Voice of the Rivers 2008

June 3. Scott Brown. This morning, everyone woke in good spirits. We could tell that even the pre-dawn air outside was the same sticky, sulfur-smelling air it had been when we went to sleep. A night inside the air-conditioned space of Trustees Garden had been exactly what the team needed. We breakfasted on leftover barbeque and fresh muffins baked by Ashleigh Davisson, James’s sister. As we broke “camp”, Kathy Kurazawa returned with the VOR flag that she had helped us complete overnight. The project that a few of us had been working on since probably day four, sewing by hand inside of our tents at night, was an exciting symbol of our adventure. Everyone was looking forward to seeing it flying high on the tandem as we paddled, with Old Glory at its peak.

We took the time to carefully pack the van, with a common anxiety about relinquishing our air conditioned barracks. It was now day 20 and the team’s morning routine functioned like a well oiled machine. Our ride back upstream to Millstone Landing was quiet as those who were still half asleep were not offended back into consciousness by our collective odor. We were quick to unload the boats; the sun was up in all its fury and the boat landing offered no shade. Most of us were dripping by the time we started paddling. Everyone was aware that the sun and the 19 miles we expected to cover would make for a tougher day than some people were feeling this close to the finish line. The Hyatt Hotel on River Street had agreed to allow us to use their private docks to take out this evening, and a few of us had gone to scout out the harbor last night.
Our morning paddle was brief and noticeably lacking of beaches or other places to take our breaks. It’s hard to describe what it means to have as few as five minutes every hour to stand up and stretch one’s legs; for some of us, it could be equated to coming up for air when swimming underwater. When it came time to stop for lunch, we extracted ourselves from our boats and began to divide up our traditional rations. We stood in the shade of some oak trees and watched the current pass us by; it looked much like coffee with creamer in it. Our surroundings had changed from the wooded southern banks of a black-water river this morning, to the reed grassed flats of the tidal zone, almost without warning. The reach of the tide was visible here even though the water still tasted fresh. We each felt the sense of urgency that the tide had given us. It seemed that those who knew how futile paddling against a tide could be finished our lunch just a bit sooner than everyone else.
Within minutes of our return to the water, the distinct sulfur smell of coal burning power plants and paper mills mixed with the smell of the river, warning us that the harbor was close. For some, that smell brought with it the unsettling knowledge that we would soon paddle past some of the largest ships in the world, with no guarantee that we would find them all stationary. The foreboding presence of these ships had been enough to evoke warnings from acquaintances up the river over two days ago, from “You best stay far away from them things, they have a current that will suck you under them!” to “That harbor has some strong and unpredictable currents, but as long as you stay INSIDE your boat, you’ll be fine!”. Even the All-Clear from the harbormaster last night had been unable to settle all of our apprehensions about this place, but the current and the tide seemed determined to take us there.
It was about three or four miles from the harbor and the wind was building quite a bit; then the tandem’s rudder broke. The tandem, our flagship both in word and deed, is a boat that takes every bit of two people to navigate. Undoubtedly our saving grace was the strength of our group. Even though the end of the trip was in sight, it was a test of our focus and commitment to reach the Hyatt’s docks on time.
Our paddle into the harbor was an awe-inspiring experience. The scale of the cranes and ships was hard to comprehend from a vessel only 17 feet long, making a stark contrast with this place to the rest of the river. We had to struggle to find the natural world in the immense harbor, and it seemed to say “maybe this mechanized existence is getting it all wrong”.
As we loaded the boats onto the trailer on River Street, the attention we drew was different than it had been upriver. The people of the city that saw us were not necessarily river people any more. Many simply lived in a city with a river beside it. I found myself wondering if people in this city had any idea how connected they were to this river. It was then, in that preponderant city, that I could hear the voice of the river, our meaning for this trip, and I bet it sounded the same to each one of us.