Hudson River Whitewater: A Potential Raft of Trouble

Free. It’s hard to beat a price like that. At least that’s what I told myself at the Adirondack Adventure Festival when I signed up for a free raft ride on the Hudson River, courtesy of Beaver Brook Outfitters. The lawyer in me paused a wee bit when they handed me a lengthy release form. But then I thought – these days you practically have to sign a waiver to do everything from opening the mail (paper cuts) to playing miniature golf (faulty windmill blades). So, I figured what the heck and signed my name on the dotted line. The friendly people at the registration table told me to come back at 2:00, and in the meantime suggested I check out the white water derby. That was a mistake.

You see, the Adirondack Adventure Festival is the same weekend as the Hudson River Whitewater Derby (yes, that Hudson River). Taking place in the towns of North River, North Creek and Riparius (that sounds like a Latin word – it probably translates to the expletive you utter when you get a good look at the whitewater) New York, it features slalom and downriver races. And the water was pretty white, thanks to this year’s generous snowmelt along with heavy rains during the month of April. In fact, this area of the river was flooded only two weeks earlier.

I joined the many spectators to watch people in kayaks and canoes attempt to navigate through the gates in the slalom race. I tried not to think about the fact that I’d signed up for a (free) raft ride in the same river or the fact that the water temperature was probably only 40° F. But the churning water was mesmerizing, so I did what I always do when I want to take my mind off something – I ate lunch.

Afterwards I considered backing out of the raft trip – it wasn’t like I’d be out any money. There are some nice stores along Main Street in North Creek, and since many of them were having sidewalk sales, shopping technically qualified as an outdoor activity.

But at 2:00 I ended up at the Beaver Brook Outfitters van being fitted with a life jacket and helmet. The guides checked our helmets and tightened the straps on the life vests so many times that I can only conclude that the key to whitewater survival is not being able to breathe while looking like a dork. Then we all piled in the van and drove to the launch site.

I tried to remain calm while they explained the safety instructions. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, but I could swear they said “when you fall in” not “if you fall in.” Anyways, if you do fall in, you’re supposed to flail about helplessly while screaming your head off. No wait, that’s what I planned to do if I hit the water. You’re supposed to flip onto your back and go downstream feet first until they throw you a rope and pull you in (screaming your head off is optional).

Then we were introduced to our river guides. I was put into the raft led by Nate (river name “Newt”) and Shane (river name “Insane-o” – so you can see how my confidence was building at this point), both students in SUNY Adirondack’s Adventure Sports program. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one of these rafts, but I’d always assumed the inflated bars going across the boat were comfy benches. Not so. We were instructed to wedge our feet under the bars and sit on the edge of the raft (which seemed to increase the likelihood that I would fall out).

My raft, along with a second raft, finally set off downriver accompanied by a kayaker named Tim (I figure his river name is “draws the short straw” because his job was pretty cold and wet). The trip was uneventful – the two young girls in the front of the raft got splashed a couple of times – and we saw some beautiful scenery along the way. At one point I did notice that my feet were numb, but that was because I had them wedged so hard under the benches that I'd cut off my circulation.

Eventually we reached the North Creek train station and Nate and Shane brought the raft up along the shore. Now I was faced with my most difficult challenge: exiting the raft gracefully. Once on land the blood flow returned to my toes. And with the life vest off, I was literally able to breathe easier. I’d definitely do it again.

Fish Tales

Wow. April zoomed by without me writing a single blog post. But wait, I have an excuse. I’ve been very busy this past month killing people. At least on paper. As much as I would love to spend all my time braving the great outdoors (okay – not really), I am supposed to be writing mysteries. So the blog was put on hold while I happily worked on several short stories; all of which involved murdering people (who had it coming) in a variety of ways. And I was able to do it while sitting indoors in a climate-controlled, bear-free environment with plenty of access to restrooms, electricity and running water.

But best of all, I was busy with the publication of my first short story, “Amazing Grace,” which appears in Fish Tales: The Guppy Anthology. All of the contributors, myself included, are members of The Guppies – an online chapter of Sisters in Crime (SinC). It was a long process from the call for entries, through the judging process, and the search for a publisher until I finally held a copy of the anthology in my hands. That was an exciting moment – especially when I saw that the cover said “22 tales of murder and mayhem from the rising stars of mystery” (I swear my mother didn’t write that).

So what is “Amazing Grace” about? Fly fishing – and how deadly it can be. Not that I would know from personal experience – although I did go fly fishing once and lived to tell the tale (so did the fish).

Becoming an Outdoors Woman – a national program that teaches outdoors skills to women – offered a class on fly fishing at Silver Bay on Lake George in September 2009. Other offerings that weekend included hiking, kayaking, camping, and shooting at things with various types of firearms as well as with a bow and arrow. I chose to go with fly fishing because it is something people find relaxing and are able to enjoy well into old age. So it seemed like that class would be my best bet for success. I was wrong.

The first day started out promising. We were inside, for one thing. And most of the class was spent tying fishing line to flies and to other pieces of fishing line. I’d been sewing for years, so that part was a piece of cake. Eventually we ventured outside to try casting our lines into a big open field. It would have been very surprising if one of us actually landed a fish – given the fact that we weren’t anywhere near the water – so I was still feeling pretty confident at this point.

The next day, however, we cast our lines into an actual body of water, which apparently is your best bet for catching fish. I tried not to be intimidated by the women who’d brought their own gear. I told myself I was interested in finding sincere, down-to-earth fish who aren’t swayed by material things like fancy rods and waders. As those women waded into Lake George until the water reached their armpits, I consoled myself with the fact that there was no way I wanted to catch a fish that badly.  It was at this point that the McDonald’s commercial (Give me back that filet o fish, Give me that fish) kept running through my head and I figured if I didn’t have any luck here I could just hit the drive-thru on the way home.

So I cast my line and was able to catch something on my very first try: the shrubs behind me. Untangling my line from the branches, I laughed as if I meant to do that. And people probably believed me, considering, no matter where I stood, I continued to get my line caught in some form of vegetation with each cast. All. Morning. Long. Then at one point I realized that those knots I thought I was so good at the day before really weren’t all that great because every one of them came untied and I even managed to lose the fly.

The teacher gave me another fly and tied it on for me. Finally I was able to cast the line so it didn’t snag on something behind me, but it hit the water only about a foot from shore. Unless there was a fish who had a sudden urge to take a walk on the beach, I wasn’t going to have much luck. The women who had waded in with all their gear did end up catching some fish. Don’t ask me what kind though; my eyes were too filled with tears from the hook stuck in the palm of my hand to see clearly (and yeah, I meant to do that, too). But given the fishes’ preference for the fancy fishing paraphernalia, I’m guessing they were of a shallow variety.

I’ve decided to chalk the day up to another Adirondack experience. And although it gave me an idea for a short story, I doubt I’ll go fishing again anytime soon. Unless it’s for compliments.

Want to order a copy of Fish Tales: The Guppy Anthology? You can order it from Mystery Lovers Bookshop, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Wildside Press. In the immortal words of Bartle and James, "thank you for your support."