Black River
This past weekend Spring gave us a teaser of weather to come – a sunny, open blue sky, carrying a breath of warmth on the wind. Flowers and leaves poked out their green eyes from a sleepy slumber, hesitating to wake. It was the type of day to pry swollen windows open, carrying neighbors into the streets to absorb the season. Not to mention that the public school kids were on an early spring break, and the streets were filled with calls of fouls and fairs from startup games by the local playground. I was inspired. Caroline came home early that day. In the mid-afternoon tilt of the sun, we decided to dust off the kayaks and revisit the river.
We launched the boats from Bordentown beach. I noticed that the winter still lurked beneath the skin of water. The water was blackened with silt, cold to the touch, and choppy. Whatever traces of spring could be observed by land were obscured on the waterways. We paddled on, deciding to trek down the old D&R lock hidden between the Trenton-Hamilton marshes and Delaware River. Considering that high-tide current was pouring back toward the oceans, the safety of the canal would provide a smoother passage.
At high tide, the canal appeared glassy, like a black mirror, reflecting back toward the spring sky. Occasionally a low-hanging tree branch would dip below the water, swaying in the current. Not a bird in the sky, and the insects were still bundled in blankets of earth. The very image of serenity. You could easily forget this was New Jersey, grid with interstate and county highways. You could easily forget that this was America discovered, as it appeared untouched by mankind.
On a whim, Caroline and I docked by the mouth of the canal, boarding beside the gate of the old canal lock that used to regulate water flow. We grabbed for roots, pulling ourselves up the wooden retaining wall. Using the utility of roots and limbs, we bound our kayaks, left to float in place upon the water. Apparently the State is creating a waterway path beside this forgotten segment of the D&R Canal, such as the parallel trails (Jersey and Pensie side) spanning Trenton to Frenchtown. A rough path was hewn through thickets of new growth: vines and spindly trees. Trees cut and chipped, and ground bulldozed flat. We explored the new trail for a ways, and decided to head back.
Caroline carefully maneuvered across the root systems, down the wooden wall, finally balancing herself into the kayak. I followed a path of my own design, climbing straight down the wall without a care for any other handgrips. There I stood, feet firmly planted in the kayak and one hand against the wall. I was temporarily balanced. As I took to crouch into the cockpit, the boat rocked. I shifted weight to counterbalance and fwoomp – straight down into the river.
In that split second between intention and accident, the mind and body split reactions. “I’m not falling, I’m not falling,” I thought. SPLASH! Mind lagging behind, my reflexes allowed me to fall feet forward, searching for the bottom of the canal. At low tide, the riverbed appears only a few feet beneath the surface. Unfortunately rise in watermark is substantial between tides; the water had crest and pulled back out to the ocean. The floor was several feet below me. There was no chance of standing. My mind races to comprehension. It is April, the water is below 50 degrees, my sweatshirt is waterlogged, and dragging me down to the black depths, and below the smooth surface, the current is tumultuously sucking me out to the Delaware River. My first thought was of Jeff Buckley who died in the Mississippi River, dragged out to a watery depth. That was the moment when I recognized the dire of this situation.
In panic, I attempt to scramble back into my kayak. I manage to grab the lip. For a second, my mind was back in the safety, but my body had already submerged the boat. Rather than effortlessly glide atop the glassy surface of the canal, the boat now pulled me into the current. That is when I heard the second splash – Caroline had lost balance and fell head first into the river. My only lifeguard was now my new co-victim. What to? How can you save your wife when you, yourself, are fighting for your life? There is an illusion of safety in familiarity. There we were, kayaking on a beautiful spring day, not unlike any other summer day, in the waterways behind out house, about to drown.
In my moment of hesitation, Caroline managed to grab hold of her kayak in one hand, roots in another, and managed to scramble up over that wall. That was my moment of saving grace. If she could make it, so could I. For all that it was worth, I swam with one arm, as the other trailed the submerged kayak behind. I pulled myself through the water as the kayak dragged me backward. I lunged, and managed to grab hold of the wall. It was smooth, water-worn over the years, slicked by moss and algae.
Caroline came to my rescue, taking hold of my kayak, freeing my other hand. I attempted to climb the wall, but slid back down several times. I grabbed for some vines, but under the weight of the waterlogged sweatshirt, the vines pulled loose. My feet scrambled to find footing, my muscles cramped. With one last attempt I propelled myself out of the water far enough to pull my arms up over the wall. With enough leverage, I managed to remove my sweatshirt. Freed from an immense amount of weight, I slid my tired and aching body over the gravel and mud, back to safety.
We launched the boats from Bordentown beach. I noticed that the winter still lurked beneath the skin of water. The water was blackened with silt, cold to the touch, and choppy. Whatever traces of spring could be observed by land were obscured on the waterways. We paddled on, deciding to trek down the old D&R lock hidden between the Trenton-Hamilton marshes and Delaware River. Considering that high-tide current was pouring back toward the oceans, the safety of the canal would provide a smoother passage.
At high tide, the canal appeared glassy, like a black mirror, reflecting back toward the spring sky. Occasionally a low-hanging tree branch would dip below the water, swaying in the current. Not a bird in the sky, and the insects were still bundled in blankets of earth. The very image of serenity. You could easily forget this was New Jersey, grid with interstate and county highways. You could easily forget that this was America discovered, as it appeared untouched by mankind.
On a whim, Caroline and I docked by the mouth of the canal, boarding beside the gate of the old canal lock that used to regulate water flow. We grabbed for roots, pulling ourselves up the wooden retaining wall. Using the utility of roots and limbs, we bound our kayaks, left to float in place upon the water. Apparently the State is creating a waterway path beside this forgotten segment of the D&R Canal, such as the parallel trails (Jersey and Pensie side) spanning Trenton to Frenchtown. A rough path was hewn through thickets of new growth: vines and spindly trees. Trees cut and chipped, and ground bulldozed flat. We explored the new trail for a ways, and decided to head back.
Caroline carefully maneuvered across the root systems, down the wooden wall, finally balancing herself into the kayak. I followed a path of my own design, climbing straight down the wall without a care for any other handgrips. There I stood, feet firmly planted in the kayak and one hand against the wall. I was temporarily balanced. As I took to crouch into the cockpit, the boat rocked. I shifted weight to counterbalance and fwoomp – straight down into the river.
In that split second between intention and accident, the mind and body split reactions. “I’m not falling, I’m not falling,” I thought. SPLASH! Mind lagging behind, my reflexes allowed me to fall feet forward, searching for the bottom of the canal. At low tide, the riverbed appears only a few feet beneath the surface. Unfortunately rise in watermark is substantial between tides; the water had crest and pulled back out to the ocean. The floor was several feet below me. There was no chance of standing. My mind races to comprehension. It is April, the water is below 50 degrees, my sweatshirt is waterlogged, and dragging me down to the black depths, and below the smooth surface, the current is tumultuously sucking me out to the Delaware River. My first thought was of Jeff Buckley who died in the Mississippi River, dragged out to a watery depth. That was the moment when I recognized the dire of this situation.
In panic, I attempt to scramble back into my kayak. I manage to grab the lip. For a second, my mind was back in the safety, but my body had already submerged the boat. Rather than effortlessly glide atop the glassy surface of the canal, the boat now pulled me into the current. That is when I heard the second splash – Caroline had lost balance and fell head first into the river. My only lifeguard was now my new co-victim. What to? How can you save your wife when you, yourself, are fighting for your life? There is an illusion of safety in familiarity. There we were, kayaking on a beautiful spring day, not unlike any other summer day, in the waterways behind out house, about to drown.
In my moment of hesitation, Caroline managed to grab hold of her kayak in one hand, roots in another, and managed to scramble up over that wall. That was my moment of saving grace. If she could make it, so could I. For all that it was worth, I swam with one arm, as the other trailed the submerged kayak behind. I pulled myself through the water as the kayak dragged me backward. I lunged, and managed to grab hold of the wall. It was smooth, water-worn over the years, slicked by moss and algae.
Caroline came to my rescue, taking hold of my kayak, freeing my other hand. I attempted to climb the wall, but slid back down several times. I grabbed for some vines, but under the weight of the waterlogged sweatshirt, the vines pulled loose. My feet scrambled to find footing, my muscles cramped. With one last attempt I propelled myself out of the water far enough to pull my arms up over the wall. With enough leverage, I managed to remove my sweatshirt. Freed from an immense amount of weight, I slid my tired and aching body over the gravel and mud, back to safety.
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