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The Kayaking Aventures of Crocky Paunchos, Ph.D Cadidate in Neuroscience

As told to Prospero Caliban

It was sunny. It was Sunday. The storm was over. I was in my truck once again, heading to a new adventure on an unknown river. I had done thorough research on this river before I left my house. I advise this to all who would look for new and novel and singular runs. Do not let your urge for adventure lead you into danger. It is imperative that you have knowledge and know something about where you are venturing when you go there. Soon, I will tell you why.

As I've established, it was Sunday and it was sunny. I had left the house for my first descent of the Big Pecos River. It is hard finding new and novel rivers. I had searched all the backissues of the AWA journal and had not found any mention of this river. The whitewater guides for California didn't know. I could not find it at first. But then I did. In my quest for new runs, I used a 15X power magnifying glass and traced each blue line for hundreds of miles both north and south. And here it was. An overlooked gem of whitewater. The Big Pecos.

This river is formed in the Eastern Valley where four irrigation canals come together. Below the initial confluence, another tributary comes in. It is a large stream that drains the tidewater septic fields of the Seven Subdivisions of El Sorrento. After rains these tributaries are full and formidable. The river rushes tumultuously through suburban San Diego where I make my home. I am enrolled at the University here as a Ph.D Candidate in Neuroscience. I am Crocky Paunchos, Adventure Kayaker and Ph.D Candidate in Neuroscience.

It was 8:31am. I turned left at the last stoplight on Fulsome Street, 1300 block, and reached the river after appoximately 180 yards. I removed my kayak and gear and changed into my gear. Shouldering my boat and supplies, I transported them to the river. I put in at the confluence where the canals came together and the river started and began. This demanded care. I avoided the debris from the storm of three weeks ago. Sticks were amassed high by the floodwaters. You could easily bark your shins or find your foot entrapped as you walked to the bank. Vestibular disorientation would surely follow. Inevitably you would succumb to gravity and receive a vicious contusion. I offer this warning as an experienced explorer.

I had planned to do this run before the storm, but the water had been too high for proper safety. You must know that it is critical that one be cautious when approaching new and novel runs that are also unfamiliar, especially when you approach them in the way I do. Alone, having no one with me, and by myself.

It had rained appx 1.23 inches in the drainage area in the previous storm. The streams/canal/river had run at 4.57 on the USGS gauge below Sabre Springs. This I had determined, was too high, as I have said in a prior paragraph. Now, it had rained approximately .83 inches in the previous 25 hours. Whether this was too high I would now determine.

Although I am a trained PhD Candidate in Neuroscience, I am also a kayaker. It is hard to successfully follow two careers at once. I work hard at both. I endeavor to perservere. Indeed, Neuroscience helps me to succeed.

Because many of you are not Neuroscientists, you may not understand these things. I will give you examples so that you may. Example 1: Understanding Neuroscience helps me. Reflexly I note all important cues around me and store them in Short Term Memory. Later, I store them in Long Term Memory. This allows me to remember lots and lots of things. Example 2: Scientific Training allows the Brain of the Ph.D Candidate in Neuroscience to make lightning quick deductions. My synapses are equipped with neurotransmitters for precise mental function. Indeed, they ignite fully at an instant's notice, conducting along pathways all around my Brain. This helps me think. Example 3: Neuroscientific Objectivity. Detached and trained, I objectively observe things. This makes it difficult to deceive a Candidate in Neuroscience. These things help make the senses alert to imperceptable hints that pass unnoticed, as you will see. Difficult first descents require such things. They are imperative for safety.

I put my Mirage in the water loaded with food and medical supplies for the trip, and began paddling downstream.

I soon reached a place where the river widened and turned to the right. It was wider here and I had to look sharply to the right because the river went in that direction. There was a loud sound coming from around the corner. A chill ran through me. This chill surprised me. I am a detached observer, observing objectively. Seldom am I at the mercy of mere physiological processes. But I knew it must be the endogenous tissue of my adrenal gland secreting its hormone, epinephrine, into my blood stream. I objectively noticed that my muscles were tensed tightly. Alertly, I vigilantly noticed I had become more vigilant and alert. My sphinter muscles too, were tensed tightly in an unpleasant way. I made a mental sticky note to look up these phenomena in Neuroscience Abstracts when I returned.

I rounded the corner to find the river coursing through an horrendous class II lead-in. I assessed the necessary action instantly: scouting was imperative. As there were impenetrable reeds on the right bank, I got out on the left. I ambulated over irregular ground until I was postioned properly to see the crux - three rocks directly in the middle of the river in the shape of the smile on a smilely face.

I searched from each vantage point, espying each and every feature of the river. Upon close inspection, the three boulders in the middle formed a complex maze. The first was slightly to the left of the second, and the third was slightly to the right of the first. If one could traverse this maze, then at the end one would arrive in the large calm spot below. This was the major hazard of this first rapid. Alternatively, one could paddle to the left directly into the calm spot.

I was tempted to go down the middle, directly into the fray, into the challenge and the unknown, but I decided that, being alone, by myself, and with no partner, that I should treat the danger with care. When I began, I knew that it would take skill, experience, and courage to make the descent without a portage. I gritted my lower jaw defiantly and took my paddle firmly my dextrous hands, long practiced for this activity. I could feel all my years of kayaking surging through my firing synapses, up and down my motor cortex, out into my temporal and frontal lobes, and returning. It felt good.

I launched my boat from the rocks where I had sequestered it. I calculated my paddle strokes precisely, having faith that my cerebellum (that portion of the ventral cortex where motion is judged and complex movements are formed) was finely programmed for these situations. I kept my vessel pointed downstream apprx 27 degrees to the right of the direction of the current, and paddled exactly ten precise strokes. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Water splashed, I couldn't see, then the current slowed. I realized I was in the pool below and pumped my fist into the air in excitement. The first hazard of the Big Pecos was conquered!

My grandfather often told me that one should be heedful of the calm before a storm. I did not know that I was now experiencing such a calm. The river grew wider. It was tranquil, still, and placid. It was quiet. It moved only slowly. The current was weak. Little did I know what was beyond. I felt strong. I was confident. A strange sense overtook me. My studies had been rocky lately, but I would succeed in them as I would succeed in conquering this river. If I had but known what awaited me further down the river, I would not have been so sure.

I continued down, meeting and overcoming other obstacles. There was a tree on the left. I paddled to the right. There were several car bodies on the right. I paddled left. There was a refrigerator and a shopping cart in the center, I hesitated. But then, with reflexes sharpened by Training in Neuroscience, I calculated quickly what to do. I paddled left.



Soon I reached a spot harder still. It was remote. The river went fast around an island full of willows, then straight into another class II. It was complex, complicated. I began feeling cautious. I noted that my acetalcholine receptors had begun to bulge, but I could not ascertain why. Neurotransmitters were being emitted from the synaptic vesicals. Impluses were being summed by complex neural networks, an architecture finely constructed over years of experience. Subliminally, my attentional processes must have identified an object of potential harm. Being subliminal, I did not know exactly what it was. It felt good though. I scouted again from the left bank.

As I balanced on two rocks which were oriented toward each other at an oblique angle, I was able to see transversely down into the rapid. There were rocks on the right, and open waves to the left. It was time for caution, for there were more rocks in another smilely face. It was difficult to verify the precise nature of the problems. I realized there might be unforseen hazards. Foolishly, I believed I could accomplish a run with only this minimal inspection, and so I returned to my vessel. Oh foolhardy Human!

I pushed into the water and drove with powerful strokes of my paddle out into the center. This time I would enter the most difficult part of the rapid, for I could not turn away from its challenge. With Neuroscience as my Guide, powerful strokes propelled the kayak with great speed. With grim determination toward my goal, I entered the rapid both grim and determined. Suddenly I struck a rock, and then another. Suddenly, my boat stopped. Oh the Horror! I was broached in the jaws of the smilely face, in the center of the rapid with no help. My heart pounded, the water rushed around me, forcing the boat ever tighter against the rocks.

The huge and full force of the water pinned me into the cockpit. I struggled for breath, straining with all my strength and sinews. I could feel the myosin in my muscles ratcheting tighter and tighter as I contracted my Anterior Abyssmal Biceps and Luteal Gluttinous Dorsii to their utmost. Sinewy as they were, yet they were not enough. I urged my glycogen (that polysaccharide by which much of the energy for aerobic and anaerobic activity is stored in skeletal muscles and the liver) to metabolise ever faster. Yet, I was unable to free my kayak.

My fears increased. My adrenal glands began maximum secretion and I could feel myself becoming more agitated. I sought to remain calm. Calm was impossible. My anaerobic threshold had been reached, calcium channels in all parts of my skeletal apparatus were closing. My cortex functioned poorly. My muscles, earlier bathed in an optimal concentration of potassium, now were losing their electrical responsiveness. It felt bad.

In the back of my mind, I objectively recognized that the situation was not unlike that of the rat whom the previous week I had trapped in a cage with the intention of anaesthatizing for an experiment. Desperate now, I summoned all my mitrochondria, all the snyapses, all the Ca++ channels to action. As an objective observer, I felt I must be experiencing an interesting phenomenon, no doubt related to attentional fatigue and elaborate factors of disphoric blood chemistry.

Suddenly, my peripheral attention was attracted by a movement downstream. My Brain worked lightning quick as it traced neural paths to and fro among my experiences. I recognized the nature of the form immediately. Its contours were unmistakable. A fisherman was nearby! He was in the river below the tumultuous rapid. He must be fishing!

"Help me! For I am stuck!" I yelled at him. He did not turn. I did not know what to do. Suddenly the synapses in my frontal lobe fired, in turn exciting other neurons which projected into the corpus callosum (that thick band of mylinated fibers which joins the two halves of the overall cortex). Then in turn, neurons long unused in my temporal lobe fired, electrifying a former memory of a Beaver slapping its tail on the water as a warning to other nearby beavers! The network of firing neurons spread through my other memories, back across the corpus callosum into my frontal lobe, until my mind was in an electrical frenzy. Suddenly, I had an Idea. My paddle! I would use my paddle as the beaver did his tail! Thus heartened, again and again I slapped my paddle on the water as loud as I could to catch the fisherman's attention.

He turned and yelled with a frown on his face. "Shaddup you idiot, you're scaring the fish!" "Help! Please help me!" I yelled with urgency. "For I am stuck, and I cannot get out!" The fisherman looked at me and scowled. I could see him shake his head. In the roar of the rapid, however, the signal to noise ratio was too great to be heard. I knew I must get him to understand.

I waved frantically back. "Sir! Please Sir! I am alone and clinging to life only by an objectively small probability!" He stared and I could see he was searching Short Term Memory. "My kayak has become lodged in these treacherous rocks and the current is too swift to extricate myself!" He scowled again and extended one digit of his right hand. Hope filled me! He was signalling how many minutes it would take to help me. Only one! I took heart at seeing this. Then he hurled a full beer bottle at me and went back to baiting his hook. Something to drink as well! A Worthy Samaritan, he!

The beer bottle followed a parabolic arc toward me, determined by the initial velocity of his throw (which must have been very nearly 40 feet per second) and the inexorable pull of gravity (an accleration of precisely 32 feet per second per second). It wafted toward me, and as I calculated its trajectory, I realized I could not catch it. It shattered loudly with a loud breaking sound on the rock to my right in many pieces. Luckily one of the broken pieces decended to the bottom just within reach through the rushing torrent.

Desparately, I groped for it, again and again, cutting my thumb severely on its edges. The fisherman had begun fishing again. He was not going to help after all! My hopes were dashed. I realized my salvation could only come through my own powers. I cut my way out of the spray skirt and the water rushed into the boat through the cut. I had not calculated on this. The kayak rapidly filled with water and I could not extend my arm to the portion of the spray skirt that was adjacent to my back. I struggled, but it was no use.

My paddle washed away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the fisherman pick it out of the water and hide it under a bush. I waved again and again. My boat was filled. I was exhausted and depleted. Hope was fading. In response to my various motions, a family having a picnic on the far bank waved back. But Oh Horror, they didn't realize! If only they had been Neuroscientists! Then they would have correctly interpreted the cues of my posture and rendered aid.

How paradoxical and ironic life is, I thought with grim irony. I am within sight of many people and yet no one can save me but myself. "This is the fate of Man," I thought. The cruel fate that we all must face when our time comes. I was surprised at these philosophical insights occurring in the face of impending doom. Despite my exhaustion, I reflexly made a mental sticky note to see what I could find of this in Neuroscience Abstracts, if I ever returned.

Two children on air mattresses floated by, safely away from the menace of these rocks and the shallow, savage current where I was entrapped. My strength was fading rapidly. I waved weakly at them, desparate in my dire straights. "Help me! Please!" They saw me and laughed.

My sadness was deep. I bitterly lamented the day that my urge toward adventure had led me to take such risks.. My life passed before my eyes. There was Professor Dutton, Dean of the Graduate School of Neurosciences, admonishing me for not studying harder. "Candidate Paunchos! You will never be a Ph.D in Neuroscience if you do not give it your all! These are foolish pursuits. Only the most diligent become Neuroscientists!" Alas, this was the issue that divided he and I, he who might be my mentor and friend if I only would not cast my fate into my adventures. Oh, but how could he know the wonder of adventure, clad as he was in the whitesuited Ivory Towers of Academia? Thus I had always thought. But now in my hour of need, questions assailed me. Was he right? Should I have devoted all my time to Neuroscience? Bitter waves of bitterness came over me. Oh how I wished I could have another chance! I became ever bleaker and despondent with bleak despondency. With the last of my strength I raised my arms toward the sky and proclaimed, "I will do anything if I am saved! I will never kayak again, but devote myself only to Neuroscience. Please!"

At this moment, Professor Dutton's image disappeared and another took its place. My dear mother, clothed as an angel with expansive feathery wings, was before me. She stroked a harp and sang in dulcet tones, "Crocky, dearest Crocky, have Pluck! Endeavor to persevere!"

This apparition and its strange celestial message confused me. Had I been alert I would have immediately realized it was a neural manifestation of spontaneous materialization, and made a mental sticky note. Yet somehow from the confusion, I drew other strengths I had not known. My hallucinations attested This Was It. I knew now that I must endeavor to persevere, or I would never endeavor to persevere again. From deep in my despondency, I willed outward with all the pluck of a True Neuroscientist.

Then something happened that leaves me in a quandry. I have no scientific explanation. The second after I revived my hopes, miraculously, my kayak unlodged from its predicament and I floated down into the calm water. There was a second chance after all!

The boat was swamped and full of water. There was no air in it because it was filled with water, and it hardly floated (because it was filled with water), but I was breathing and alert. I checked my pulse. I gagged myself to ascertain of my Factitous Repugnii Reflex. All vital signs were present. Oh, how elated I was! To have the infinite sweetness of Life given back after being so near to Death!

I could not get my spray skirt off however, and the boat turned over. I gasped for breath, unable to roll it as I was faint for lack of Adenosine TriPhosphate in my muscles. Finally, desparate and beginning to asphyxiate, I unzipped my lifejacket and severed the neoprene away at the rear, bending backward and gnashing at it with my teeth. I floated free, coughing up water and bits of neoprene. Surprisingly, I stood up and found the water was only apprx 1 meter deep and the bottom was covered by sand. I pulled my heavy boat to shore and sat panting from the toil.

The fisherman had left. I looked under the bush and my paddle was gone, but still I was happy. My resolve came back. My urge for Adventure. I knew now I could never turn my back on it, regardless of the frightening places it led me. Regardless of Professor Dutton's remonstrances. Although I could not complete the exploration of the Big Pecos River this day, I knew I would soon return.

As I dragged my Mirage through the willows back toward my truck, I thought deeply. Being at Death's Door, I had seen things that moved me in strange ways. I had gained insights never before thought possible. I made a mental sticky note to look this up in the Journal of Neuroscience on Monday. Undoubtedly, to study the phenomenon I had experienced would require a thorough database search of Neuroscience Abstracts. And so, my adventure had opened the Door To Insight into my chosen discipline. Henceforth, from now on I would always know that I was destined to be both a kayaker and a Ph.D Neuroscientist.

Doctor Dutton would see!

My friends have told me that I am foolish to do these things. They have asked, "Why Crocky? Why must you do these things?" It is the challenge that is everything. Those who have experienced the Edge are forever changed. For all my many prior challenges, those First Descents that had stressed me to the Utmost, I had only just glimpsed this fundamental truth. But now, I knew its Full Meaning. As I got into the truck and drove away, I made another mental sticky note to look this up too.

Sincerely, Crocky Paunchos, Ph.D. candidate in Neuroscience

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