Day 19. Sun, July 31 (58°10’27” N, 72°12’27” W)

A mishap.

3PM  58°17’55” N, 71°39’38” W

In the literature of Zen Buddhism, there is a tale of an elder monk who watches as his novice scales a tall tree and then begins descending. As the younger monk nears the ground, the master speaks for the first time, saying, “Now be careful!” The novice says, “I’m almost down. Why didn’t you tell me that when I was near the top?” The master replies, “When you were that high up, you didn’t need me to warn you.”

The story is coursing through my mind as I recuperate in my tent, just after the river ate me. I’m a few km past Mountain Bend, curled up after a harrowing self-rescue.

The rapid looked serious but not bad. Yesterday’s were far worse, and more intense. I started down.

The hole appeared out of nowhere. Over I went. My combat roll failed twice so I punched out and swam. I executed well, thankfully: Stayed with the boat and managed to recover my paddle, a minor miracle in itself. And a crucial one, because my spare, shoved under bungees on the deck, is now gone. My gear scraped the rocks, but my head, thankfully, is still attached and unhurt.

Once I got my kayak righted, I laid face down atop her and paddled for shore, quite inefficiently but it eventually got me there. The cockpit was full of water. I climbed up on the boulders and dumped her, faster than I’d have expected. I’m sure my adrenaline was helping. By then I was in full get-warm-and-dry mode, but a quick glance showed the shore was completely unsuited for the tent. I ended up paddling across the river to a rocky but otherwise OK spot.

It’s very windy but luckily not as cold as yesterday. I got the tent up with difficulty and threw in my mattress and sleeping bag, then peeled off my drysuit. My clothes were mostly dry underneath. I remember repeating, “My drysuit saved me. My drysuit saved me.” Dire Straits’ “News” played on repeat in my head, unsurprisingly; the lyrics are about a bike racer who gets himself killed.

I immediately put on my one-piece Kokatat underlayer and blue fleece jacket, then crawled into my bag while water boiled for oatmeal and hot cocoa. I’m still huddled up as I write this. I heard my watch chime 2PM while I was swimming. I was in the tent before 3PM.

I’m fortunate neither the water nor the air is that cold. I’m not hurt; my body didn’t hit anything. But I’m tired. Probably coming down from the adrenaline.

4:30 PM

The tally of lost gear: Spare paddle, bilge pump, paddling gloves. That’s both pairs I’ve lost now. May have to make do with my work gloves if things get bad … they’re all I’ve got left.

And the last item lost: My camera. My entire collection of photos and video since Umiujaq, gone forever. I will have no visual souvenirs from this trip. I’m crushed. It’s too painful to say more.

I’ve decided to stop for the day. I briefly considered continuing, but for what? Maybe two more hours of paddling, including two more Class III rapids? It’s not a good idea. I should rest my left arm’s janky nerves and the rest of my body, then start fresh & early.

I set my alarm for 4AM. Hope I can get reasonably decent sleep on this stony site. A pity, as L&L camped 12km downriver from here at what they called a nice spot, but I need to take care of me. Going to study the maps and their trip report this afternoon before dinner.

I’m getting careless again. Too many hours of fast, successful paddling. In retrospect I was probably getting lackadaisical about scouting and reading. That rapid should not have eaten me. I’m still 144km from the finish and at this point I hope even the Friday backup flight will be an option. But that’s a secondary concern, as I must keep reminding myself. Safety needs to be foremost in mind.

The forecast says tomorrow’s wind will be far calmer. Staying the night is the right move all around.