By Darren Clarkson-King
Rob Slater and
Claire Cheong-Leen

Mortality

An uncomfortable thing to think about on and off the river…

This article is not about strokes, or gear, or a destination or a pro boater. This is a reflection of the things we never say. It is perhaps the most important thing and we hide from it.

This is about love, compassion, tenderness and friendship – these are words by those who carry the loss. I was reminded recently that like top end Alpine Climbers – kayaking in challenging places can often be likened to working day and night in a cancer ward – sooner or later someone doesn’t make it home and you have to pick up the pieces. You have to deal with the aftermath and the mitigation we all make when we set foot in this arena.

Our place of joy, or challenge or of solace has a shadow we seldom speak of.

This they never tell you
Darren Clarkson-King

I have been in this game a long time, decades of experience and memories. I have paddled some of the hardest rivers on the planet and cut my teeth on classics close to home. I have been a mentor and a pupil. I have advised and been an advisor. I have been on more courses then I can remember and I have run more courses than the number of times I slept inside a house last year.

One thing none of these courses or days of experience tell. One thing that is missing from campfire stories and now the go pro generation is what really matters.

We all play in the river, we enjoy, we try to thrive. We lift our spirit to the challenges ahead and celebrate internally on each wave we surf. What we never talk about, what now haunts me, is the ghosts. Over my paddling career I have lost darling friends to the river. One is always too many. Now I look back to way too many. They will never smile again sat below that crux move. For them the river took all it wanted from them.

More than once I have found myself on the river when passing paddlers have got into trouble, where injuries have been life threatening. I have been witness to the arena when death comes. I have seen life fall away. Now as the years move on, now as the ghosts will not rest, I sit and wonder. When is the right time to acknowledge that our sport, hobby and for many livelihood is shadowed by the frail nature of life itself.

The river draws us in. It entices. It pulls. In a moment it drags us emotionally onto places we would never expect. It doesn’t care that we had fun a moment ago. Nature acts on whim, on chance, on circumstances. For many that deal with the trauma of incidents peace comes uneasy, the balance between folly and fragility can be hard to accept. Many that have been the first on scene during incidents, or those that have been possibly more involved often develop side effects. The incidents rattle onward and emotions often never settle. Those who deal and witness the trauma all too often battle emotionally. Cases of broken relationships, of confidence issues, of ptsd, of guilt, of flashbacks and anger are all too common. The list goes on and we need to address it now – we need to talk about this.

For now peace can come as we remember the smiles or friendship, of a common love. Om Shanti.

Always with us
Rob Slater

Through your journey down the river of life as a paddler, you will meet many amazing people and form bonds of friendship and trust with each of these people. You may only paddle one river with them but you know they are there for you. In the 15 years I have been kayaking, I have forged many a bond with lots of people and the river has tested and even broken some of those bonds by taking close friends away from us.

As it is a rarely spoken about subject in passing or the pub or when we start our journey with kayaking, is the what can happen does happen. Losing friends on the river is not something anyone should ever have to experience and due to unfortunate circumstances, the river has claimed the lives of three amazing people I had the opportunity to share part of my journey with. I knew all of them through university and it changed the way my friends and myself paddled as a group. None of the accidents stemmed from pushing themselves hard or going for the ‘send’, they all were just accidents on local runs.

It is nearly three years after the loss of two of these fantastic people in the space of just over a month and not a day passes when they aren’t in my thoughts. All I want to do is explore more rivers with them, tell them the stories from last week’s river trip and heckle them for missing a boof or rolling in flat water after a big section. However, the journey continues with them as a memory like that missed boof or that roll. They shaped our path, helped us grow and pushed us to be who we are today. Nothing or no one can take that away and they will be remembered.

For you and I, it is about the next step on our adventure and understanding that there are serious risks in what we do and how we manage that is important. We have to be self-aware and support ourselves and our friends on their journey. The person in the next eddy you meet could save your life, crack a joke or even buy the beers at the pub. So remember just because we weren’t told about it when we started kayaking, doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.

Enduring friendship
Claire Cheong-Leen

The water flows, sometimes it rages and sometimes the flow is mirror-like glass, serene and silky smooth.

It gives us the greatest joy, our best days ever, adventures and expeditions, laughter and fun, perhaps a thrill and a rush and a challenge, and at other times, simple relief from the day and an overwhelming sense of peace. Right now I am barely a boater at all – there is a fire within me to do a long distance swim and of course swimming and boating aren’t really two things that you should get mixed up.  But you see, in my heart I am still a (mediocre) boater… and my best friends are still boaters.

We have made memories together, back in the day, a few made even before the internet, waterproof cameras and digital photos, Facebook, mobile phones and Google Earth. These friendships endure, even though we paddle less often together, and are scattered across continents; we played in the same playground together.

So now, I am missing one more of those dear friends, his last river run reminds me vividly of other friends lost over the years. And I am heartbroken and even a bit cross – for him, for his family and for his boating buddies who were on the river that day. Those who are left have a new shared experience, but this one is the one we wished never to share.

Thank goodness for the treasured memories. For the photos of smiles and triumph, for encouragement and shared achievement, for the rush of sharing the same wave together, and for the memory of the life-affirming embraces at the take-out after the trip turned out to be ‘a bit tougher’ than planned. Thank goodness too for friends who let you talk about it and for the friends who let you not talk about it too.

You guys are really special.