Most of the difficult rapids of the Chattooga River were behind us now, but one formidable drop remained: Socemdog. At this level a run of Socemdog would leave little margin for error. An errant line or mistimed paddlestroke would likely land the offending paddler in the maw of the big dog where a thorough mauling would take place. Few boaters were running it this day; most portaging or taking the Puppy Chute.

This was The Youngers first trip down Section IV, and he was ready. He was now a solid boater who had honed his skills on progressively more difficult rivers, careful to take each step in the company of that important companion known as skill level. He had run the river flawlessly up to this point, and as we stood together on the rocks of the left shore, I knew that there was no doubt in his mind that he was going to run The Dog.

As I peered intently into the swift but smooth water directly in front of me, he asked, "Which line do you think best . . . center or hitting the right corner?"

"I’m sorry . . . what did you say?"

"Which line . . . center or off the right side?" he repeated.

"Sure, just don’t miss it," I said, preoccupied with the marvel in front of me.

"What are you looking at anyway? he questioned. He then moved closer and looked down into the river. "I don’t see a thing," he said as he straightened his helmet and pushed a wild lock of hair back into place.

As he walked away and began talking to another boater, I resumed my gaze into the swift water just above the Puppy Chute. At that moment another one zipped upstream several feet in the clear current, then disappeared--then another and another! The Bubble Creatures were active today! I watched transfixed as these strange wonders of the pourover raced upstream, each in a mercurial, ephemeral journey. Moments later others were born from fissures in the rocky lip of the fall and began their own race upstream. It was an infinite spawn--a perpetual celebration of motion--and I was a privileged witness to their brief lives among the rocks and swift waters.

A sudden and enthusiastic clamor from many voices broke the spell spun by the Bubble Creatures. I looked up to see The Younger paddling safely across the pool below Socemdog. He sat tall in his boat and seemed to have a new flare in his paddlestroke. He beached his kayak and began to work his way back upstream to where I stood. He stopped several times to speak to others about his run; it was obvious that he enjoyed this brief moment in the sun.

"Did you see it? My line was perfect! Flew right off the center and landed flat past the hole! Man, what a feeling! What did you think? he chattered.

"Sure, a great line . . . nice run," I answered.

"Which route do you plan to take--center like me or off the right side?" he asked.

"I plan on running the Puppy Chute," I answered simply.

"What? Heck, man . . . you’ve been running this river for over twenty years now and you tell me you’re going to take the Puppy Chute? I don’t understand you at all . . . it doesn’t make sense," he said, dumbfounded. He walked away and began talking to another group of boaters.

I looked back into the water just as another spawn of Bubble Creatures issued from the pourover. They were delightful to watch; tapering streamers of translucent life elements flitting about in the current, always finding those small but quick moments of progression hidden among the seams of the relentless forces of kinetic energy.

I smiled as I thought about The Younger’s last statement. In another twenty years or so he would understand me quite well, and he would pause . . . and see the Bubble Creatures.

Postscript:

Whenever you’re on Section IV of the Chattooga River at levels of 2’ and above, be sure to . . . pause . . . and gaze into the water just above the Puppy Chute. You’ll be fascinated by what you’ll see.