Think you're having a bad day? Someone just got hired at the White House. They'll be fired before I finish this column.
I've been feeling like a bad day for a couple of weeks. It's hard to pinpoint the source. Like a shadow lingering between the place you can see and the place you can't.
It doesn't matter what brought it on, it's on. The best thing I know to do is wash it off.
Thankfully, a river runs through my town that will cleanse the foulest afflictions. It is the holiest water I know and, Lord knows, I've tested some waters.
I loaded up the kayak and headed to the Breaks, the most spectacular canyon this side of Arizona. There was enough water to make it over all but one drop, not bad for a solo mission in August.
A solo mission is hard to muster without shuttle help. It came together when Fred agreed to ride to the put-in and bring my truck back to the take-out. He's the guy who taught me how to kayak, so appropriate.
The gauge at Garden Hole showed about 160 cubic feet per second of flow. Plenty for locals but far less than the 800 cfs boaters from around the world flock to in October. 250cfs flows will bring boaters from as far away as Lexington, by the way.
The feeling of paddling out of Garden Hole, alone, is a bit overwhelming. Even with very low water, one feels the suffocating reality of four and a half miles of high class rapids ahead.
But the burden eases when gravity takes over as the rock strewn hill you're floating down steepens. Your instincts kick in and body and boat become one, darting across currents with subtle hip shifts and deft paddle placements.
When the hill becomes a cliff and the water falls through the air, you time the last paddle stroke to pull yourself and the boat free of the river's surface, to soar for a brief moment above the chaos of crashing currents below.
Padding deeper into the great canyon, I relaxed and soaked in the splendor around me. The craggy cliffs of Towers and the unique formation of Chimney Rock are astounding sights from river level and dominate much of the first mile.
When I got to the hard stuff, I shifted focus from the view to the stream. Through Tower Falls and Fist, I visualized lines, then ran them perfectly. I broke the long and confusing Maze into short hops of precision paddling. Then I entered Triple Drop.
No matter the conditions, the river holds tricks and often plays them at Triple Drop. My visualized lines were again duplicated on the first and second.
But my imagination and reality parted at the Third resulting in an epic swim. The purification I was searching for was now complete. I gathered my gear in the pool below the rapid and offered a short prayer before venturing on.
It's hard to soar on a bad day, but the Russell Fork always makes me feel like I'm flying. Even when I'm swimming. One dip washes away a month of bad days.
If my home ever soars, the Russell Fork is surely the source.