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The Fish Priest
Tallyho. Maybe you remember me, maybe you don't. Those of you who have been
hanging out on this newsgroup for the last few years might. Anyway, my name's
Ed, I'm a longhair from East Tennessee, and I paddle my ass off whenever I get
the chance. But it doesn't stop there, and that's why I have to come back home
and hack out this kind of thing. Hope it dredges up a few memories, or lights
up a new one. Do a Yahoo! search for "The Battle Of The Swine King" if you
have any questions. Happy hunting.
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I consider myself a deep-faith disciple of the mystico-karmonious balance and
all that jazz, but every now and again I find myself wringing out a wail of
cosmic befuddlement because there are forces at play on this level of reality
that are beyond my ken.
Those forces are everywhere. You can even sense them humming around between
the stars. I've spent a lot of time pondering the messages in the night sky,
usually from a deck chair way off in the desert with a fair variety of
brain-softening substances within easy reach, and such contemplation has
convinced me that there are a lot of paddlers who are born star-crossed.
Sadly, I think my friend Geoff might be one of them. Although I don't actually
know what Geoff's sign is, I can't see how it could be anything other than
Pisces...the Fish. I say this because Geoff is the Mark Spitz of paddling,
which is somewhat of a foul honor. Geoff swims.
And swims, and swims, and swims. It shrinks me up like a cold day to think of
it, you know? Right on down into the Raisinette zone, where no man should go.
Geoff's simply suffering from this heinous roll-clot, and he can't seem to
cough it up. Time after time I've watched him psyche himself up for a tight
class III...he studies the line, runs the entry in a manly and rugged way,
flips in the main hole or on a pushy wave, and swims out into an eddy or a pool
underneath. He almost always comes up smiling, he never seems to lose gear,
and he sits under the rapid and squints back up the line that mulched him,
grimly smoking a cigarette as if in smoldering defiance of the bastard-gods who
worked him over. He's got panache, and he's earned it.
Whatever force is keeping Geoff from rolling must be pretty buff. Geoff has
paddled a decent amount of tricky whitewater, including little nowhere rivers
in Maine, which is redundant, as well as bigger stuff in Western Massachusetts.
He's been to Appalachian Mountain Club clinics. He has any number of helpful
paddler-ace friends. He's got a pool in his backyard and he hits rolls just
fine there. But get him in the squirrelly stuff, and the creepy music begins
to play. I don't get it. He's a righteous dude, he's got good help, and he's
had plenty of real-world practice. To put it nutly: it ain't like Geoff can't
roll.
As I lie in my deck chair watching the universe streak by I ransack my brain
for ways to help Geoff past this thing. And it occurs to me that this isn't
just a Geoff thing...pretty much anyone who has ever been unexpectedly dumped
underwater has confronted some basic truths, and the main one is essentially an
unmerciful mindfulness. Stark, brutal, in-the-moment living. There is no
distraction at a time like that, no worry about work or spouse or unpaid bills.
Steely, focused, purposefulness dominates the mind, and you'd think that would
be a boost to the rolling process, but when you de-construct the moment you
realize that this kind of clarity actually the greatest distraction of them
all. When you're obsessed with the idea of something, the very obsession can
make the physical attainment impossible to accomplish. Just ask anyone who
eats Viagra.
"Viagra for the Soul" is the title of my new self-help book for paddlers. Look
for it.
Geoff, next time you're hanging there underwater, amphibiously inverted and
wishing you had stayed in bed, I want you to get this list out and spend a few
minutes going through it. It's a collection of simple affirmations and
relaxation exercises which will set you up for proper rolling, and I think
you'll find that your combat roll will get a lot more reliable in a very short
time if you consult it when you're in trouble.
1) Start by confessing your sins. You're probably petrified that St. Peter's
not going to unhook the velvet rope for you, so why not get rid of that
obstacle by coming clean? You've been rolled and you're getting whacked around
by the rocks and the holes, so you've got a head start on the penance thing.
Jesus is waiting to hear from you. Call now.
2) Go to your happy place, unless this conflicts with item (1). I have a happy
place I like to go to, but then again I'm married and when I go to my happy
place it's both holy and legal.
3) Wow. Here you are on item number three already. And you're still alive.
Don't you think you should move your paddle across to your strong side and tuck
in your head?
4) You can't really take deep breaths at this stage of the game, but another
good technique for purging stress from the body is to make sure your toes are
comfortable. Think about your toes…all ten of them. Have you named them
yet? Wiggle them around a little bit. Are they dry? Do they feel pinched by
your bulkhead? Are they getting plenty of blood? When was the last time you
scrubbed out from between them? Eew.
5) While you're thinking about your feet and legs, if you were to brace your
knees on either side of the cockpit it would set you up pretty well for your
hip snap.
6) Meditate upon this koan. A seeker once asked Rabbi Loxnmatzo for
instruction in the way of wisdom. "Come closer and I'll whisper the secret in
your ear," answered the rabbi. The seeker approached, but maintained a
respectful distance. "No, no, don't be afraid, my boy," coaxed the rabbi.
"Stand next to me, right here, very close." The seeker obeyed. The rabbi put
his arm around the seeker's shoulders and raised his lips to the seeker's ear.
"GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE!" the rabbi hollered.
7) Discussion question: What's a rabbi doing in a Zen koan?
8) I'm thinking now would be a good time to lean over to your strong side, feel
for resistance on your strong-side paddle blade, and pull down. Snapping your
opposite hip wouldn't hurt, either.
9) Take a metaphorical pause. Do you see what you're doing? You're rolling
your boat, just like you practiced in the swimming pool. You're not doing
anything complicated…just practicing some simple action/reaction physics.
10) Well, here you are! Upright, soaking wet, gasping for air, and hopefully
grinning from ear to ear. You just hit a combat roll! Word to your mama!
Elapsed time: about a half hour. We can work on that, but for now be content
that you're still inside your boat. Your friends downstream are cheering and
high-fiving. The squirrels are twittering in ecstasy and little birds are
actually weaving you a crown of golden feathers. You da man.
And my work here is done. Getting Geoff over the hump and into the eddy
through exorcism of spiritual psychosis is all in a good day's work. There are
many ways to accomplish this sort of thing…if, for instance, this were a
Kevin Costner movie I could dress Geoff up in women's underwear and tell him to
breathe through his eyelids, but isn't that kind of icky poo? Point is, nobody
should think too much. Especially about the meaning of this column.
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