Ugh and Pictures

I know in my last post about the River Discovery trip, i implied i was done talking about the river for now, but i found a few pictures on my camera, so what the hay.

I'm longing for my life on the river today. I haven't been more angry with myself in a while. I missed a voicemail for an interview. I don't know how i managed it. It was a job i really wanted. It's the most elementary part of the whole process- make sure they can contact you. Duh, duh, duh. To make matters worse, it was 6 days later i discovered the message in my 'saved' box, i should've contacted the interviewer yesterday regardless, but i was too devastated. What do i say? I'm a dumbass? Ugh. A job! Benefits! I'm such a goddam space cadet. I'm ready to hibernate. Does anybody have a cave i could borrow for a while? Fuck. I should've been a bear. (Link to a poem- my in-dwelling poet is like six years old, so don't expect too much.)

Speaking of, i apologize i've been such a petulant potty-mouth lately. It wasn't my intent to come here and curse and complain all the time. Not at all. Thanks for being so patient with me. 

Lots of time driving in the rig. 

Our camp kitchen. My sister got to come on a trip.

Did i mention lots of time driving around in the rig?

with a big load

crew camp out before a trip

I meant to take more pictures on one of my favorite sections of river, but it's a little crazier, so i never had my camera out.

The toilet. Some guests struggle with this, but i'm a fan. When was the last time you took a poo and saw a shooting star? Hm?

Lots of love to y'all from your unemployed, rubbish-brained former river guide.

Autumn Romp

Photo credit: Julesoflondon

I intended to dump a bundleful of glum and dreary in the woods today. I was planning to bury it somewhere off trail in a cat hole, but even with the slick of the rain, i couldn't shake it free from my arms. It wasn't a big load, but i held it close to my heart and feared letting the weight of it down might leave me feeling terribly helpless and uncomfortably exposed.

I kept my cluster of worries held to my chest as rain fell down and soaked me and the dogs. I wished i could casually pass it off like the blades of grass foisting rain drops off onto my pant legs as i brushed by them, arcing, aloof, like careless ballerinas, oblivious to the storm, dancing. I couldn't fix these things. No matter how tightly i clutched them in my Amazon arms, or how often i worried them in my fingers throughout the day, they would never snap into manageable pieces or wear down the slightest bit or soften to the touch.

...

I know this. Yet, i can't let go of the sorrow. I try to sigh it away into the big, drab sky and bid it go play with the other shades of dark up there (in a busy street of speeding chariots), but it keeps slipping back into me in wisps of grey. 

Life is tough, for some the time on this planet is cut short, families are truncated of tender branches. Some are taken in ways that seem horribly unjust. My would-be-sister-in-common-law-if-Idaho-recognized-common-law's mom is slipping down the steep, merciless slope of ALS. She's staying here so she can go through another battery of doctor's visits this week. Our house isn't wheelchair accessible. I feel terrible. When you're at the stage in the game where every moment is precious, the last thing you want to compromise is someone's dignity. She's a great sport, but i hate that it's a struggle. I hate that the once-fiercly-independant woman is humiliated by her need for assistance. I hate that every time i see her, the rapid decline is apparent. She fights to breathe these days. What a dastardly, piece of shit disease.

Albeit a molehill, comparatively, mom is facing a tough situation too; after 22 years of unhappy marriage, she's finally calling it quits. She just moved out this weekend. While i know in my heart they'll be better off long-term without the often volatile marriage arrangement; it's going to be harder than a fossilized, anal-retentive velociraptor turd in the meantime. I wish i could take her up in a hug and not let go til it's over. I wish i lived closer. I can't stand the idea of my mom living in a one room apartment alone.

I have more ill-sorted (<<great word) worrows and concerns that buzz around and pop out of the darkness like a carnival "fun" house. I know most of them also fall under bullet number one in the Serenity Prayer, but sue me if i'm too chicken shit to admit that i can't change these things. Maybe i can't accept the sheer helplessness yet. 

...

I plodded down the trail til it opened up and plunked me back out near where we started. I love loop trails. The fall colors were contrasted like flames against the dark sky. The tamarack glowed yellow like blazing torches against a dark forest backdrop. An assortment of deciduous trees added to the fiery array. It struck me that maybe this was nature's way of saying, i know it's cold and dark these days, but here are my leaves in cozy tones to warm your exposed and vulnerable souls. It's gonna be okay one way or another; light and love will always win, eventually.

With that glimmer of hope, i took my dogs and my load and plodded the damp streets home.

Purple Gophers and Mustaches

In case you haven't heard, November is Epilepsy awareness month. I knowiknow, every month is something-awareness month and it's pretty dang overwhelming. There are so many worthwhile causes out there with symbols and colors galore, but purple is lovely and we definitely need your support. 

Granted i'm biased, but this is a cause that's in dire need of attention. Seizures aren't just a drag; they aren't merely a frustrating, humiliating, inconvenience; people are dying. 

More than 50,000 people in America die on account of seizures each year. That's 50 thousand devastated, heartbroken, grief-stricken families every. single. year. That's waaaay too many moms and dads burying their babies. If we bunched it all up, that's enough sadness to sink a goddamn battle ship, (and that doesn't even include the anguish felt by friends and caregivers of these individuals, and the anguish that endures year, after year, after year in everyone's hearts). Epilepsy steals more lives annually than breast cancer, yet the funding is about $35 per patient vs. $2,976 per patient (according to abcnews), respectively. 

It's staggering enough, but we also can't forget the millions of families who are waging war daily against seizure disorders. 3 million people in the U.S. have been diagnosed with epilepsy (that's twice the population of my home state). About a third of these people don't find good control with medications. So in addition to the thousands who succumb to the disease, there are at least a million more in our country who are robbed of quality of life and their most intimate sense of security. This results in a ripple effect of constant worry and fear and hyper-vigilance for all those who love somebody with epilepsy.

If we had a dollar for every time a mom, sister, boyfriend, daughter, etc. watched helplessly and begged and prayed and pleaded for convulsions to end, we'd have a mint to contribute to funding and research. But we don't have that money, and if we don't start talking about it, we never, ever will. 

While knowledge and understanding of the disease has improved, it's still widely misunderstood and seldom discussed. We've made leaps and bounds since the Salem Witch Trials, but the stigma is still there. People don't regard epilepsy as a burnable offense anymore, but popular culture these days tends to ignore seizures entirely, save for the occasion they're the butt of a joke or featured as a bizarre oddity on a Hollywood medical TV show. 

For more information, here's an article that appeared in Newsweek a few years ago: Epilepsy: Overlooked and Underfunded

While i vilify those out there who mock people with epilepsy, i realize i'm just as complicit in my silence. I haven't much talked about it outside of absolute necessity. I've run from it and done all i could to deny it. But i've realized for each of us in the literal knock-down-drag out brawl against this monster who have a voice, there are many more out there who don't. 

So, God help me. I'm talking about it. I'm learning. We'll get there. 

It can seem a daunting venture. Who really wants to hear about these sorts of things? It's an awkward conversation. Nonetheless, we have to stand up. The state-of-affairs on the epilepsy front is not okay! A life riddled with seizures is synonymous with terror, and too often, hopelessness. But when i noticed this headline last night my eyes and my heart welled up in a rare moment of optimism:

Gopher football team to raise epilepsy awareness Saturday[!]

Jerry Kill, head coach of the University of
Minnesota football team

Thanks to this brave man who contends with the burdens of epilepsy, the first ever college football game dedicated to raising epilepsy awareness was played today! The Gophers may not have put a win up on the scoreboard, but it was sure as hell a win and then some in my book. I feel so hopeful.

Here's some of that purple in action!

What's more, he and his wife stepped up to the plate yesterday to become public spokespeople for epilepsy. I can't begin to tell you how elated this makes me. This. This is the sort of advocacy we desperately need. 

Now pardon me here, but where the fuck are you David Beckham, John Travolta, Neil Young, Danny Glover, Chief Justice Roberts, etc., etc.?! We could certainly use a little star power in the fight against epilepsy. Please, for the whopping 65 million people struggling worldwide with this disorder, let's turn the lime light at least a little purple. 

Also, i noticed November is doubling as prostate cancer/men's health awareness month which guys are deeming 'Movember' and sporting mustaches. I won't lie, selfishly at first, i was a bit loathe to share the month, but i feel we can all win here if those guys would man-up and dye that upper lip fur purple. Thanks in advance, guys!

River Discovery Trip

Before i leave summer alone, i have to mention one week that got my gears turning. It was a river trip exclusively for kids either currently battling or who have survived the nightmare of cancer. It's an awesome program called River Discovery. There are opportunities for both teenagers and adults and it's my understanding, save for an application fee, it's free for the participants.

It turned out to be my last trip and it was a poignant end to the summer. (Also great because i wasn't trip leader, so i could just sit back and be a dumb river guide again.) I'd heard stories about last year's River Discovery trip having open port-a-caths and chemo in camp and that sort of thing, so i wasn't sure i'd have the emotional fortitude to bear it. I lost one of my good friends, Susie at 9 to leukemia. Just the word 'cancer' sits like an infected lead ball in my stomach. I'm a pretty big sissy about it.

It's such a cool program. A few of these kids have been the last couple or three summers, and they freakin love it. I was filled with admiration watching them scramble on rocks and hike around and even  do some rappelling in camp despite a number of them having internal prosthetics and braces, and some being generally frail. 

But most of all, they were just regular kids. There were baby-faced hand-holding romances and everything else you could expect with 13 teenagers involved with anything. We had great support from volunteers that had backgrounds in varying, complementary fields including an oncologist who turned out to be a riot. 

They were all very tolerant of my shenanigans and great sports when i duped them with some good, old-fashioned river guide trickery. 

There were games and skits and water fights and guitars and songs and campfires and all that awesome hokey river camp shiznit. We all cried when we realized the last night had crept up on us. It was a helluva privilege to share a week on the river with this bunch of kids that confronted fears and challenges with practiced pluck and determination. We laughed a lot.

All week all i could think was, how cool if there was a program like to accommodate people with all sorts of chronic illnesses? With a well trained, vigilant crew, maybe even adults and kids with seizures could go on these trips. Sure, we might have to enforce a strict buddy system and pass out helmets as soon as we hit camp, but holy crap i'd love to make it happen.

Seriously, though, if you know of anyone with the misfortune of a cancer diagnosis that could benefit from one of these river trips, check out the River Discovery website.

Note: I've mixed in pictures of trips with teenagers from throughout the summer for the sake of preserving medical privacy

Box of Darkness

Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.

 -Mary Oliver

I'm far from that realization, actually. In fact who ever gave me that  box can take it right back and shove it. 

Like i might've said before: if i were offered a cure tomorrow, i would snatch it up and run til my legs fell off. On the other hand, if i could choose to have my life without having experienced the tribulations and sacrifices of an unpredictable brain disorder, i'd probably find myself declining the offer. I might be a whole lot smarter, but i just don't think i'd hold it all in quite the same regard.

On Leaving the House

Pansy Patch Acrylic

Even these days, simply leaving the house can be the hardest damn thing.

I'm embarrassed to admit it to you. Especially since my town is safe and and free from the flooding and aftermath of a giant ass hurricane, and my brain is basically a rockstar lately (so i should be out frolicking joyously nonstop really), and i'm physically well, and a million other reasons...  

I guess, more specifically, i mean leave the neighborhood- distances more than 15 or so minutes away from home (so as not to exceed the amount of advance warning provided by my trusty and adorable seizure detection dog). I go on bike rides (gotta chancem now and then) and we walk around our neck of the woods every day, but save for hockey practices, a UU service and an aberrant dinner with friends, it's the extent of my social pursuits. Wah right? I miss my life in the boondocks where if the human company leaves some to be desired, we can walk 15 steps out of camp and consort with birds and marmots and deers and shit.

I hate to be a home-body, but about every few months or so somebody notices i'm not in a wheelchair or blind, so they'll give me grief about the dog. I know i have ADA mandate on my side, so there isn't much these people could do to me, but i fear the day someone hassles me and i wind up punching out their teeth. I know it's not their own fault if their mothers failed to instill manners and diplomacy into some of these people, but it's all i can do not to beat their ill-informed, tactless booties into the current century.

I'm perpetually awkward. I'm good friends with a few of the first-responders but since part of the department is volunteer-based there are seemingly hundreds of generally young firefighters and emt's to bump into around town. I just try to smile and wave and hope i didn't puke on their boots or do anything else embarrassing the last time they had to deal with me. Plus i have no idea which innocent bystanders have been on scene and witnessed the mutiny of my brain and the subsequent assault on my soul and body. I know it's paranoid and insane to even worry about, but it's kind of a hell of a first impression to overcome. I don't know if i'm socially equipped for that.

Most of all, however, I'm terrified if the ambulance is dispatched on my account, one of the whackjob, bad-apple, power-mongers is gonna be on call and the whole situation will turn into a nightmare of four-point restraints and having my face smashed into the concrete. Though they're overwhelmingly the minority of the people employed to respond to the scene of a medical call, I swear i have PTSD from the few useless (no, worse, injurious) imbeciles that are out there. 

I'm undecided as to whether or not to share the stories that led up to our current state of animosity here, (leaning on yes) but i really do hate the idea of talking smack about any emergency medical or law enforcement personnel because the overwhelming majority of them are truly caring, and professional. The bozos (and please forgive the emotionally-charged name-calling, but i think 'bozo' is being pretty generous here) who respond inappropriately by restraining and/or piling onto somebody who's been reported to have had a seizure, may be well-intended, but since my efforts at educating and filing complaints have been to no avail, i'm inclined to think not. I feel so vulnerable. 

Jerry Bear Jack-o-Lantern

So i stayed home and carved my pumpkin and jump-roped and played my guitar. Ha.

Also: 

Your heart is like a great river after a long spell of rain, spilling over its banks. All signposts that once stood on the ground are gone, inundated and carried away by that rush of water. And still the rain beats down on the surface of the river. Every time you see a flood like that on the news you tell yourself: That’s it. That’s my heart.

― Haruki Murakami

My heart's out to you, East Coasters. 

More Rivers an Stuff

So how cute are these kids?! They were incredibly well-behaved to boot, and not in a nauseating weenie way either- they were characters. It's awesome to see kids excited about rivers and beaches and sticks and things. They both took turns and rocked it in the inflatable kayaks. My job is a blast. Of course their parents were likewise, awesome and grateful and fun-loving; and the week went by in a flash.

Once we got Ungrateful Hell Demon Succubus Wench Biatch out of the way on the first trip, our summer guests were insanely gracious and enjoyable and incredibly complimentary. One father said to me, "I see a lot of Mother Theresa in you." Ha! (the brown hair maybe???) But sheesh, the ultimate flattery huh?

One lady commented, "You're such a diplomat. You don't even curse." and another, "You're so collected and unflappable." (can you believe that? who says that?) to both i couldn't help but think, where have you been all week? and/or you must have me mistaken for one of your other river guides. Wow.

I've actually visited a few since the river trip. How cool is that, to have guests you'd actually care to hang out with on your own volition? I'll have to tell you more about my recent excursion to the coast in a future post. But seriously, they were top-notch, appreciative, adventuresome, good-natured folks for whom i'm forever grateful. 

We all survived despite the capricious nature of the seizure gods. I think it turned out to be the second best summer, neurologically-speaking, in all the years i've guided. (I think if some of my friends were reading this, they'd be flabbergasted to hear me volunteering any seizure-related info any time ever, but, hey, i'm learning.)  And in general, all the not-so-carefree moments when you couldn't pay me enough to be in charge (like the week we had a group of 20 and no camp reservations), and days hitch-hiking to make rig-outs and all other frustrating behind-the-scenes snags and annoyances considered; it was the best summer i can remember. 

Not perfect, like i said, but it went wrong as well as it could've. I wasn't without at least some baseline level of anxiety about the ever-looming worst-case-scenario. The little knot coiled up in my stomach over it nearly exploded when i heard myself in a fog, what did he just say? We'd been playing bocce ball in camp and i realized one of my guests had just asked me, "Do you have narcolepsy?" His hand streaked a few inches in front of my face. Fuck. I just smiled at him trying not to appear startled, failed to address his query, and tried to play it off. 

A calm pool just before the voracious Black Creek Rapid.
Mr. Greenshirt was my summer flame (gasp, yes, there was one.)

But i was shaken up by it. It was a glaring moral-dilemma squaring up with me like a gorilla linebacker in the NFL. I'd known at one time in my life that i'd had absence seizures, but they'd pretty well fallen off my radar entirely. This blew my whole justification for guiding again totally out of the water. I have a warning for bigger seizures thanks to my dog. With her, i have almost too much time to prepare for an impending neurological assault. 

It still sucks, but having advanced notice eliminates most all of the dangers associated with a condition that unpredictably derails or wrecks a person's streaming train of consciousness. Even though seizures themselves can pose a threat, especially in the wilderness, i'm confident i can guarantee the safety of our guests.

In the instance of absence seizures i'm not even sure when and how often they happen these days. They might be brief, but what i know of bad things leads me to believe they tend to happen pretty fast. 

Alder, one of our first big rapids.

So, f*@#, i was unsettled. For the next while i was fairly convinced it was my last trip and i'd have to call it quits. As much as i was certain from the start this would all be a disaster and i'd be sent packing, i wasn't really emotionally prepared for it. 

I talked with the rest of the crew and they were a perfect balance of concerned and casual about it. They were all first-responders of varying degrees and claimed they were prepared to deal with whatever happens. I vacillated again and again as to what was the right decision. 

Soo maybe these guys don't *look* super credible,
but I'd count on em any day of the week.

Just as i'd eased myself into a que sera, sera mode (because really there was nothing i could do about it in the middle of the trip), one of my guests, a mom and elementary school principle from California, approached me as i was down at the boats scrounging for something and she called me on it.

I probably would've thrown up or fallen over or tossed everything in my arms into the air and sped away like a cartoon character, fast and maybe forever if she hadn't been one of the kindest, most tactful ladies i've ever met. Also, she prefaced the conversation with, "My son has epilepsy." 

Purportedly she wouldn't have known were it not for the fact that my voice cuts out and you can see the scars and marks on my neck from the VNS. (You can see them in the first picture in this post and in my profile picture, i noticed.) Have i mentioned the the whole VNS thing yet? Maybe not. More on that in the future perhaps.

I was stunned. Running was no longer an option. My legs had turned to jelly so i parked myself on the nose of my raft.       It was never something i planned on divulging with clients, but shittlesticks, the cat was already out of the bag, and i desperately needed some advice, so i asked for her opinion.

Sometimes i wonder if epilepsy isn't really The Sacred Disease after all. While it seems like the antithesis to what we'd normally deem a god-send (unless you're talkin Old Testament, then it's totally god-sent), there is this underlying theme of people snagging me out of mid-air, sometimes literally, when the odds were overwhelmingly that i should've eaten shit and maybe died. 

The chance that somebody with all the right amount compassion and empathy and knowledge would enter my life at just the right moment were probably not good. Of course i cried. Thankfully, it was already getting dark. Nonetheless, someone stumbled upon us given the intimate size of some of our camps, and maybe a little of that mom/woman hocus-pocus, it just so happened to be another one-in-a-million guest of ours i'd gotten to know that week whose company i'd enjoyed considerably.

So when she asked if i was okay, in the spirit of disclosure and wanting as much input as possible, especially from someone with a guest's perspective; i solicited her opinion also. She actually had detected a state of space cadetery a time or two but didn't identify it as anything super disconcerting. They were both nearly effusive in their accolades for me and the rest of the crew. They maintained they felt nothing short of safe and assured in our capabilities. I was a little taken aback actually at their praise. They're both highly intelligent women. 

Maybe they were just braver than most but i came away from the conversation with loads less apprehension and a Texas-sized helping of reassurance. I knew if i was going to survive, i couldn't stress about it. So we took everything in stride and lo and behold those ladies were right. I had some full-blown seizures, but one was on the drive around and the other was in between trips, and nobody reported to me again that i ever seemed out of it. Was it negligent? Maybe. Did it turn out okay heckfrickinyes it did! Was it the right choice? Who knows? But phew and hallelujah.

So, that's the recap of the summer from the standpoint of my central nervous system; just shy of ideal. I wish seizure kids of all ages everywhere could be so lucky as this. I'm insanely grateful not only for fewer bouts of neuronal misfiring, but for all the people and dogs, and whoknowsmaybeGod/gods/goddesses watchin out for me.

Ahoy and Lo Sientos

Gahl dang, last i posted it was still sunshiney, swimming weather and now it's blooping snowing. I didn't mean to leave you hangin (not that it was a real hardship for anyone ha), but my computer is gonzo (depressing) and also, i accidentally developed a Sudoku addiction so i've spent the last few months filling numbers into squares.

Not really, but i did learn to like Sudoku and i thought i never would. (Numbers fun? Who knew?!) I've been meaning to post forever now, but my life feels sort of adrift and jelly-fishish. It's been pretty great, relatively, but i'm job-searching again and that's always a little stressful. 

Just kidding- it's really f-in stressful! I mean, where does service dog fall into the realm of reasonable accommodation? It seems like every other job out there requires a valid driver's license (mine's valid, but i rarely drive). And, in all honesty, some days i sure wouldn't hire me. I'm a decent employee, but epilepsy can pile-drive productivity into the ground and mop it around the floor like a rag doll. I'd give anything to be a reliable, dependable, boring adult. Seriously.

And i have to go into interviews and assert myself and hope i can skirt the incriminating questions. And then i have to feel all bad and mildly deceitful if i actually get the job and have to disclose all that gobbledy gook after the hiring process. 

That said though, on the seizure front things are good. Not perfect, but i'm averaging a full-blown, ginless tonic-clonic every 2-3 months. If i could be assured this frequency would persist for the rest of my life, i could probably be almost stoked on that. 

Who knows what it is though. Sometimes when the rug gets pulled it turns into a wicked, gnarly, vicious cycle. (Seizures themselves render you more susceptible to more seizures, anxiety about having had a seizure can result in having more seizures, seizures can disrupt your sleep [lack of sleep is a huge trigger], work that you missed while you were busy carpe-dieming snowballs on you, etc., etc., so on and so forth.) Maybe the combination of the river and eliminating the school environment and related stress factors has done it. I'm nearly heel-clicking grateful for it, but at the same time tip-toeing around eggshells.

It may have been a nearly sub-conscious factor in my not posting for so long. I was so afraid to jinx it all. Since i last posted i've had 3, count em 3 seizures, and i know we haven't hardly gotten to know one another yet, but i've had weeks the past few years where it was so bad i was in the ICU for 6 days and remember almost nothing; where i was averaging 4-5 full-blown, generalized seizures a day. So *whisper* hooray! zippy bloopin doo! Fo rizzle my frizzles; not shizzling you.

My dear friend Elli and me rockin out on the carrot mic
as we prepare for a wilderness picnic. It was a
happy summer, albeit a bit smokey.

Anyhow, I have some river pictures and maybe a few more anecdotes from the past few months that i'll get up here. I just wanted to say howdy and sorry for the hiatus magnus. Sorry for such a me-centric post. Thanks a million for the listen. 

Trip Two

Welp, heck, i don't even know where to start. My brand new computer went kaput, so though i've been hankering to entertain my admitted blog addiction, i've been deprived of the means to do so. (Woeisme right?) On the other hand, it's been nice to be unplugged for a bit. It's been a whirlwind last few weeks with little time to sit and write even if i could have.

(We launch every eight days and we run five or six-day trips so it gives us barely time to roll up and load the boats and the rest of the gear, drive the eight or nine hour journey home, scrub everything, shop, restock, repack, load up the next batch of guests and do it all over again. It's an awesome lifestyle if you're in to that kind of thing.)

But the drive is scenic so I can't really complain. These are the Sawtooths 
where my mom was a ranger back in the day.

Anyhow, i'm home for a bit in between trips. We had a launch that didn't book, so i have a whole eight or so free days to hang out with my sister and her new dog, Bodhi (a Louisiana Catahoula Leopard dog mix), in our new digs. As much as i'm enamored with Middle of Nowhere, Idaho, it's so, so good to come home to my dear town of Moscow. I love it here.

Reed: one of my favorite camps on the Main Salmon

So, anyhow, back to where i left off- Trip 2- it seems so long ago now, but i still want to tell you about it. It was tough, but we had a gang of competent guides and, save for one creeper, a lovely bundle of guests; the difficulty was far different in nature than the trip before. It was emotionally exhausting on account that life can be a real heart-breaking, abysmal, hurtful old broad.

I apologize, but before i continue, i have to interrupt this broadcast with a public service announcement:

According to Tufts University School of Medicine psychiatry professor, Nassir Ghaemi, Both Ghandi and Martin Luther King Jr. attempted suicide at various points in their lives (http://www.yaledailynews.com/news/2010/nov/12/prof-diagnoses-mlk/). Imagine what the world would be missing today if they'd succeeded. You never know what great things you might contribute along the way. You may live to inspire millions. Thus, I encourage you, with all of my heart, to keep on keepin on. You're amazing, after all, but that goes without saying...

(This was my facebook appeal after a member of our small community took his own life only days after the outfitter and family friend who gave me the opportunity to pursue my dreams of rowing boats on The River of No Return had died, also by his own devices.)

I've known his two kids since they were born. Dave (the outfitter) told me later that my sister and i were major factors in his deciding to become a dad. (Ludicrous, really) and now, yuck, he's left them both at such a vulnerable time in their young teenage lives. For that, some days i struggle not to shake angry fists at the sky and curse and spit and holler him an earful, but my ire is drowned out by the mind-numbing, intense sadness of it all.

This was this past April 28th; it was devastating. He was my river dad. Altogether i'd spent more than seven summers camped out in his backyard or basement and working on the river under his direction and/or taking care of those kids. He certainly didn't have to, but he gave me a chance. He wasn't perfect, but he was pretty damn good. He was a character. He ran a tight ship and a slick outfit until the divorce, alcoholism and self-imposed isolation got the better of him. He may have run aground and adrift in his personal life, but he knew how to run a stellar river trip. For that i'm forever indebted.

It was months ago, but it weighed on my heart the whole trip. Being on the river in general conjures unavoidable memories of the man who introduced it all to me. Plus, his son ran our cargo boat that week and to boot, we borrowed some of his equipment. It was bizarre to go back and, while i knew we were only borrowing and doing it in the most observant, respectful spirits, it felt eerily like pillaging from the quiet, unnaturally tidy shop i'd once known so well. I rode in the bed of the pickup on the way to the put-in so i could bury my face in the load of bags and let the wind suck away my tears before anyone could see them.

It wasn't the only time i cried. I was running the paddle boat one of the last days and one of the guests had pieced together by now that Logan's father was the outfitter that taught me to row boats. They inquired further details about the man which i could only field briefly before i found myself caught in a sob; a face-contorting, paralyzing sob that rendered me unable to reply. They realized i'd lost my composure and apologized to me profusely in comforting tones. They were a bunch of sweethearts, but i felt stupid nonetheless. Nothing conveys confidence and professionalism quite like your trip leader bawling inconsolably off the back of your boat.

Oh yeah, did i mention i've been appointed trip leader? Kinda scary, stressful and hilarious simultaneously, but we're goin with it, and so far nobody's been maimed irreparably. Our guests were phenomenal. We had some female correctional officers from Canada that were a blast. They don't get tasers or mace or even so much as a billy club up there. They were smokin hot, which is sort of irrelevant and inappropriate to mention, i suppose, but i was super impressed. I wished they could stay longer. They were a ton of fun.

Everyone happy and alive at sunny Maxwell camp

I was a little nervous because i hadn't run the river commercially for a few years, but my runs were as good as ever, even while some of the guys lost oars and had some rough rides through a few of the bigger rapids. Phew.

Then the trip ended on a sweet note, which for anyone else could've been a more unfortunate circumstance. One of our first stops in civilization is to the Scat Machine (!) where we're lucky enough to have machines that are designed specifically to clean out our groovers. Mid-way through the cycle an employee came wandering in with a roll of tape and a sign that said "Out of Order". And says, "Yeah, the latch hasn't been working. You might not be able to get that thing back out."

Sure as shit, when the cycle ended, our groover was stuck inside. This is a town on the other side of the state from where our outfit is based. It could've been a real headache, but of all our groovers (we bring more than one a trip), it happened to be the one with the pain in the A lid. I let out a whoop of joy, left our contact information at the front desk and drove away from the confounded thing, a cloud of dust and a spit of gravel behind us and all ten of our spinning tires as we pulled out of the parking lot and headed home.