So this here is a story about four lessons I learned on the Fateful Saturday that I was at Potato Run.
There I was, in the wild lands of Indiana, just east of the Hoosier National Forest. It was the first time that week the temperature had finally breached the 50's.
I had followed the Ohio River, watching its wide waters twist and turn until I found a tributary with a quiet forest with virgin ice still unbroken on top of the stream.
Now, most had melted off, but god it was beautiful. "Here," says I, "will be where I adventure forth."
So I began the tedious project of unfolding my origami kayak, making sure to latch every latch and strap ever strap.
Upon finishing, I strapped on my brand new PFD, geared up, and ate a last snack before venturing onward.
With the kayak slung across my right shoulder, I went down the crooked and steep and muddy horse path, trying not to slip or smack my 'yak in a tree.
Feet covered in slick and unyielding mud, I got into my kayak, its white interior turning into a sloppy brown clay.
And forward I paddled. Ice gave way before me and the combination of the still quiet of the forest and the ice breaking was thrilling.
I turned around and headed for the great Ohio River, for I was in a stream called...Potato Run.
I toured the Ohio River for some time. Watched boats go by and the cloud play tricks on the tide. Raced up river for as long and fast as I could to, to only let its gentle roll bring me back as I relaxed.
Well, the sun was having its last say, so I thought it best to call it a day. So I slipped back into...Potato Run.
Well, you see, Potato Run was slick with mud and high sloped. I went back to my original docking site since there was a large rock I had used to stand on, without fear of slipping into the icy cold grasp of the Styx.
I maneuvered my kayak like I had done many a time. Parallel to the land, I used my paddle to poke at the rock. I also gauged the bottom of the shoreline...but never felt the bottom. "Don't be a damn fool and fall in," I said to myself. “Would be too damn cold on a day like today.”
I balanced on the kayak and stomped my foot on the rock. It held steady. But as I placed my weight upon it, the rock began to slide down and breached the water. As if in slow motion, I flipped my kayak and fell into the icy drink.
Air pushed out of my lungs as the steel cold of the water held me in a fierce grasp.
I clambered for the shoreline of Potato Run.
There was no gradient of shore, though. Just a carved path of icy cold water and the slick and thick clay mud of Indiana.
My fingers clawed up the mud, only to hopelessly pull more mud into the water.
I had a good 8 or 9 attempts of trying to beach myself upon the mud before I realized it was hopeless. I was only spending more of my fleeting energy in a futile gesture of survival.
And during those trying moments, scrambling up the forsaken mud of Potato Run, there was a song stuck in my head.
American Pie. Specifically the part of the song, "...and this'll be the day that I die..."
So while that forsaken lyric is on repeat in my head and the forsaken mud was making me fall back into the icy grave of forsaken Potato Run, I told myself there was no way I was going to die in goddamn forsaken Indiana.
I shimmied to the right with the ice clawing at my throat and my lungs. I didn't bother screaming or calling for help. The serenity of the place spoke that seldom had a person come out this way.
Finally. A root I found and a root I used. I launched my body like a beached muddy porpoise onto the steep and sloped forsaken mud of Potato Run.
I slithered up the mud, not caring that I was now baptized in it.
Finally, I got to my soaked and muddy feet and surveyed my existence.
My kayak was still close by and my paddles were thrown ashore. American Pie still rolling.
So, I waited and cursed and fetched my 'yak. It took me another 30 minutes to drain, pull, drain that water logged kayak, fearing that I'd be dragged back into the water. I had braced myself upon a tree, this time, so I managed to evade the Styx this time, steam rolling off my frigid body from the exertion.
I sighed and looked up at the sunset that was now cresting the sky.
And stripped down to my skivvies once I got to my car.
And upon heating, laughed and bemoaned my stupidity. For four things I had learned.
2. Never kayak in the winter
3. Never load/dock on a muddy slope
4. Don't do 1-3 together.
