I was graduating college in a few days, virtually of course, as per COVID-19, and had plans to move to a new city across the country the following Sunday. It was a Thursday, and the James River water level gauge was reading about 7.5 feet—the high mark of my comfort level for the Lower, the more difficult whitewater section of the James that runs through Richmond, VA. The level was rising to 13 feet by the end of the week—flood stage. Given the projection, I knew it would be my last lap on my favorite river before I left my city—the city I’ve spent the last four years calling home, and the river that I’d spent the last two and a half years learning to paddle on.
I’ve been whitewater kayaking for a little less than two years. I like to think my progression would have been faster if I had become more comfortable in a boat when it was warm outside, rather than in November when all I had to protect myself from bone-chilling water was a leaky drysuit and taking conservative lines. My fear—of holding up the group when I inevitably capsize, fail multiple rolls, and have to pull my spray skirt—kept me from trying new things.
It was a cold, rainy May afternoon. I texted my boss, Karl, to see if he wanted to paddle together one last time before I moved, and he seemed delighted. I wanted Karl to be there for my last lap—he’s been my mentor since I started working for my university’s outdoor program in the fall of 2017—when I knew nothing about anything outdoors, but was eager to learn. He asked my other boss, Joey, to come too. The two are some of the best kayakers I know so they were a welcomed addition to my usual crew.
We all met that Thursday at Reedy Creek, the put-in for the Lower James. I was bubbling with excitement, Karl and I doing little hoppy dances with our boats on our backs, geared up and ready to paddle.
Joey and Karl wanted to put in at the actual Reedy Creek—a short stretch of water that flows into the usual put-in pool that I had never run before. I asked what the line was and they laughed, saying something about a straightforward “big drop." Before I could even get in my boat they launched.