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In 1997 Tom Gerencer might not have planned to be my first paddling coach, but I didn't give him much choice. After assuring Gerencer I was a Jedi, he agreed to guide me from Harris station to Carry Brook.
In last-chance-eddy before Taster Rapid, I looked like a yard sale. All of my gear was borrowed and improperly fitted. Even my helmet sat pompously off my forehead because it was too small. I was wide-eyed and incredulous about my present location: in this eddy, in the gorge, and in a kayak. Tom noticed my apprehension.
'You ready?' asked Tom.
'Ahh, sure Tom, but can you spot me on this role?' I gulped.
'Yeah man, but what do you mean spot? You kidding!'
'I said I can roll dude - sometimes,' and I went over. After three flipper strokes I was under water and I wasn't coming up. I righted myself from Tom's bow and shrugged my shoulders,
'Sometimes man, I guess not now,' I said sheepishly.
'We're not climbing out of here, we have to run, but we run close. You follow my line exactly, you understand?' accosted Tom in one breath.
The run was terrifying; my pulse rate screamed; all I knew was to paddle hard; my arms flared wide and like a windmill. Without skill, I relied on brute strength and Tom's line down the river. Miraculously, I remained right side up and sitting above Magic Falls.
'Rowdy,' as Tom used to call me, 'Can't believe you're still with me, one more rapid dude, and you're golden, dude,' Tom smiled.
'I told you I wanted this Tom, let's do it.'
The curler wave at Magic flipped me. I felt myself riding up the wave, the crash of water, and the calm on the backside. I knew my window of opportunity to roll was small. The first roll attempt was for breathing purposes only. On the second, I came up momentarily, and then went over on the other side. By the third, I was defeated and swimming.
I held on to my boat and paddle out of pride and shame. With a belly full of water, a bruised shoulder that glanced off a rock, and bloodied knuckles from my boat, I timidly made my way to shore. Tom hauled me in with a look of sympathy on his face. I felt foolish for convincing myself I was ready for this river.
Some time later, we laughed around a fire about my gorge trip. 'You know,' Tom proposed, 'I never told you about the other story that day.' I was confused. I remembered the swim and the fear, clearly. But what other story?
'While I surfed Z-Turn, some old dude came up to me. He said, "Stay away from that guy. He can't roll, he's a hazard to himself and he's dangerous." I told him you were with me man so he paddled away and didn't say anything more.'
I have seen this gentleman on our Maine waterways and I am friendly, after all, he felt he was doing the right thing. But I am sensitive and his remark bothered me awhile. We all learn in different ways and I consider that day an education. I didn't return to the Kennebec gorge until I had a solid roll, could surf some, could ferry, and had a decent brace. I exited the river that day exhausted and bruised, but with a mission: to get sound kayak instruction.
I find the whitewater community respectful, honest, friendly, and safe. I am proud to be included with this group of human beings. If I didn't have friends like Tom to soften the edges of my own doubt, I may have bagged this sport entirely.
It wasn't until my first year in public education that I understood how critical encouragement is for success. My mentor would leave me notes like, 'Cool ideas, loved your lesson.' On each note she plastered goofy stickers you might find in 4th grade classrooms. After three years I still look forward to her goofy notes. They give me a lift when I'm clouded with discouragement. When on the river, give more stickers. Don't be stingy with whitewater praise. It's OK to shout 'Nice ride dude,' to a perfect stranger.
Undoubtedly there will be another paddler on some piece of river before they are ready. Give him or her a nod, gently remind them of an unlearned skill, help them laugh, help them make good decisions, include them in the whitewater lingo, and show them the lines if need be. Learning anything new is hard, think of your first paddle coaches who showed you the ropes. After all, these beginners only want to dance in the waves and eat a piece of whitewater magic. That's not so bad is it?
To those who inspired and instructed, my sincerest thank you:
Joe Appicella
Tom Gerencer
Brian McCarthy (Maine Bound)
Jeff Hunt (Maine Bound)
Bill McDougall
Darron Laughland
Dean 'Squirt Dog' Mallar
Paul 'Swamp Ass' Faria
Jeff 'Viking' Wilhelm
Dustin Littlefield
Andrew Whitaker
Sean Littlefield
Jeremy Kneeland
Chad Bisonnette
Matt Jacobs (Moxie Penobscot Training)
Kevin King (From Moxie)
Dave Weatherbee
Email nick [at] noumbrella [dot] com with your questions, comments and concerns.
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