Pennsylvania is a riot of burnt oranges, reds and golds during the Fall. Each day was like stepping into an American postcard as these brilliant colours contrasted against a crisp blue sky and emerald green hills. This was the backdrop for our somewhat cold adventure in the heart of rural Pennsylvania. What was supposed to be a gentle meander down the Susquehanna river soon turned into a white water rafting expedition down the Schrader Creek, after a little persuasion from my younger sister who had decided that she wanted an adrenaline fix. So, after a little coercing, we finally convinced our brother, a seasoned kayaker and adventurer to take the two of us down a few rapids.
The day before, while in search of the abandoned town of Quinn, we found the perfect river and so the next morning we packed up Scott’s fluid Kayak, an antique aluminium canoe, borrowed from his father-in-law, a paddle and an old wooden oar and headed west, back to the glittering Schrader Creek with its promise of adrenaline pumping rapids. At Scott’s insistence we grudgingly donned some thermals, a North Face rain jacket and life vest. We didn’t believe it would be THAT cold but Scott knew better! Having paddled numerous expeditions in foreign countries he was taking no chances and insisted that we each wear a helmet. And so, equipped with one oar and one paddle, in a silver antique canoe, wearing bicycle helmets and make-shift gear to keep the cold water at bay, we launched our canoe into the surprisingly fast flowing current and set off on our adventure. Scott hovered near us, like a little bee, in his yellow Fluid Kayak, guiding us down the first run of rapids. Once successfully at the bottom we grinned widely, congratulating ourselves at not tipping the canoe into what we now realised was icy cold water!
Our confidence high, we tackled the second run. We hit a rock, almost toppling what we were now realising to be a rather unsteady boat that was difficult to manoeuvre and steer, due to its length and lack of balance in fast flowing water. I gingerly plunged my foot into the cold, white water and pushed us off the rock only to find ourselves stuck against another rock a few metres down river. We frantically “hugged the rock”, leaning towards it to prevent the canoe tipping, but the current was strong and the boat awkward. Within seconds we found ourselves gasping for breath as we were plunged into the icy water of the Schrader creek. Recovering from our initial shock, we quickly found a rock to stand on, only to realise that the boat was down river and the only way off the rock was to get back into the angry current and swim for the shore. We gingerly lowered ourselves back into the water, this time submerged up to our necks, and floated downstream to the boat and shoreline. Drenched, my toes begun to lose feelingas they turned a pretty shade of blue. Laughing, we climbed back into our boat and headed onwards.
I’d like to say that we learnt our lesson the first time we tipped but if the truth be told, we fell out at least 6 times. On one occasion we managed to wrap the canoe around a rock and helplessly watched as it filled with water. Scott quickly paddled up river and set up a safety line explaining that if we didn’t get the boat out soon it would be destroyed by the force of the water. With the three of us pulling and heaving we eventually managed to free the boat. Exhausted from both the cold and from the physicality of lifting our heavy boat free, we sat down and contemplated our options. Options? What options? We were committed to reaching the take out point since we were now deep in a gorge and if we had wanted to walk out it would have been with a heavy boat up a cliff face. Reluctantly we realised that our only option was to continue down the river and put our trust in Scott as he guided us through the rapids. On our last rapid we both thought we were going to die as our boat headed straight for a large rock that loomed above us! At the last minute I managed to turn the thing and steer it clear. At that point we paddled straight for shore and climbed out, telling Scott that we would carry the canoe. Tired and bruised, Katie and I argued as we heaved the boat out of the water and manoeuvred it through a dense forest of trees in search of the road. I kept laughing as I imagined someone coming across us: two girls walking through the forest, dressed in tights, life jackets and bicycle helmets with a silver canoe, upside down and balanced on their shoulders so that it looked as though the canoe had suddenly grown legs and was walking through the forest. The more I laughed the more annoyed Katie became, which only made me laugh some more. Finally, we stepped onto the gravel road, wet, tired and oh so pleased to climb into dry clothes and head home for a warm bath and some hot food.
Second photo by Scott Martin
(www.scottmartinimages.com)
