With the river's roar in my ears and the cold sting of rain on my face, I watch the smooth water bubble and boil on the eddy line. My grip on my paddle tightens and I feel a familiar twisting in my stomach; that kind of nervous excitement that has your heart racing and your blood pumping. I paddle right to the edge of the eddy and lift my paddle high in the air and wait. Someone in a green boat down stream does the same and all at once I loose my nerve. Suddenly the river is huge and my boat is so small, the roar of the river is deafening and the current is so strong. For a moment I freeze, watching the green water, so smooth it's like a sheet of glass, shatter into a foaming maze of whitewater. Someone in the eddy shouts, I don't hear what they say, but at least I remember how to paddle. One stroke at a time I make my way left of the marker wave. It's not hard to miss, it's the tallest wave before Phil's hole. I clip the left edge of marker wave and for a moment all I can see is Phil's hole, two towers of thrashing whitewater on either side of a green tongue. I start to slide down the slope and I can feel the smile on my face.
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| Running The Right Side Sneak at Phils |
So yesterday was another beat down Thursday, it was cold, it was raining, and I swam right off the bat. If I had been anywhere else I would have been utterly miserable, but I was at Keeners and almost everyone had a smile on their face. Despite the weather, everything was "Rosie".
