The weather has finally changed in a single day from winter to summer. It has been over 80 degrees, sunny, breezy and beautiful for the last week. I never thought I would have the good fortune to live next to a literal lilac wall, but it turns out that the ugly scraggly hedge between our house and our neighbor's house is made of about 20 lilac trees. Eugene apparently has a continually rotating flower population as the season progresses. Kevin and Susan's 3 year old son Robbie can recite all the flowers if asked: "Crocus, tulips, irises, lilacs, rhododendrons..." and so on. He also gifted to me the Biggest Spinach Leaf in the World (his words), so apparently all things happen without moderation in this town. The picture below shows 1/10th of the wall, dwarfing my car. And of course the two felids are Finn and Oscar.
Peter and I, on the eve of our second year anniversary, decided to rent a kayak yesterday. I was on call, and had to stick around the vicinity in case of emergency, so we headed up to the McKenzie river and Leaburg lake. Oregon River Sports provided us with a tandem Liquid Logik kayak, two paddles, two life vests and a dry bag. They warned us not to paddle the McKenzie due to high water and lots of floating debris. I drive next to the McKenzie every day as I go to work, and it looks like a peaceful meandering river from the road. Therefore, I blew off the warnings. Leaburg lake is an area of still-water (theoretically) just upstream of a dam. It is usually filled with weird float boats (non-motorized rowboats from which people fish for trout etc) and children and dogs. Yesterday, it was still filled with all of the above, except the boats had motors and everyone else was staying on dry land. That should have been our first clue.
So, we set everything up and launched our little boat rather close to the dam. A "safety" rope marked the area of no-return over the dam, and we were about 20 to 30 feet upstream of this marker. A sign said, "Extreme Water Hazard," and was pasted to the side of the dam. Pete and I jumped in the boat and started paddling upstream. After a few minutes of paddling hard and gaining no ground, we realized the odds were not stacked in our favor. We shifted course to head towards the opposite shore. Only problem was that a tandem kayak requires a great degree of cooperation between paddlers that we apparently were unable or unwilling to achieve. Therefore, we'd get in a good groove, only to have the current swing us sideways. Pete, in the stern, would then start paddling furiously on the downstream side of the boat and in doing so would whack my paddle with his and ruin our momentum. I was paddling on whatever side struck me as appropriate at the time to keep me from visualizing The Dam. I remember saying mid-way across the river, "Peter, I think this is a bad deal." And he agreed.
The above photo shows me looking at an apparently mild running river with trepidation after we had just crossed from the other side.
After a frightening river crossing, we decided to stick to the far bank and paddle upstream. We were feeling pretty good about ourselves when we rounded a left hand bend in the river and the current caught us and literally spun the boat around and pushed us downstream. A fisherman laughed, and we shrugged. We watched tree trunks being swept downstream along the opposite bank and pictured ourselves being sideswiped by one of those floating battering rams. We decided at this point that kayaking Leaburg lake at high water when they've opened the dam to unleash all the snow run-off was a profoundly Bad Idea. Our next challenge was landing the boat.
We hadn't realized initially that the landing beach was actually on the inside of a turn in the river. This meant that the current took all logs, detritum and inexperienced kayakers to the other side of the river or over the falls. Further complicating our situation, trout fishermen lined both banks such that any attempt to hug the shore to prevent certain death over the falls carried you directly into a net of fishing lines. Since the fishermen did not harbor any apparent concern over our situation, we figured the only emotion they'd feel if we broke their lines would be unbridled anger. We floated downstream and splashed furiously back up a couple times in an attempt to calculate the exact likelihood that we would die if we attempted to land at the beach where we had launched. Eventually, I said to Pete, "I am not willing to die today." The embarassment of walking to the car would be minimal in contrast to the potential embarassment of the two of us, wet and chilled, clinging for dear life to the safety line while our kayak, two paddles, two life vests, and a dry bag went plummeting over the falls. Nevermind the fact that we'd owe the kayaking company a thousand bucks. So we clambored out of the kayak, walked to get the car, and drove to a current-less lake. See Happy-Liz-and-Pete below.
Before we left, we witnessed a fisherman in a boat with a motor forget to mount and start the motor prior to getting into the current. He was swept under the safety line, and did end up lodged against the dam with all the other flotsam and jetsam. Someone threw him a rope, and he managed to tie off the boat. On our way down, we pulled over for the firetrucks and swift water rescue groups as they headed up to save him. There but for the grace of God go I.
We had a BBQ last night to celebrate not being dead. Here's a picture of Pete grilling on our back patio:
In other more-professional news, I am enjoying my new position as a Eugene relief vet. I am working another day tomorrow at a place creatively named "The Veterinary Hospital," where they have digital radiology and a beautiful airy hospital. Today I did some spaying and neutering at Greenhill, then midweek I'll be back up at Brians, and Friday I work at Eugene Animal Hospital. Variety is the spice of life, and I've learned that I'm not very good with part time work (I get bored).
In other happy news, my board complaint in Nevada was dismissed without any real investigation. I think they saw the complainant for what she was: someone who took grief, turned it to anger, and directed it at the nearest person (me). I hope she has come to terms with her (unavoidable) loss and has some measure of peace.
Alright. Those of you blog junkies now have another post to read. I'm going to go for a hike on this lovely evening!
Love Liz
