Gabriel Shirley

I just returned from a week of whitewater kayaking on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River in Idaho. It’s a part of the world that is officially in the middle of nowhere and is second only to the Grand Canyon on my list of rivers to paddle before I die. The terrain surrounding the river is incredibly steep and mountainous. Creeks pour down into the river as cascading waterfalls. Beautiful clear water flows with endless waves that are perfect for surfing a kayak. Mountain goats, mountain lions, elk and big horned sheep do well here. Cell phones and laptops, well, not so much.

A week of being completely unplugged created the space for me to focus on what the river has to teach me at this point in my life. After 20 years of paddling I’ve learned that the river always has something to teach. Sometimes with a gentle reminder, other times with a cold slap in the face. This particular trip was all about “flow” for me. I remember one of my earliest whitewater teachers helping us learn to read the river and begin to dance with it. He would say “See that boulder 100 yards down on river left? I can eddy out behind it in 3 strokes.” He would take off and we would follow one by one, taking as few strokes as possible, and learning to speak the language of the river — current, eddy, pillow, hydraulic — until we could feel it with our eyes closed and our bodies would adjust instantly to meet the water in its fluid dance.

The river is like life. It’s always moving and changing, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. A small number of fundamental patterns combine in an infinite variety of ways to create a complex, living environment that requires the mindset of a dance partner rather than an engineer.

Patterns

Standing waves retain their shape even though the water flowing through them is constantly changing.

Diagonal waves reflect off each other and bounce off the river bed to create a seemingly chaotic maelstrom that can rise up or fall away underneath you.

Eddies are places where water rushes upstream to fill a void, creating an opportunity to rest and assess your next moves… or to head back upstream and try again.

Hydraulics (or “holes”) are places where water flows over an obstacle and creates a recirculating pattern of aerated water. If you know where they are and how to read them you can use them to your advantage — or avoid them completely if they’re too big and hairy. If you don’t know where they are or don’t know how to read them, some can grab your boat and shake it violently, turn you upside down, and then do it all over again. In those situations you need to know how to surf and you need to know how to roll. Sometimes, if you get stuck, you can turn upside down and reach toward the bottom with your paddle. The current underneath will pull you out of the hole where you can roll back up and continue on downstream.

Bringing it Home

As I ease back into my work, these river fundamentals are sticking with me as metaphors. I am thinking of my work and each project as yet another river, each one a tributary to the big stream of my life. There is a general direction of flow, there are big waves and small ones, fast and slow currents, and there are periods where we seem to be stuck going around in circles. Each of these is important to the life of the river and the life of the work. It’s not about trying to change these patterns, but rather learning to work with the current and gracefully move where you want to go with the least effort possible. When that happens, you can feel the state of flow.

I can eddy out behind that rock in 2 strokes.

(Here are some pictures of my recent trip down the Middle Fork.)