I had only ever been canoeing once before – in fact, the year before. I suppose that added to the “excitement” of having to lead a group of not-quite-adults into the woods (and to a notably rougher location than I had been to the first time). But his was the famed Eleven Point River trip, and eleven was my lucky number anyway. We arrived at a launching spot with a small, well-worn ramp. While each pair of kids loaded up, I watched the blue-green water absorbing the shade of the long sycamore branches overhead. The river was eagerly pulling each boat several feet downstream while the wannabe canoers clamored over the side, trying to get their paddles beneath them. My rowing partner and I were the last in the water so we could catch any stragglers. I hiked a leg over the side of the boat while he held it steady, and once a cooler full of snacks had been snuggly lodged in the middle, he heaved himself inside. Shaky, but steady enough, we started down the river. The water, keeping its end of the deal, pushed us towards the rest of our group. The other boats were well ahead by now, so the only sounds were the nearly imperceptible chatter of the river below, the cries of invisible songbirds hidden in the branches above, and the slick thwack of our oars moving down and back, down and back. 

This peace was disturbed almost immediately. As it turns out, the football-player bulk that I treasured in my partner while loading the van was proving uniquely unhelpful on the water. Top-heavy, he started swaying to each side, and the panic rose in my voice as I tried to keep us upright. Then, like the water beneath us, beholden by gravity to move in a single direction, the inevitable overtook us: we tilted ninety degrees, and I heard the dreaded splash as he hit the water. In less than an instant, the boat twisted the other direction, now free of half of its cargo, and I was thrown the other way, along with everything else in the now upside-down canoe. For an eternity-long second, my limbs flung outward in the cool water, searching for up, for light, for air. Instinct struggled against my racing thoughts as I pushed myself away from where I had fallen – I feared coming up only to find the canoe holding me under. The merciful current opened its mouth, and I gasped as the water rushed back from my face. Struggling back into the boat, we made the unanimous decision that he would sit in the bottom of the canoe rather than on the seat. Among our losses: the cooler (its contents now bobbing downstream) and a hat I never found again: a worthwhile sacrifice for the air in our lungs. 

After several minutes catching up with the gaggle of boats ahead, we regrouped on shore. We hadn’t been the only ones with balance issues, but land brought with it the chance to reset – and the promise of a hidden waterfall nestled in the woods wasn’t so bad either. Still catching our breaths from one exertion, we embarked on another; we followed a path that had been carved out by previous adventurers, only wide enough to walk in single file. The dark summer green of the birch and sycamore trees lightened in places where the sun was able to poke through, and the dirt path gave way to a set of natural stairs as we approached – the rocks stacked on top of one another as though they had been competing to reach the top before freezing in place. Climbing at a steady pace, we could hear the sound of water rushing, filling our ears before we saw its origin. Then – breakthrough. The trees thinned out, took their place as a crown to the imposing mound of rock and river-bound water set in front of us. At the top of the waterfall lay a cave, its impenetrable darkness sucking in light even while it gave back the clear blue water that beckoned us closer. The bravest of us ventured as far into the cave as we could, the water lapping our shins as we tiptoed over stone platforms. I thought of the path this water would take, much faster than our walk back, slipping over the ancient riverbed before embracing the rest of Eleven Point. I thought of the current now tugging at our legs, of how it would eventually become that cavernous mouth I had fallen into, pulling some other unlucky camper into its cool arms. I dipped a hand into the water and let gravity pull the river through my fingers. 

Spring 2021