I love this sequence of Hilary paddling class III on the Main Salmon in an inflatable kayak.  I went down something similar on one of those…how do you say…SUP boards?  I ate crap.  Real bad.  Apparently lungs aren’t meant to hold water.

That said, I’ve never minded vigorous river baptisms.  I don’t even think I mind being pulled under water, like a spindly rag of seaweed, tossed and turned like a pair of lacy undies in the washing machine.  I like the bright and squinting moment when I pop up into the sky once more, hear the rapids heavy with fizzing air all around me, gulp down some oxygen, and then go subaqueous once more.

I think I like it because I’ve watched the fish do it and they seem so joyful when they reach up and kiss the seam of air that stitches the river to the sky.  But also, to be in it, to sense the power of it, to be lifted up and dragged down by it is to know it.  To know it is to understand it.  To understand it is to love it.  To love it is to respect it.