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< March/April 2000
	Paddle Tales
Wrong Way Tours

When my girlfriend mentioned she wanted to buy an inflatable kayak, pictures of floating the Willamette River filled my imagination. So I bought one. How naive I was. Had I lived in an earlier life, I probably would have ended up with tickets for the Titanic or landed a job securing docking lines for the Hindenburg.

On the day of the craft's maiden voyage, she called and said she couldn't go. So I asked my friend Rick. The plan seemed simple. After work, we'd head out to Hendricks Park on the McKenzie River, where we'd put in and float to Valley River Center, where Rick's pickup would be waiting. Sounded good. Only problem was the McKenzie River doesn't go past Valley River Center, the Willamette River does. But we didn't have time to plan for every little detail - we just wanted to get in the water. "Kayak inflated?" "Check." "Life jackets on?" "Check." "Know where you're going?" "Nope." "Oars in the water?" "Not all of Ôem."

We put in at 7:43 p.m. I remember the time exactly because it was the last time I ever saw my watch. Some trout is now waking up promptly at 5:50 each morning to my alarm. Other than that, the trip started perfectly. It was a beautiful evening, the river refreshingly chilly. Practicing our skills, it wasn't long before we mastered doing a 180 every sixth stroke. As the sun set, we realized we were nowhere near our destination. Concern set in. After calculating the speed we'd have to average, we realized we might have to pull over somewhere. Two seconds later, we flipped. The river wasn't refreshingly chilly anymore.

Once on shore, we took inventory and agreed things were getting dangerous. "We'd better get out and look for some help to get back to the cars," Rick suggested. That sounded smart. Did one of us actually think of that? But there was no way up the bank. Now we made one of our better decisions - we got in the kayak and set off again. But it was too dark to see anything. So for the next hour, we listened blindly for the calmest sounding forks and paddled that way - which usually resulted in scraping over rocks in inch-deep water.

Eventually we saw emergency lights on the road about a half-mile ahead. "Hallelujah! We're saved!" we yelled. We made good progress until we were about l00 yards away and the river forked again. Listening, we did one of our patented 180s and went backwards through light rapids until we high-centered in one-inch deep water again. Next, we carried the kayak to the left bank and surveyed the situation. At least we were off the river. All we needed now was to get to the emergency vehicles on the right bank. We looked at each other and realized with dismay that we had to get back in the kayak again. After paddling across, we rammed the bank and bounced back off, grabbing grass, bushes, squirrel tails and anything else we could to stay against shore. Finally we were able to pull out and make our way up to the road where the McKenzie Fire Department was holding a drill. We looked liked two crazed, wet rats coming out of the darkness, wide-eyed and staggering.

"You guys are out in an inflatable kayak in the dark?" asked a firefighter, surprised at our request for help.

"Yep." Then he asked where we put in.

"Hendricks Park," we replied.

"And where is your shuttle vehicle?"

"Valley River Center," we replied. We didn't understand his next line of questioning until we found out the river didn't go by Valley River Center.

"Did you guys tip over in the river? Are you hypothermic? Do you feel disoriented? Are you nuts? Am I on Candid Camera?"

We were embarrassed, but at least we were off the river. Then the firefighter asked us which car we wanted to go to. That's when Rick noticed he lost his keys when the kayak flipped. So we piled soaking wet into the back of the firefighter's pickup (for some reason he didn't want us in the cab with him), and went back to Hendricks Park to get my car. I thought about what the next day's headline might read: "Dead Boaters Pulled from Beached Kayak Facing Upstream in One-Inch-Deep Water 100 Miles from Pick-up Vehicle Without Keys. Foul Play Suspected."

Eventually we made it back, safe and sound. It's not a pretty story, but at least we survived. In fact, with all the experience we gained we're thinking of starting our own river trip business. We could name it Wrong River Tours, and we've already reserved our phone number: 1-800-Where-Are-We?

- Arlyn Engel, Eugene, Oregon