“The water does not control the canoe, you do” were the words of wisdom I remembered Bill Mason stating in  his video “Path of the Paddle” as our 18 foot flat-water canoe unintentionally buried its bow into the riverbank. How could this happen to two experienced canoeist, such as Rear Admiral and myself, on a class I stretch of river? The short answer is the canoe looks experienced due to the numerous visible scratches on the body but we are not.

It was early May and the river was up. Up enough, anyway, at 431 cubic feet per second. We had decided it was time to try a stretch of the South Platte River that runs between Brighton, Colorado and Ft. Lupton.  It is only about a four hour trip (real river time including breaks & unforeseen mishaps) and a quick easy drive from downtown Denver if the traffic is moving at a reasonable pace. We took Interstate 25 north to the Highway 7 exit. The road angled southeast and became 160^th street. We followed this for a little over eight  miles. Just before the highway 85 interchange and after we crossed the river was a decent sized parking area on the north side of the road at Veteran’s Park. We pulled in here to wait for our kayaking friend, Ducky. Our intention was to get an early start so we would miss the possible afternoon wind and thunderstorms that were forecast. We also wanted to stay ahead and out of the way of any larger groups that were scheduled to do the same run that day.

Back at the put-in another group of river enthusiasts had started to congregate. I knew if I did not talk to them there was no danger of them learning how inexperienced we really were. Our boat has hundreds, if not thousands, of scratches in its bright yellow finish coat. To some, it could be perceived as a “well-seasoned” watercraft. Almost nobody would think most of those scratches happened on dry land like they actually did. That is almost nobody until I donned my bright orange horse-collar type PFD (personal floatation device). Then, I felt my inexperience was obvious and I couldn’t disappear fast enough.

Within the first river mile it was apparent that I was not the only one remembering Bill Mason’s wisdom.  I could feel the canoe bucking and jiving beneath me while the river remained calm and flat. What was going on? It seems Rear Admiral had it in his head to try out some new strokes as seen in Mason’s video.  Unfortunately, my head was not in the same place. It is one thing to watch an expert like Bill perfectly execute a cross-stern pry or plant a high brace in a raging rapid but it is quite another to make one’s first attempt on a moving river and expect your partner to synchronize with you when said partner slept through that part of the video.  Not a mile from our departure in Brighton we came across a rapid that some would consider portaging.  There would be no entertaining such an idea as that for us. We had our hands much too full of the river rodeo caused by unsynchronized thinking. Tandem canoeing is not a sport for individualists. Now we know why they call two person boats “divorce boats”.

 So the rapid came upon us at a most unsuspecting time and we were forced to run it without much forethought.  About this time I was ready to strangle Bill Mason, may he rest in peace (or pieces). Rear Admiral had not had enough experimenting as was evidenced by his forthcoming comment, “you steer”. Just because Bill Mason’s bowman can execute a cross-bow draw at the drop of a hat to pivot his canoe like a ballerina en Pointe does not mean I have the same talents. And so our river rodeo came to a quick halt as our bow stuck itself the mud.  After our last canoe trip we were now more prepared for a capsize. Everything was tied to the boat and all necessary items were double and triple waterproofed. Fortunately, we did not have the opportunity to find out if our preparations were adequate.  After the first hairy river mile it was agreed we would stick to what we knew. Me power stroking in the bow and Rear Admiral J-stroking in the stern with an occasional rudder thrown in. This, however, was not enough entertainment for our kayaking buddy, Ducky. Next thing we knew Ducky and boat had disappeared.  We held up at the nearest gravel bar and awaited his presence. Finally, he appeared wearing a big gaping grin wider than the river. He’d been “surfing”.  It was a temptation and we took the bait. All we had to do was turn the canoe 180 degrees so we were facing upriver and land on a rapid of just the right size, shape and velocity.  After that, it’s all river. We soon found a likely rapid but passed by it quicker than anticipated. Executing a 180 on pure adrenalin and no finesse, we paddled hard back upriver and made it to the rapid. It was an odd sensation, if not somewhat nauseating, to watch the water rushing under the boat and then look at the shoreline and see we were not moving.  The next trick was figuring out how to peel out of the rapid and head the right direction. Oh, if Bill Mason’s team could have photographed us doing that! Such grace and synchronization…except that it took a good half-mile of river and a couple collisions with Ducky to get headed downstream again.

On we ventured. Lunch was on a nice sunny gravel bar with a forest of cottonwoods across the river and snow-capped mountain peaks in the distance. Large and ominous-looking clouds forming in the west encouraged us to launch out again. It did not take long before we heard the low rumble. Thunder? No. It was the dam. This time, thankful for the auditory warning, we portaged the bright yellow 18 foot “Betty Jane” around the open gate. Ducky, of course, couldn’t contain himself and had to run it. The perfect antidote for spider bites. Back was the grin. Then we heard the low rumble again. And saw lightening. Five seconds in between. Ten  miles away. Next time we didn’t just hear the rumble but felt every bit of it vibrating through the water, up the canoe and out our heads. A couple more turns and we could see bridge number six (including one foot bridge) at the Ft. Lupton take-out. Ducky was prepared. Why get off the river for a little lightening when you can practice rolling. He donned his helmet and goggles, found a likely practice area free from dangers of everything but the coming storm and rolled. Thankfully, he also rolled back up to the surface but only to disappear again. Guess he was looking for headless fish.

Passing under the last bridge with the green colored concrete block gauging station we made our exit river-right. It was a short,-maybe ten miles-fun and exciting morning on the river. Next time we decide who is making the turning decisions and we practice how we’re going to make them before we get into the boat. It’s going to take many more attempts before we become synchronized canoeists. It looks so easy when Bill Mason does it. Makes me think it should be a new Olympic sport. Synchronized canoeing: it is truly a miracle sometimes.