She was young and a vision of beauty. Her features were as smooth as porcelain; time had not yet made its mark upon her flawless face. Her hair was pulled taunt about her head and glistened whenever the sun sent its brightness down upon her. She was small in stature but possessed a lithe, athletic body. It was as if she had been tempered by elegance and cast from the mold of perfection; such was the girl who hung out at the outfitters store.

She had always wanted to kayak. It was her destiny, she’d been told. So it was only natural that she and her few friends hung out at the outfitters store they’d discovered that summer. For many people the store was a mecca in the middle of suburbia--a gathering place to swap information, evaluate gear, hang out--but for her it provided a window into that world of adventure that existed beyond the confines of her mundane life. She enjoyed listening to the conversations and wild stories that filled the store on any given day. It was an eclectic mix of people who came there to relive glorious weekends or embellish tall outdoor tales: serious outdoorsmen, wannabes, lifestylers, and those that sorted among them. She had watched all the videos--mountain biking, climbing, and especially whitewater kayaking--that seemed to play endlessly from the big-screen TV suspended high on the wall. There were also the posters that hung throughout the store. To her they were works of art; huge waterfalls in exotic locations or whitewater of such brilliance that it was difficult to believe that a mere camera could capture such essence. And in the middle of each 2’ X 3’ frame of eden was a kayaker! Sometimes the kayaker pictured was a rail-grabbing youth plunging off an incredible drop and sometimes it was a grizzled veteran paddling monstrous whitewater in Shangri-La; but it made little difference to her. She knew what the river--and especially the whitewater--could do to people; she’d listened to the conversations . . . and the stories. The great equalizer; it breaks down the facade of economic and social stratification, she’d heard it said. Kindred spirits, she’d heard the participants described as. And, she wanted to be a part of it all.

She noticed the man and boy when they first entered the store. There was something about them--she couldn’t explain exactly what--that caught her attention. Perhaps it was the fleeting glance the boy sent her way. She watched them closely as they milled about, looking at the racks of gear. The man tried on a bright red metal-flake helmet, glancing into a mirror as he did. He then removed the helmet and placed it back on its hook. He momentarily watched the big-screen TV above as a harsh rock soundtrack built to a crescendo and a kayaker launched himself over a huge drop. Not far away, the boy looked at the array of playboats suspended from the ceiling, weighing in his mind the merits of each. He then moved to the rack of paddles where he picked up a shiny graphite bent-shaft and took a few quick air strokes.

Kayakers, she thought. I must get to know them.

"Remember, we came here just to pick up a roll of duct tape." The man smiled as he turned to see the boy again admiring the myriad of bright colors and eccentric hull designs that hung from above.

"I know . . . just looking," the boy answered. He then turned his gaze in her direction.

"Hello," the boy said softly as he walked over to where she and her friends sat. Her friends might as well have been invisible; he looked only at her. She shyly returned his gaze. "We’re driving up to the mountains this afternoon," he continued. "Going to look at this river. We might even do some kayaking--no rough water though. Would you like to . . . go?"

Kayaking! She had a boat--had had it for awhile--a birthday present, she remembered. It was made of bright red plastic and its hull was still as smooth as the day it was popped from its mold; not a scratch on it. It awaited its maiden voyage . . . as did she. She didn’t drive--age and circumstances had kept her from behind the wheel of the magic carpet of the twentieth century--and she had never ventured beyond the confines of her neighborhood. But she knew that there was another world out there; she had overheard the conversations and had seen the videos. And now this handsome young boy asked her if she cared to leave her world of vicarious adventure behind--

"May she go with us?" the boy asked the older man. "I told her we’d be back before dark . . . just going to the mountains for the afternoon."

"Hmm . . . well, I suppose it’s all right." The older man smiled at the boy . . . and at the boy’s new friend.

The man paid for the few items he’d picked up: duct tape, some braided nylon rope to replace the frayed tie-downs on the rack, a carabiner.

"Okay, we need to get going if we’re going to be back by dark!"

Their vehicle, a shiny black sport-utility with tinted windows, was parked directly in front of the outfitter’s store. Like two colorfully plumaged birds, their kayaks sat on black bars that spanned the top of the vehicle. Nice, she thought as she left with them from the store.

"We’ve got plenty of room for you and your boat," the boy assured her. "Here, let me get some of this stuff out of your way . . . it’s just some gear . . . mostly clothes." He smiled at her again as she settled on the back seat. Outside the man tugged on the tie-downs that held the boats on the rack. "Ready to go?" he asked as he got in and started the engine.

Cushioned by the mound of clothing, she sat high, which afforded her a nice view. They pulled out of the parking lot and merged with the traffic. Clunk! she jumped as the doors automatically locked. They soon came to the entrance ramp to the four-lane highway where the man accelerated and merged with the northbound traffic.

"Traffic’s a bit heavy but it’ll begin to thin as we get farther north. That’s one thing I like about the mountains: few people up there. In fact, this place we’re going to is really off the beaten path--probably won’t even see another soul."

Kindred spirits, she thought . . . .

As the miles passed and they left the city behind, she began to notice hazy, stationary waves blanketing the horizon, subtle hues of blue-gray distinguishing one wave from another. In another two hours the waves had transformed themselves into high mountains carpeted with lush forests and it struck her that she might even be able to walk across this sylvan carpet from one mountain to the next. She looked in awe at the wonderful scenery as their vehicle rolled along the now two-lane highway that followed a valley.

"We’re almost there," the man said. He winked as he took a quick look at her in the rear view mirror. "We’ll turn off the main road soon and take a dirt road for a few more miles to the river."

He turned onto the dirt road near a small roadside stand. Boiled P-nuts was hand-painted on a board nailed to the trunk of a large oak. Nearby, an old man, weathered and bent, stirred a large, steaming black pot with a stick. Must be hot, standing near a fire in July, she thought.

"Say goodbye to civilization," the man chuckled as he drove along.

As they rode along the dirt road, she noticed bright rays of sunlight filtering through the canopy of the forest. She smiled as they passed through these wavering curtains of light. "You okay?" the boy turned and asked. "You’re very quiet." She nodded as they bounced along the road riddled with pot-holes. As the back road snaked its way through a grove of old growth hemlock trees, dark shadows moved in as the thick overstory shut out even the boldest rays of sun.

Kindred spirits, she hoped . . . .

"Somewhere along here . . . " the man said as he slowed. He pulled the vehicle off the road and came to a stop in a small clearing next to a large, clear pool in the river. She noticed a foot bridge spanning the river just upstream where a hiking trail crossed. The boy jumped out and ran around to help her from the vehicle, startling a large dark bird from the tall snag of a tree as the door slammed.

"Okay, China Doll . . . time to get wet!" laughed the man. "We’ll put you in here at this big pool . . . there’s not much current so you’ll be fine--let you get a feel for the river."

She watched spellbound as a bright yellow column of swallowtail butterflies, disturbed from their riverside sandbar, gyred through a skylight in the trees. The man and boy helped her into the river then watched from shore as she drifted in the slow current of the pool. Kayaking--finally, she smiled. She felt the life pulse of the river as her kayak gently rocked and the spiraling fingers of current slowly spun her in the steps of an ancient dance. The fresh air spoke of lush forests and a cool dampness; she’d never felt more alive. So nice, she thought.

Hummpt! she grunted in pain as the stick jabbed her in the back. She took a quick breath and--Hummpt! the stick dug into her back again! She wheeled around to see the boy holding a long, carved limb. What . . . why? she questioned. She looked into his eyes and saw a wild gleam as he shoved her toward midstream. "Wheeeee!" he shrilled as he thrashed the stick in the water, creating small waves that pushed her even farther out into the river. She looked to the other shore for sanctuary but saw the man standing there, expressionless and with arms crossed, watching her. She looked downstream and saw that the river narrowed as it passed between sheer rock walls then vanished around a bend. Downstream--I must get away from them downstream, she quickly reasoned. Like the top half of an hourglass the pool began to taper and the lazy spirals of current started to unravel as they were pulled into the V. She was soon caught in the flow that raced through the notch between the rock walls. At least they can’t get to me here, she thought as she saw the rugged terrain flying past. Screeeeee! the rock wall clawed at the side of her boat as she funneled ever faster downstream. The water was no longer of the peaceful nature that she had enjoyed in the pool upstream; it too had removed its mask and now plunged madly down a small gorge. Made furious by the confines of the rock, the river hurled savage reflex curls off the wall and shoved her into mid-channel. She crashed down a series of waves on a horrifying roller coaster ride. Then she saw a horizon line. My God! she thought as she realized that there was no way to stop as she careened down the narrows of stone. They had this planned! What monsters! the intuitive thoughts passed quickly through her mind as she looked ahead at the brink of a large fall.

Scrunnch! the swift current pushed the bow of her boat up on a hidden rock, stopping her dizzying descent. It was nothing more than a small aberration in the bedrock that formed a crown of stone just beneath the surface, but it had saved her . . . if only for a moment. The strong current quickly grabbed her stern and shoved it around to where she faced upstream. Time stood still as she held tight to the stony straw afforded to her by providence. She saw him standing high on a bluff overhead. He held a large rock over his head, poised to throw it down into the gorge. A thousand thoughts flashed through her mind before suddenly crashing down with the gravity of realization: Why was she even here? She was alone--about as alone as one could be--with no hope of escape, and she was here by . . . Choice! None of the conversations she’d listened to had been about the seriousness--the deadliness--of the sport, and in this dreadful place the facade of those conversations had been stripped away and exposed as only embellished tales of derring-do. Now, their glitter was quickly flaking . . . and even her kindred spirit had the face of a demonic clown!

"Ya-Hoo!" she heard him whoop above the roar of the river. She looked up and saw the large rock falling hard and fast in her direction. Splaashh! the water erupted several feet in front of her. The shock wave washed over her tenuous grounding on the rock and freed the boat. The current quickly grabbed her and there was no time to turn around . . . as if it mattered. She saw the blur of gorge, trees, and sky race by as she plunged backwards over the lip of the fall! Craackk! her back slammed into the cockpit rim as the stern of the boat pitoned a jagged ledge halfway down the fall. The boat pitchpoled off the ledge. Cruunch! her head smashed into the stone face of the fall below the ledge! Blinding white flashes of searing pain filled her senses as she continued the plummet to the bottom. Now, there was nothing but a strange softness as she felt the continuous--and airless--caress of the river. She tumbled and tumbled at the base of the fall . . . and drifted away into a tranquil sleep . . . .

"Where did she go . . . do you see her?" shouted the man as he came sliding and stumbling down the steep trail around the falls. "Did she wash farther downstream?"

"No! Here she is," answered the boy as he made his own way down the trail that snaked between the boulders. He waded out into the river to the base of the waterfall where the low water lapped at the hem of his shorts. He took his hiking stick and raked it along the hydraulic, pulling her toward him. He reached down and lifted her from the water.

"Did it break?" shouted the man from the opposite shore.

"No . . . some scratches along the side and a dent in the end of the boat is all." The boy rubbed the small plastic kayaker against his T-shirt. "And a little crack on its helmet. Can we do it again? Pleaseee . . ."

"Okay, but only once more," answered the man. "I promised your mother that we’d be home by dark."

"Wheeeee!" the boy shrilled as he raced back up the path to the pool upstream

Ken Strickland