The River

I have a thirst for the river that I can never seem to quench. After spending my entire life, days upon summer days, in it or around it, I went roughly two years without it. When I got back, I needed to recharge. It took me a little while to get used to the cold water again, but when I did, I reentered the world of paradise that’s been engraved in my spirit.

So many rivers. Merricrest. Middle Fork. North Fork. The Trestles. Cooper. Cle Elum. Methow. South Fork. The Bend. Darkwater Canyon. When we were younger, my dad would pick us up from daycare and take us to search for frogs. At the river. The beauty and power always captivated me, but I had no idea how spectacular the river really was until I threw on a mask.

Whose idea was it in the first place to throw on a mask and swim down a river? I’m pretty sure it was my dad’s. We’d hit up our favorite swimming hole beneath the old railroad trestle in North Bend. My brothers and I would swim around and try to get across, searching for crawfish. Meanwhile dad would prowl around the deeper parts with his mask and snorkel, seeing who knows what.

I got a mask for Christmas when I was about 10. It was a beautiful Ocean Ways mask that was red, my favorite color. That summer I brought it along on our annual camping trip to Salmon La Sac. As the sun was going down one warm evening, I found myself standing in the middle of a small stretch of the Cooper River. We had fished the section every day, but swimming it was a different story. It was pretty shallow and the water moved fast. But I placed my mask on and went for it. I was in a different world. Suddenly I was freer than I’d ever been. That’s saying a lot for a 10 year old. I got out and ran back up the river. I did it again. And again. And again. My mom finally had to coax me out because dusk had settled in. The rest was history.

Standing in the river, bracing against the current, it’s only natural to hesitate a little. Throwing yourself into that kind of whitewater can’t be a good idea. But then you let go and dive forward. The river immediately takes over and sweeps you forward. At first all you can see are bubbles. Then you break through the first rapid and into the clear. If you’re lucky, you’ll surprise a few rainbow trout waiting on the other side for loose prey. You can pop up to the surface for a breath of fresh air and then dive back down into the clear stream, your body still gliding over the smooth stones beneath at a steady rate. The water’s cold but refreshes you to the core, so deep that even your soul breathes a sigh of pleasure.

You put your feet forward and grasp the rocks, standing up in the middle of the river. The sun heats away all the aching that the cold water may have caused, and the smell of sweet ponderosas fills your senses. You can admire the mountains in the distance as the water around you gently drifts by. At that moment you will have everything you could ever wish for.

Heading back home this summer, I was searching for an old part of me that I couldn’t seem to find. It was hidden underneath two years of astonishing experiences- a near loss, a new start, a great challenge, a meaningful struggle. As my little brother and I sped down a gravel road into the wilderness of the Middle Fork just outside of town, country music blaring and a cloud of dust behind us, I knew I was getting closer to it. I poked my head out the window and searched for it until we came across the perfect spot. We parked the car, threw on our masks, and jumped into the clear blue current. And there it was. I found it in the river.