I didn’t know Jeff West. Jeff died this summer attempting the first solo, one-day descent of the Grand Canyon of the Stikine River. I didn’t know Lynn Clark either. Lynn died 14 years ago this February at Little Picky on the Ottawa River. She was out for an afternoon paddle with friends. She was swept and trapped under ice. I attended Lynn’s memorial service, although I’m not exactly sure why. Paddlers were lined up out the door and down the street of the funeral home. I don’t remember saying anything to her family and close friends at the front. I’m not sure anything any of us could have said would have mattered. Lynn was an accomplished paddler and award-winning paddling filmmaker out for an afternoon with friends and then she was dead. What the hell was she thinking paddling then and there? How did she flip? Why didn’t she roll? Standing in line at a funeral home is not the time or the place to ask such questions.
If she’d not died, she’d have gone for a greasy pizza at the Country Kitchen and today she’d likely be paddling’s most celebrated filmmaker. If Jeff West was successful, he too may have gone for pizza and been famous, although being famous was not his was not his thing. What drove him to attempt back-to-back runs on the most extreme river in the world? Only Jeff knew for sure.
A REMINDER THAT RIVERS HAVE HORNS
It’s easy to ask questions and form opinions. It’s tempting to weigh-in to online debates. Certainly many have. It is a natural part of our grieving process. It’s part of the collective trying to figure out how shit like this happens. Searching for answers in tragic accidents can make a falsely comforting list of why it hasn’t happened to us.
I’ve not paddled the Stikine. I don’t know the lines or the levels. I don’t know how pumped I’d feel after a successful attempt. I do know however that I have cartwheeled on Christmas Eve day, a short swim above an otherwise frozen river.
As kids, when my brother and I would pick at my dad, he used to say, “If you mess with the bull, you’ll get the horns.” He meant of course, if you keep doing something dangerous, you will eventually get hurt. We’d keep at him until we got the horns, in this case just a good tickling. Getting the horns was all part of the game. When paddlers die, we remember that rivers have horns.
When we lose paddlers to rivers, the best we can hope for is a raised awareness of the true risks. The facts of tragic river accidents provide the framework for self-assessment. The facts help us understand why we haven’t gotten the horns. And if we’re truly honest with ourselves, the facts are a list of why we very well could.
Let’s remember great paddlers and friends for who they were and for all they’ve given us. Lynn Clark taught me to stay off icy rivers. For that, I’m forever grateful.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2013 issue of Rapid Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Rapid’s print and digital editions here.
