The Age of Aquarius
By Krista CrabtreeI was born under the sign of Aquarius and I assumed that the “Water-Bearer” constellation meant it was a water sign and thus I was destined to be a water person. Actually it’s an air sign and is an example of one of the many presuppositions that I held for years that was incorrect or askew. (Is that part of my sign too?) The second incorrect presupposition I held was that I could easily master all water sports since I grew up on a lake. What that presupposition didn’t take into account was that the velocity of rivers and the powerful surges of the ocean outmatch the quiet glassy early mornings on the lake or even the churning white-capped waves during New England storms.
Like a wild night followed by a painful morning after too much tequila, it only takes one experience to teach you a strong lesson. I was bitten by the river spirits years ago when I was a ski bum dating a river guide. He invited me on his outfit’s end-of-the-season party — a trip through Westwater Canyon near the Colorado/Utah border on the Colorado River. It was my first rafting experience and was exhilarating, white-knuckled and wet. I found out later that Buck, my guide, was the bus mechanic and not actually a guide, but he maneuvered well enough and we made it through the semi-truck-sized hole called Skull without any causalities.
My own private epic transpired when I tried kayaking. Though I had never kayaked on a river before, I thought, I’m a water person. I canoe, I waterski at 40 mph. I can hold my breath underwater. How hard could it be? One guide asked me if I knew how to roll. Of course, I replied. I had tried it in the lake. My date looked amused. He was of the go-ahead-and-try-it-it’s-your-life camp. As a river guide — or any guide for that matter — there are numerous opportunities to see Darwinism at work. It’s great entertainment.
I had an innocuous start (read: the water was flat) and felt like a mermaid on the surface of moving glass, gently gliding downstream as if drawn by something larger than myself. I felt free. I saw wildlife. I thought about saving some money to buy a kayak. Then I floated through a hatch. The pebble-sized bugs hovered over the water at the level of my face and they clogged my windpipe and my irises simultaneously.
I’m not entirely clear on what happened next, but I think there was an eddy and some jagged rocks nearby. Suddenly I was upside-down, head bumping granite under water. I tried to roll but the kayak wouldn’t budge. I panicked, I flailed, I freaked. At least swimming in the lake had taught me how to hold my breath, but it’s a hell of a different feeling when you’re being ripped across the bottom of the river.
Finally I pulled the skirt and evacuated. The riverbank seemed high as Folsom Prison’s walls and I scrambled like some sewer rat grasping at roots and rocks. Luckily my date retrieved the kayak — a huge party foul I heard about later by the campfire as I sat soaking and humiliated, head hanging low over my Budweiser. Guess you’re not a natural at everything, he said with a smile.
River guides may like to stretch the truth but he was right about that one. Truth is, I’m more of a Jill-of-all-trades-and-master-of-none. I’ve come to terms with that now. And I tend to think things through a little more these days. But I still see myself as a water person. Just one who prefers to be right side up and bug-free.
