Raquel’s Story

I’d like to tell you about the Whiskey River Rollers, a group of strangers who became friends during Covid through whitewater kayaking. Before sitting down to write this story, I hadn’t connected the Whiskey River Rollers with “creating beauty through courage, hope, and connection,” but that is exactly what it is.

In August 2019, I was reminded that I have always been curious about whitewater kayaking, finally paid attention, researched kayak schools, and took my first lesson. Sitting in the rented plastic boat on dry land, seat and knee braces cranked tight against my body to “lock me in,” I already knew I loved this sport! Well, I love anything having to do with playing on, in, or with water, so no big surprise. With only a few weeks left in the kayaking season for those of us without a drysuit, I crammed in several more lessons and spent my free time watching YouTube videos and buying gear. I was obsessed. Within 6 weeks I was the proud owner of a boat, paddle, helmet, spray skirt, wet suit and dry top. I was ready! But it wasn’t practical to keep paying instructors to take me down the river. I needed to find people.

In June 2020, paddling season was back in swing in Western Massachusetts, my new kayaking home. Convincing my son to kayak with me, we took a few more lessons, all masked up since it was the height of Covid. Being outdoors, safely away from others, was the goal for many people during Covid, and kayaking was a great way to do that. One day we paddled that river without adult supervision, and survived, though the 5-mile walk back to the put in to retrieve my car in paddling shoes nearly killed me. He wasn’t yet driving and we didn’t have a car shuttle. Next time, we’d drop a bicycle at the takeout.

That next time, my son and I, still very much enthusiastic beginners, were about to put on when a solo paddler asked if he could join us. I paused for a moment because I didn’t know this guy. It was Covid times when everyone was skeptical of everyone, and I was looking forward to a day with my son. But at the same time, I thought the more the merrier, and the more the safer, so I said, “Yeah sure, join us.” Well, was that the right decision! Not only was(is) Joe friendly, but we quickly observed, a very experienced paddler. Jackpot! How lucky for newbies to be paddling with a pro!

New whitewater paddlers capsize a lot, and not yet having acquired the vital skill of rolling that kayak back to right side up, that means “wet exiting” from the boat. Capsizing a whitewater kayak without a roll leads to an exhausting series of consequences. Step 1: upon finding oneself upside down and underwater, try to stay calm. Step 2: feel for a strap dangling from the front of the skirt (that keeps water out of the cockpit) and yank that sucker. Step 3: push the boat off of oneself and emerge, gasping for air. Step 4: swim hard for shore so as not to get washed through the next rapid, hung up on a rock, or worse, tangled in a fallen tree. Step 5 (if possible, points earned): catch up to your half-submerged boat and paddle and swim it to shore with you. Step 6: drain the boat now 3x heavier. Step 7: stop being so embarrassed, regain confidence, and get back that darn boat. Paddle buddies are essential in this situation, first for safety as they help get you to the river edge as quickly as possible, and collect the yard sale of boat, paddle, water bottle, etc. that quickly make their way down the river. Well, Joe certainly had his work cut out for him that day as my son and I really tested the limit of how many times a person could capsize. 

It was around that time when I heard of a Facebook group for whitewater paddlers in the area, for which I signed up, and boldly (for a shy one like me) met up with a few strangers to go paddling, not knowing yet that the paddling community is incredibly welcoming of new paddlers and supportive of their progress. One day, while floating in an eddy on river left, I struck up a conversation with a guy who had a yellow block M sticker on his boat or helmet or somewhere. We were surprised to learn we both are alums of the University of Michigan and grew up a few towns apart in that state. But that’s not all, Amr and I happen to live about 2 miles apart in the same small Massachusetts town. It was a serendipitous time of meeting new people. A bunch of us, like Amr and I were learning to paddle, others like Joe were getting back into the sport, while some had paddled nonstop for decades. I got to know a few details about the lives of my new companions while resting in the eddies or floating downstream between rapids. While paddling the rapids, I learned of their tenacity, joy, courage, athleticism, and lifesaving skills.

While paddling the rapids, I learned of their tenacity, joy, courage, athleticism, and lifesaving skills.

Gradually, we newbies learned how to roll, and when we did, our buddies erupted into loud cheers. We named ourselves the Whisky River Rollers, inspired by a song and the acquisition of the kayak roll. It is an unnatural and difficult skill to learn, but it is essential to progress in the sport. Amr created a Facebook group for the Whiskey River Rollers as a means of communication and logistics planning. Paddlers who are fun to be around, no drama, and find joy on the water, are invited to join. The group grew quickly, now more than 60 strong. We have WWR t-shirts and stickers. With no shortage of people wanting to paddle together on any particular day, the more experienced paddlers generously taught me new skills. I was grateful for their tips and invitations to follow their line through a rapid. I have learned about peeling into, eddying out, and ferrying across moving water, experiencing the power and variability of river hydraulics. In this high-octane, demanding, and potentially dangerous sport, the cardinal rule is to never paddle alone. We are careful to assemble a paddling crew with enough skills to support the group, especially on more challenging rivers. I am amazed by how my fellow paddlers so readily jump into action when any of us get into trouble.

I find so much joy in paddling. My connection to the river’s beauty, the dynamic flow of water, and the thrill and challenge of the sport are addictive. Paddling with a group of people who share this joy and have each other’s backs when things go awry is a form of connection I haven’t quite experienced anywhere else. Whitewater kayaking is not easy, especially when you’re pushing yourself and trying to learn new things. There’s always a risk of capsizing and injury, and I have experienced both. It is incredible to me that a group of strangers could come together on a river and spend the entire day talking about boats and paddling, maybe a little bit about our lives off the river, and expressing joy and support for each other.

I find so much joy in paddling. My connection to the river’s beauty, the dynamic flow of water, and the thrill and challenge of the sport are addictive.

I quickly figured out that owning a drysuit turned a 4 month-long sport into a year-round one. In the springtime, melting snow runoff from the mountains makes for a deceptively cold river, but the signs of budding life along the shore are warming. Merganser chicks have hatched and often are perched on rocks. If we’re lucky they treat us to a show of cuteness swimming their little fluffy selves in a line behind their mother. Summer is the time for sharing, with the 99% who don’t own dry suits having their fun, in the form of commercial rafts, tubers, and of course, more paddlers. The water is warm, and capsizing is often on purpose. I like to check out the beaver den as I paddle by, and sometimes a resident is swimming or resting on shore. Bald eagles are frequent spies from above, probably quickly deciding that the colorful flotilla below is not food. We linger long into the evening for whiskey and chips recounting the day. In Autumn, New England leaf peepers clog the roads and apple orchards, but on the river, we’re often alone. The wonderment of the magnificent spectacle of color is shared just among the few of us. In winter, we become the Winter Warriors, swathed in thick neoprene hoodies and gloves, and layers of wicking fabric under our Gore-Tex drysuits, hoping to avoid the swim, but prepared for it, nonetheless. Personally, I love the winter palette, simple yet poignant. The pine trees reveal themselves thanks to their naked companions having shed their leaves.

When I started in 2019, I figured I’d be the weird old lady trying to learn a young man’s sport. But as it turns out that isn’t true. Not only is the paddling community spread across genders from ages 8 to 80+ (literally), it brings together people from all walks of life. What is the secret sauce? From my perspective, it is a few things: the sheer beauty of being on a river, the everchanging shape, flow, and behavior of it, not to mention witnessing the movement of four seasons across surrounding landscapes. Sharing a high-adrenaline activity with others, cycling through fear and triumph, again and again, is a bonding experience. Though we try to avoid needing to be saved, perhaps the most powerful force that brings us together is the responsibility each of us takes for ourselves and one another. It isn’t like skiing at a resort where the runs and lifts are inspected and serviced. The rivers don’t have ski patrol. We are our own ski patrol. Sometimes that frightens me. At the same time, there is such freedom in putting on a river with your friends to have an adventure – to be frightened and then triumphant together.