The Texas Water Safari 2012, Day 1

I figured I'd wait until the river dreams stopped before writing about our adventure, but a week later I'm still having them. Maybe I need to purge to stop the dreams- so here it goes, Day 1 Texas Water Safari:

Feeling pretty good on the river at the starting line in Aquarena Springs: well hydrated, bowels evacuated, and a calm restful sleep the night before. It's as if my mind finally just gave up all the anxiety. I tried a Gestalt method of just riding the anxiety whenever I felt it the previous week, and it seemed to work. There was a lot of excitement on the river, and a record number of boats (136, I believe). This first day would include the most technical part of the course, and our first night-time paddling yet.
All went smoothly. We cruised by our checkpoints, stayed afloat in the rapids, and portaged like pros. Folks said we'd have trouble portaging such a large, heavy boat around the dams; we practiced this part of the river, though, and had a technique that actually jumped us ahead of a few other teams. Feeling pretty confident by dusk, we attached our bow light, donned our PFDs and headlamps, and decided not to sleep until after Gonzales (which we'd hit the next morning, if all went as planned).
We came to a few major obstacles this first night: Palmetto Bridge, Ottine Rapids, and Ottine Dam. We took them all slow and safe, and it paid off. Our movement in the water at night was swifter than had been anticipated, so the extra time spent being safe was more than compensated.
Lack of sleep and the almost pitch black played tricks on our eyes. One of our crew was convinced there were "murals on the walls". Fact is there were no murals... and no walls. Only trees. Other boats way ahead of us looked like lights from a spelunker exploring caves of trees in the distance. Another boat came up behind us, their bow light casting our shadows on the bluffs and banks. It was a surreal vision, but daybreak found us safe, dry, and in good spirits.

Here We Go...

We leave in a few hours to check Tinkerbell in at the race start. She'll stay overnight, and we begin the race at 9AM (almost 24 hours from now). Check out the GPS website that will update our location every 10 minutes, www.tinyurl.com/cuatrosinko .
It's already been so much fun getting ready for this thing. I look forward to seeing all I can see, and conquering this passage. Not looking forward to the sleep deprivation, exhaustion, and monkey butt. However, I have to keep in mind that we don't have all that much to complain about: check out this story.
Hopefully next post will be filled with stories about how we made it!

A Good Solid Run

The first 40 miles of the river are some of the most technical, and a quick time is needed in the Texas Water Safari to make the cut-off. We did this run last Sunday, and made it 2 hours ahead of the cut-off. We all feel pretty confident going into the race this weekend, and are all too excited to sleep very well. Every time I close my eyes I either see a sweeper or a vision I've conjured from one of the many stories I've read about others' experiences of this thing. One of the best I've read was not from a Water Safari racer, but from Robert Louis Stevenson:

I was aware of another fallen tree within a stonecast. I had my back-board down in a trice, and aimed for a place where the trunk seemed high enough above the water, and the branches not too thick to let me slip below…. The tree caught me about the chest, and while I was yet struggling to make less of myself and get through, the river took the matter out of my hands and bereaved me of my boat. The Arethusa swung round broadside on, leaned over, ejected so much of me as still remained on board, and, thus disencumbered, whipped under the tree, righted, and went merrily away down stream.
I do not know how long it was before I scrambled on to the tree to which I was left clinging, but it was longer than I cared about…. The stream ran away with my heels as fast as I could pull up my shoulders, and I seemed, by the weight, to have all the water of the [River] Oise in my trousers' pockets. You can never know, till you try it, what a dead pull a river makes against a man. Death himself had me by the heels…. And still I held to my paddle. At last I dragged myself onto my stomach on the trunk, and lay there a breathless sop, with a mingled sense of humor and injustice…. On my tomb, if ever I have one, I mean to get these words inscribed: He clung to his paddle.

God save us!

Another Paddle, Another Miracle

A 47 mile paddle last Monday (Memorial Day) and not one spill. But that's not the miracle. On our way out to Luling to put in, we discovered the speed limit is NOT 65, but actually 55 MPH. A very kind DPS officer brought it to our attention with her lights and siren. She sidles up to the car, informs us of our discretion, and takes our driver Johannes' license and registration. Small world: it turns out about a year ago she bought a car from him. He's not a car salesman - just had a car he didn't need anymore, sold it on CraigsList. They don't even live in the same town. What are the odds? Luckily the car has behaved well for her. She let us off with a warning. We also did not have the ass-end of the canoe hanging off the van flagged, per Texas law.

I don't know what we've done to rack up so many karma points, but we seem to be redeeming them pretty quickly!

Schooled By the River Again: Witness to a River Miracle

A superb day for paddling: a high of around 80, mostly cloudy, and a low but favorable wind for Saturday's training run. Three to four inches of rain in the area 1-2 days prior made it a bit hairy, though. After negotiating a tricky portage around Staples Dam (picture), we felt pretty confident and were cruising fast down the swollen river. Kicking back at mile 22 of the 23 mile trip, however, was a bit overconfident.

We were done in by a strainer that should have been easily avoided. Swamped, we kept our heads, and things happened deliberately. The water was swift, and carried us and the boat at a good clip. I recovered the only missing paddle as we were swept 1/4 mile down stream, bobbing in our life vests and keeping feet crossed in front of us. I eventually made it to the canoe and held on with the others, but even when there was a small bit of ground underfoot, the water was too deep and swift for the four of us to stop ourselves, let alone the boat. So, we figured we'd ride it out to the next sandbar. But with the river in this condition, at this level, there were none. We eventually came to a log jam in a tight bend in the river next to a steep bluff about 15 tall. No way for me not to get scraped off the side of the canoe, I let go and floated around it, expecting to meet the canoe on the other side of the logs. Of course the boat didn't make it to the other side of the logs - it got pinned. #Flashbacks of the week before. I scrambled to the bluff where I hung on to tree roots about 30 feet downriver from the boat and my 3 teammates. There was no way to make it back to them in that current. They could see me, but not hear me, due to the rushing water around them. I could hear them shouting to each other just fine. They tried to get the boat up onto the logs and emptied, being careful not to get pinned between the current and the logs/canoe. It took them what seemed like forever to manipulate the craft up to relative safety, while I hung on to two paddles in one hand and a tree root in the other. Relieved that the boat was no longer swamped, they started brainstorming on the second half of the problem: how to get it over and off the jam safely and without getting it pinned again.

That's when I witnessed a river miracle. As they were precariously standing on the jam holding the canoe and discussing, a huge chunk of the top part of the soft bluff 10 feet away from them eroded due to the current, fell into the river, and caused a small tsunami. The relatively calm discussion quickly turned into yells of "Jump in!". The three got into the boat just as the wave lifted the craft up and over the logs, clearing them of the small jam. As the boat passed I sprang from bluff and grabbed the stern and rode another 1/4 mile until we finally found some footing, and beached the craft for a quick reality check. It actually happened.

Pics: 1. A mean river critter outside Black's BBQ (the beef rib is now a tradition). 2. Below Staples Dam, NOT looking its usual self. 3. Safe and dry before we swamped. Sadly, the mounted camera ran out of juice before the miracle. Typical.

Texas River Marathon

Yesterday we ran the Texas River Marathon. It's the preliminary race before the Texas Water Safari, and it determines pole position amongst the more serious racers. Team Cuatro Sinko, of course, ran it because it was a chance to get out, get some more paddle time in, and scout 40 miles of the race course. We did great, and were shooting rapids like champs. It took us just over 9 hours, averaging 4.4 mph overall, including break time and a 20 minute debacle in which we got caught up in a log jam.

It was my turn at the helm, and as we approached a chute through the logs, we noticed an abandoned Alumicraft canoe pinned by the current to fallen trees - a clear warning sign that the river wasn't messing around. It looked like it had been there a while. Determined to steer us straight through the chute, I squared us up and felt pretty good. What I could not see over the heads in front of me, however, was a smaller stump sticking out just above the water. We hit it, went sideways, and the four of us went overboard in an instant. The canoe was quickly swept into the logs, and pinned by the current with the inside of the canoe facing up river; it was a cup with water continuously spilling in. We assessed. It looked bleak. Flashes of losing this new boat went through our minds. Muscle alone was never going to move the boat away from those logs. We unclipped all the gear and took it ashore, fighting the current to and from the jam. Nothing was missing but one very expensive paddle. We wriggled and shoved. I thought. I got us into this, I had to get us out. I directed the team to all stand with our back to the current, towards the middle of the boat - the place with the most leverage. On three we all lifted the bottom gunwale up, so that the boat was level (although still below the water line) and no longer like a cup facing the current. We continued to lift and rolled the boat up onto the logs, emptying the water and revealing the lost paddle. The boat saved and still intact, no one hurt, and no gear lost, we all cheered and sighed in relief. One more lesson learned from the river.


The pics: 3 of the 4 Cuatro Sinko Team making the checkpoint 50 minutes before cutoff, averaging 5.2 mph, and feeling pretty cocky (before the log jam); Flip, our team captain from the shore, enjoying "the best beef rib [he'd] ever had" at Black's BBQ in Lockhart after the race.

A Taste of What We're In For

Last week was a 17 mile run down the first stretch of the race. Despite our noobishness, we finished it in a time that would have passed the first checkpoint and kept us in the race. We were pretty beat at the end, though, and the next checkpoint requires an even faster pace. We had a camera mounted to the bow that took a picture every minute (until it ran out of juice)- hope to have a time-lapse video soon. Until then, enjoy this picture of me underwater 5 minutes into the trip. We learned quickly to respect the river.