourselves comfortable and soak up the sun.

Drifting down the wide and peaceful Manistee River with the sun blazing in a blue Saran-wrap sky is the perfect way to spend a weekend. The water was ice-cold, but no one had flipped yet. With two canoes tied together, we figured that it was virtually impossible to flip us anyway, so we just relaxed and drifted. Nancy and I had slathered ourselves with baby oil and peeled down to bathing suits. We were in the front of the Boatship. Julie and Dahlia were in the back, and as the rudders they were the ones who had to keep a look out for any trees that we might get swept under. Nancy and I weren't required to do much of anything and we promptly dozed off. Daydreams of last year's trip floated through my mind. What a difference this was!

(Cue suspenseful music) Beginning of canoe flashbacks. The Pine River. (Crescendo of sound. . . da na na na!)

One of the best rivers for canoeing, they had said. A beautiful river for canoeing, they said. What they neglected to say was how fast and how sneaky the Pine River really was. There we were, Julie and I, inexperienced little freshmen, out for our first canoe trip with our floor classmates. Excitement, yes? Not for very long, however, as reality soon set in. Not only was the river fast, it was devious. There were dozens and dozens of hairpin turns, rocks sticking up in the middle of the thoroughfare, evil-looking trees edging out over the water, waiting with leafy grins to snag us inexperienced canoers and drag us under.

To make things even better, it was raining. Not a nice little shower, or a real blood-and-guts thunderstorm, just a constant grey, spirit-dampening drizzle.

At the beginning of the trip, Julie had been saying with utter conviction, "Don't worry. . . we won't flip." And if it hadn't been for that tree, I don't think we would have. As it was, we were swept up against a low-hanging tree only an hour into our 8-hour trip. The canoe went under the tree. We went into the water. Brr! Oh my god, was that water COLD!

Staggering and dripping, we managed to pull our canoe up, and climb in again. It was half full of water, and sinking fast as we frantically tried to bail it out.

Woomph! We flipped over for the second time. It was getting harder to be cheerful about this whole thing. One of the guys up ahead parked his canoe and came back to help us. He lifted the canoe and dumped the water out, then helped us back in. Numb and blue, we continued on our way.

A paddle-slap on the leg and a splash of cold water woke me up fast. I looked around me, half expecting to see the twists and turns of the Pine. Ahead of me stretched the Manistee River, restoring my faith in this business of canoeing.

"Wake up, Sulu, you lazy shit, prepare for heavy tree action." We had drifted close to some low-hanging trees on the side. Nancy and I paddled indifferently, while Dahlia cut us in the direction of the middle of the river until we were out of danger. Once we were back on course, the paddles were flung to the middle of the canoes and everyone lay back down. We drifted. I could feel the sun burning into my shoulders and thighs. "Sulu reporting heavy burn damage, sir." Laughter from the rudders. I closed my eyes again and let the Boatship lull me away.

Flashback. Shivering cold and wet, Julie and I paddled automatically. We no longer saw the scenery, we were too numb. Coming around another of the anonymous corners we heard the shouts of warning and lifted our heads to see the birch trees. Two huge, long birch trees had fallen across the river, leaving only a narrow passage. Three canoes from our group were smashed up against them like dying fish, their occupants frantically clambering over the trees to safety. One of the canoes was lengthwise across the opening, and before we knew it, the river had pulled us up against the trees.

In slow motion, I felt the suck of the river on our canoe, and then the shock of the water as we were flung out. I could hear Julie shouting and sputtering to save the cushions and the paddles. She was hanging desperately on to the end of the canoe and the current was pushing her against me. I couldn't swim against the current, and it was too deep to touch bottom, so I let the river take me until I was pulled out by one of the guys from our brother floor. He had managed to snag the cushions and paddles too, then he hauled all of us up to the shore.

My lips were turning blue and I couldn't stop shaking. Julie and I just stood there while the guys played Rescue Squad for the rest of the canoes coming through the birch trees. No one escaped unscathed. Someone managed to get it into my waterlogged brain that we still had a couple of hours to go. Groans. Cries of anguish. Protests.

We set off again. Paddling became mechanical. I could no longer feel my arms. The only thing keeping me going was Julie behind me saying, "Switch. . . switch. . ." I don't even remember very much about the last couple of miles on the river. At least we had gained enough control over our canoe that we weren't constantly whamming into shore or hitting rocks in the middle of the river. I swore that never again would I set foot into a canoe. "Julie, I'd rather SWIM than paddle anymore!"

"What's so funny, you?"

I craned my neck around and looked at Julie. "Just remembering last year's canoe trip," I said.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh my god. To think we lived through that mess!" We laughed, and I looked down at the canoe, glad that I had decided to try it again. The beautiful weather and the wide, slow river had made all the difference.