by Margie Patlak
I have lost control.
I’m a good swimmer. But the rapids’ strong vortex spins me and sucks me under, making my struggle to surface a battle with a force much greater than I. The water muffles the sound of the pummeling rapids above, while amplifying the pounding of my heart in my ears. This must be what it’s like to drown, I think, almost ceding to the power of the river.
My husband Frank and I are on a three-day canoeing expedition on the Buffalo River in the Ozarks with college friends from Missouri. When they heard we liked to canoe, they suggested we join them on this national scenic river that meanders through tawny sandstone bluffs, edges rounded by the steady pounding of water. We readily agreed, eager to explore its beauty and be embraced by the natural world.
We had canoed in placid lakes in Wisconsin, water that gently rocks you with a soothing rhythm. It is our first time canoeing rapids and the learning curve for the quick steering needed in swiftly moving water is steep. But hey—we’re in our twenties, immortal, at the height of our physical prowess, and untouched by dangerous situations. What could go wrong?
We traverse the first set of rapids backwards.
The second set strands us on a large rock in the middle, with an amused person on the bank taking pictures of our predicament. The third set tips our canoe over. Our friend Matt has to jump out of his canoe and into the water to grab ours, while we swim to shore.
But the fourth set of rapids challenges us the most because it poured the night before we encounter it. Not only did the downpour accelerate the water, it also inundated the islands of brush separating the river into two divergent paths. This created major traffic hazards in the middle.
I hear the rapids before I see them. Their pounding roar acts like a wrench tightening every muscle in my body. We round a bend and are instantly swept into whitewater that propels us directly towards impenetrable brush in the center. Frank has the most steering control being in the rear of the canoe. “Head left!” he shouts. Thrusting my paddle into the foaming water, I push back with all my strength to help turn the canoe that direction. But the brush is rapidly closing in on us, closing in on me in the front end of the canoe. We are so near I can see the prickly bushes, hard saplings, strangling vines. I imagine them slashing my body. Bruising my innards. And I don’t trust Frank’s steering.
I am desperate for an escape.
When the vegetation looms a few feet away, I grab onto a large overhanging branch of a tree. Frank and the boat carry on without me. I dangle there for a moment, like Wile E. Coyote before he realizes he’s run off the cliff. Then it sinks in that despite the rapid water, my only recourse is to swim to shore. A confident swimmer, I let go.
I’m immediately pulled underwater.
I try to swim my way out of it, but don’t even have the chance to oar my arms and legs to direct my course before the river takes me where it wants to go. I find myself battling water that previously had always been comforting, a quiet womb I found restorative while swimming in lakes and ponds. Nothing like this swirling force spinning me like a top. Rocks scrape my arms and legs, stabbing me with pain. Pummeling current overwhelms me, pushing me underwater every time I try to surface to take a breath. I keep my mouth shut but then must also battle pressure building in my lungs. The few times I escape the tumult and rise my head above the water, it splashes into my mouth along with precious air. Panic ensues, the rush of adrenaline echoing the racing river, pumping my heart faster while time slows down. I realize I have no choice but to go with the flow even if it kills me. They say you see your whole life before you when facing a life-threatening situation. A succession of its ages and stages, loves and losses. But my memories are silent while I am locked to the present danger. Nothing enters my mind other than how my life is so humbled by the sweep of this river, this greater natural force propelling my body along with it, a body that has lost agency.
After endless minutes, that most likely were seconds, the river spits me out into a calmer patch. There I cough up water and gasp for air before swimming to shore. Crawling out of the water, dripping and drained, I sit swatting mosquitos, grateful to have escaped the churning rapids. But I remain haunted by the river that nearly pulled me into the underworld, taking away all illusions of control, shattering all naive notions of nature’s benevolence.
I can’t stop shaking.
Margie Patlak’s creative nonfiction has been published in JuxtaProse, Hippocampus, The Hopper, Cold Mountain Review, and Broad Street. Her memoir More Than Meets the Eye: Exploring Nature and Loss on the Coast of Maine will be published in 2021.