Where the rapids take you

By JOHN A. CUTTER

© St. Petersburg Times, published April 22, 2001

A father-daughter kayaking lesson in North Carolina teaches the basics of maneuvering through the river and along the rush of parenting.

WESSER, N.C. -- It is hard to look cool in a neoprene sprayskirt, but I am trying. The sprayskirt fits tightly around my hips and waist, with a floppy bunch of extra material that I will wrap around a rim on my kayak's deck to form a watertight seal.

"Do I look fat?" I ask, turning around to view my rear. My daughter, Caitlin, rolls her eyes as only a 12-year-old can.

I try on my noseclip.

"Dis ding is zu zight on my no-hose!" I say with my new voice.

More eye rolling from No. 1 child.

The noseclip, in theory, will keep water out of my nose if I flip, just as the sprayskirt, in theory, will keep water out of my kayak, and the helmet I am wearing, in theory, will keep my brains in my skull.

There is more gear: a paddle and a life vest, which is cinched so tightly I now speak with something that sounds like a breathy whisper, sort of like a pouting film star from the '40s.

I'm ready for my kayak lesson, Mr. DeMille.

The author, foreground, and his daughter Caitlin ready their kayaks on North Carolina’s Tuckasegee River.

Caitlin and I are taking a one-day whitewater kayaking "sampler" at the Nantahala Outdoor Center in North Carolina. The center, considered the top whitewater outfitter in the Southeast, leads trips and classes on several rivers. We are at the main facility in this village, along the banks of the Nantahala River outside of Bryson City and not far from the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

In the morning, we will spend time on nearby Fontana Lake, getting the feel of the kayak, and in the afternoon we will take a run down a river -- hence the "sampler" of kayaking. Nantahala also offers classes ranging from two to seven days, from late winter until fall.

Our class is a mix of adults and children. Other classes and courses are held for adults only and include ones like ours for novices to others for experienced kayakers. (See box).

I am fulfilling a dream I have had since taking a whitewater rafting trip down the Nantahala on a cold fall day in the mid-1990s. That trip and most of the others in the years since have involved a guide, who steers the raft.

They were all fun trips, but I felt like a passenger. It seemed too easy, riding along in a lumbering inflatable raft with an expert picking his or her way through the rapids. You get wet. You scream. You feel great, but after trying it a few times, I wanted to go solo.

Three years ago, Caitlin, my wife, Teresa, and I took our own inflatable raft down the Nantahala. The level of fun and the physical challenge increased. We made it over Nantahala Falls, the last and biggest rapid on the river, despite the mugging Caitlin and I did for the photographer who takes your photo as a keepsake. (That is a wonderful photo, because it shows Caitlin and me smiling toward the cameraman on shore and Teresa with a look of terror on her face as she realizes we are about to flop headfirst over the falls. We didn't but probably should have.)

Two years ago, Caitlin and I took a "ducky" down the Nantahala. A "ducky" is basically an inflatable canoe. Again, the level of fun and the physical challenge rose, but it wasn't enough.

I wanted to be like those men and women who passed me on the river in their insanely tiny hard-shell kayaks. I wanted to slice through the waves and around the rocks in a kayak not much bigger than I was. I was tired of bounding through waves and bouncing off rocks in a rubber raft like some ride at Busch Gardens.

This is why on a cool, misty morning last July Caitlin and I are trying on our kayak gear.

Our class has nine participants and two instructors. The nine include Caitlin and me; three gangly, talkative teenage boys; and the rest adults.

We drive a short distance from the outdoor center to a cove on Fontana Lake, a sprawling body of water that has an odd green color to it. I'm ready to jump into my kayak and have at it.

"Okay," our instructor says, "Let's form a circle."

I am confused and a little worried that we are going to do something New Age, like primal scream therapy. Instead, we begin stretching exercises and start to learn some fundamentals of kayaking, like what to do if we fall out of a kayak. I pay attention.

The thing I like best about the Nantahala Outdoor Center is that its river guides and instructors have an engaging style, but they always stress the importance of safety. I have been with other outfitters who basically point the way downriver and hardly discuss such things as why you do not stand up in a flowing river if you fall out of your craft.

(Because you might slip and crack your skull, or you might get a foot trapped, which could send you face-forward into a rapid. These are sure ways to get hurt or die.)

Instead, if you fall out of the kayak, they teach you to ride the rapids with your feet up and your rear end down, because, as the instructors like to say, "People have died of foot entrapment, but no one has ever died of butt entrapment."

The morning session on the lake quickly humbles me. Whitewater kayaks are small, often only 6 or 7 feet long, and my own is about 11 feet. They also are narrow, less than 2 feet wide, and come to a point at both ends.

If you know what you are doing, the kayaks are easy to maneuver and to slice through rapids. If you don't know, you can flip a kayak just by turning your head too quickly, which is why the first thing we do on the lake is get flipped over and learn to get out of the kayak.

An instructor turns Caitlin over in her kayak. We are supposed to wait a bit -- maybe 15 seconds -- before exiting. This gives us time to get accustomed to being upside down and to practice pointing our heads toward the kayak's front -- "So that if you hit any rocks, they hit the top of your helmet and not your mouth."

I suddenly remember that Caitlin has about $3,000 worth of braces in her mouth.

But she pops up like a cork. On my practice flip, however, I look like a dying fish floating to the top of the aquarium.

As three women leave our class for various reasons, Caitlin becomes the only female and the youngest person in our class. I am quietly proud.

I am discovering that kayaking is hard. We practice first without paddles, using our hands to propel the kayak. It is difficult to keep the kayaks straight, but I figure it will be easier with a paddle. It isn't.

Kayaks seem to have a mind of their own, like toddlers or puppies that head off suddenly in another direction when the spirit moves them.

About the time I think I'm getting the hang of it, I flip into the murky green darkness of Fontana Lake. I panic trying to find the strap on my sprayskirt to exit the kayak. Microseconds seem like hours. My foot catches on the kayak's rim.

I have forgotten everything the instructors told me less than an hour ago.

"You okay?" one instructor asks when I surface, this time looking more like a barracuda leaping from the water than a dead fish.

"Of course." My ego is bruised but intact.

We break for a box lunch -- lots of healthy-looking sandwiches and drinks -- that is included in the class price.

Caitlin is having fun but trying not to show it too much. I am having not as much fun and trying not to show it at all.

We head to nearby Bryson City and the slow-moving Tuckasegee River, with its minimal-challenge rapids.

I'm getting excited again, until it starts to pour like a Florida afternoon storm. Soon, there is almost enough water on the riverbanks for us to float the kayaks on land. It is so awful, standing there in our swimsuits and life vests as the water rises around our ankles, that Caitlin and I start to laugh.

Once in the river, we try to stay in a line behind one instructor, who picks paths through rapids. The other instructor brings up the rear, I assume to fish our lifeless bodies from the water.

This is the moment for which I have waited for years, ever since taking that first rapid on a guided raft trip at the Nantahala River. I am ready to control my own kayak, to read the river, to feel the splash of the rapids.

And I am worried. I don't want to embarrass Caitlin or myself. And, more importantly, I don't want her to get hurt or embarrassed, although she is athletic enough to make me worry more about my own skills than hers.

I crash through the first set of rapids. The kayak stays low in the water, so there is a feeling that you are riding in the rapids, not over them, which is how it feels in an inflatable raft. Even these relatively small rapids are thrilling, and it gets even better as we head down river and the rain finally stops.

We practice a few elementary maneuvers, such as pulling out from flat water into rushing water. A couple of our classmates fall out, but Caitlin and I do not. She is doing great, pulling farther away from me.

To be honest, everyone pulls away from me. In between the rapids, I move slowly, enjoying the feel of gliding in the water and anticipating the next rush of rapids.

Plus my back hurts.

And my knees ache from being cramped inside the kayak.

But I think I have seldom been happier, as I head for one last rapid that runs between two boulders.

I watch my daughter find the perfect line, splashing along with a determined look and a smile on her face. An image crosses my mind of Caitlin, perhaps 4 years old, squealing as I rock her wildly in a toy raft in the pool.

I realize that she will soon turn 13. Every day she grows a little more away from me even as we get closer.

It was an unexpected, joyful lesson on a day that I only expected to learn about kayaking.

John A. Cutter, a former Times staff writer, lives in Clearwater, where he drives his wife crazy visiting kayaking shops.

If you go

The Nantahala Outdoor Center's main facilities are located in Wesser, N.C., about 10 miles west of Bryson City, 74 miles west of Asheville, N.C., and 160 miles north of Atlanta.

The center, an employee-owned company that was established in 1972, has a stellar reputation. It operates whitewater trips on several rivers in North Carolina, Kentucky and Tennessee and runs outdoor classes that range from mountain biking to canoeing.

A one-day whitewater kayaking class like the one we took costs $95 a person and includes lunch. Weekend novice classes that include food and lodging start at $380. Other classes can last as long as seven days and cost more than $1,100. Most classes require you to be at least 16, but some special ones allow kids who are 12 or older. There also is a family paddling class for adults and kids as young as 8.

Classes are offered on many dates, with some as early as late February. Most are held in the summer, and reservations are needed, so call early.

Contact Nantahala Outdoor Center at (800) 232-7238 or at http://www.noc.com. The mailing address is 13077 Highway 19W, Bryson City, NC 28713.

There are many hotels and cabins to rent in the area, as well as campsites along the Nantahala and in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

FOR MORE INFORMATION: There are many other outfitters in the area, including some that offer classes. You can find out about the area, lodging and other outfitters through the Swain County Chamber of Commerce, toll free at 1-800-867-9246, or at http://www.greatsmokies.com. The mailing address is PO Box 509-W, Bryson City, NC 28713.

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