At this point, we will assume anytime I drop paddle into the Piney that something will go awry. Because the past week's trip was a resounding success otherwise, I'll stick with the facts. Feeing a good current below me, I skipped the second beer stop, just pass where a few wandering cows forded the river, and cruised through the noontime sun.
Then a bit of water began sloshing from the stern. Before long, a lot more water rolled up with every stroke forward. At a bend not far from the Piney's infamous rock, enough water had entered the boat to throw it off-kilter and toss me into the water. It was only eight feet deep and with a few fortunate skips across boulders on the bottom, I reached the steep rocky bank and returned the boat's contents to the river.
Along the stern, I found a narrow, three-inch crevasse which spat all that lovely water into the boat. With nothing to patch, and no way to replace the boat in the middle of the trip, I stripped off my shirt, squeezed out the water, and shoved it deep into the rear of the boat. With the rock just a few hundred yards upstream, it didn't take long before I rejoined the party. But even then, the boat barely made it.
But thankfully, not all co-workers are of equal size. Roman, who weighs half what I do, traded me boats, and he paddled down without incident. In the hole-free kayak, so did I.
This epic Piney trip - it spanned almost 9 hours - spawned a dozen more stories and unforgettable moments, but they have already become the foundation of legends. With twice the crew of last year's trip, most people were ginning up for the next trip. It wasn't this weekend, but I don't expect many weekend will click over before we spill out into the Piney again.
As for what drama awaits me there, I can only dream.
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