The Creeker (part one)

To Abe, summers meant kayaking and sitting on the riverbank.He watched others take chances in rafts, kayaks and canoes, listening to their yelps of excitement when they succeeded in overcoming the numerous obstacles that the river presented. He also would see the fear on the faces of those who didn't fare as well, some emerging from their experiences with injuries and badly shaken confidence. He knew that many who came out less than successful might never take such chances again, so traumatic had the near misses been. These failing ones had stared death in the face, and had flinched. Such minor failures served to remind them of what could happen if they made a mistake in the midst of a much more dangerous obstacle.

Where Abe lived, the river was the center. Folks from all around spent a great deal of time here, either on the banks or on the water. And most all took their turn with a paddle, each determined to make it through "the jaws," so named for the rocks resembling the teeth of some great carnivore encircling the raging rapids. At the site of this ring of jagged stones was where many camped along the shore, watching the daring contestants intently. In Abe's memory, and the memory of all he knew, young or old, there had never been one to make it through "the jaws." The odds were heavily against the challengers of this swirling, spraying chaos. For spectators, it was a blood sport.

In a year or two, Abe would be old enough to gear up and attempt the ride. For years he had practiced, as all did, but Abe was deathly afraid of the challenge, as many were. He had seen so many mortals fail to run this gauntlet, and the thought of their inability to hit the mark rattled him. So many men that he knew to be "good men," skilled men, the men one would root for, would try to emulate, had failed to cross the threshold. They had honed their substantial skills on the lesser rapids, spending hours of time perfecting maneuvers, like the Eskimo roll, and flatspinning and throwing ends, and learning to position their crafts just so in a given situation. Still, all the practice had never produced a winner. Abe had no confidence that he would be the exception. Some days, as he pondered his prospects, and recounted the numerous failures, he became lost in despair.

The stranger showed up one summer day toting a simple kayak, looking at the whitewater with a grim determination not seen in these parts. At first, he went unnoticed among the multitude of kayakers, paddling here and there without a great deal of flare or flash. But he could not hide what he was for long, and within weeks, his skill became the subject of many a conversation up and down the banks. He was a master of every trick and quickly earned the title of "creeker," that is, a very experienced and skilled kayaker.

Abe got a chance to meet him, and was shocked to find him humble, though he never denied that he was the best kayaker in recent memory. Many followed him around, listening to his stories about rivers traversed and rapids conquered. He was different. Too different, some said. But his detractors were mostly frustrated river riders who wished they had a tenth of his talent.

One day he announced, to a small circle of friends, that he was going to do "the jaws." A few told him that he shouldn't, that it was too dangerous, even for someone of his skill. They were adamant. But, so was he. The determined, steely look in his eyes told them so. And he began to spend more and more time alone away from the crowds, practicing for the day of his attempt.

When the day came, only one kayak could be seen wending its way along the river to the deadly circle. The jaws seemed very hungry today, with even more foam and spray than the usual liberal output. Abe held his breath as the creeker approached, and then watched as the impossible happened.

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Contributed byStephen F. Pizzini
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