BlackRiver

Fifteen paddlers arrived in Dexter to paddle the infamous Black River: Phil, the leader for this trip; Bob and Lexie; Kim; Janet; Cindy and Rick; Greg; Lynn; Anne and Roger; Peter; Aneta and Robert; and Jim. Although the Black River has a reputation for its deadly rapids and is home to whitewater kayakers and rafters, we were promised we would not be swallowed by the unforgiving undertows, currents, or other whitewater monsters. Indeed, the number of paddlers before and after the paddle remained the same; hence we consider the trip a success.

The weather could not have been better for this time of year: it was fairly warm and brightly sunny. The river was absolutely gorgeous with its mysterious current patterns and tall vertical rock formations on both banks that made it look as if we were paddling at the bottom of a canyon. The rocks brilliantly reflected the sun rays, which gave them a magical appearance. Trees grew atop of the rocks, and some flora inhabited the vertical walls as well as various shelves and caves.

First we paddled with the wind but against the current. It was surprisingly easy. When looking ahead, we experienced a bizarre illusion that we were paddling downhill, because the riverbed appeared to be slanted like a ski slope. Within an hour we encountered a fork where the river split. It was the end of our trip, since past that point the river became violent with rapids. The rough land in the center became our snack destination – that is, if we could get there. The tricky part was crossing against the strong current. It felt like a treadmill: we paddled with all we had, the river surged with all it had, and the stronger one won. We had to paddle really hard to actually get moving, or else we’d be stuck in one spot with frenzy in our eyes and a T-shirt or a hat that read “Life is Good.”

Finally, we made it to the rocky land and celebrated the small victory and the splendid afternoon with some food and drink. Standing on the rocks with reeds up to our waists, overlooking an old paper mill and a steel bridge, we ate pretzels, cookies, sandwiches, and granola bars. Having depleted much of the edible resources we reentered the kayaks and turned around.

On the way back, we paddled against the wind but with the current. The wind, of course, picked up. Now we paddled faster, but it felt slower. The previously shiny rock walls became threateningly dark whenever the sun retreated behind the clouds, but as we left the rock tunnel, we still enjoyed the sunlight and the warmth. Lexie was already waiting on the shore helping some of us, old people, get out of our boats. We completed 5.9 miles.

As reported by my personal spy, whose identity I will not reveal unless asked, two thirds of the group went out to dinner: “There were 10 famished paddlers looking for a quick carb fix. Pizza, lasagna, bruschetta, local brews were devoured at “Good Fellos Brick Oven Pizza & Wine Bar” in Sackets Harbor.”