Hooked: Close Call on Calm Water
You never expect the river to fight back—especially not on a morning like this. I wasn’t even sure I’d paddle today—yesterday’s grind had wrung me out. But the forecast was flawless, and the rare promise of a motorboat-free river whispered adventure. That got me moving. Early enough to dodge the post-lunch crowd. When I arrived, the rowing quads had vanished, the provincial team already on the water. I slipped into the quiet like a ghost. The river, calm. Familiar. Almost reverent. My private cathedral of current and breath. I told myself it’d be a recovery paddle. Easy. Gentle. But fatigue can be a trickster, and somewhere between the dock and the first stroke, I made a different call—half-pace skill work. Twenty minutes of lazy warm-up gave way to five-minute pivot blocks: turn, paddle—five quick strokes each side—and pivot again. Five minutes of that. Then five drifting in the silence, watching the river slide past like nothing could ever go wrong. Until it did. Midway thr...