Change In Plans

This post is about swimming in the Beaverkill River.

Normally, the river is a part of our daily lives here in the summer. We look at it continuously, listen to a tributary of it (Alder Creek) when we sleep, and swim in it a few times every week. There are a couple of world-class swimming holes about three miles from the house.

Because of the rain and flooding, we have been looking at the river differently this week. The clear water turned cafe au lait brown, the volume and speed increased hugely (fivefold?), and the placid meandering became a raging torrent. Standing near the river on Wednesday evening, amazed by the power and intensity, with lots of small children ambling about, seemed like a tremendously dangerous environment. We assumed that anyone who fell in would be swept downriver to a watery and certain death.

After two days of sunshine, the water has subsided a lot. If the volume had peaked at a fivefold increase, now it is back down to merely a double, and the murky brown is starting to clarify again. By Sunday, maybe it will be back to normal.

This post is about swimming in the river. Tonight we went to a dinner party at a friend’s house. The property has hundreds of feet of river frontage, set off from the house by about 200 yards. In dire need of a bath (after a long, hot bike ride and two hours of kids’ baseball), I decided to wash in the river.

After splashing around for a few minutes, I worked up my courage enough to lie down in the rushing water, and let the current take me. It was an amazing ride. Floating in two feet of water, I shot down the river on my back. Occasionally, I bumped on some rocks, but mostly I just rode in comfort and silence (I guess my ears were under water). I climbed out a thousand feet or so downstream, and walked back along the river bank in my shorts.

I happened to have my swim goggles with me, so on my second ride, I lay on my stomach (feet first), and watched the bottom of the river rush past me. It was quite otherworldly, to watch myself moving so rapidly over the round stones, with my hands flailing and grasping in the murky water.

It is difficult to describe what I saw and felt, and I am not doing it justice. This may be something that I see again in a dream. It may also be some kind of metaphor for life - the rushing sensation, the murk, the very fleeting purchase on anything solid.

Regardless, it was definitely different and special. Aside from being cold for the rest of the evening, no harm done. Probably not a recreation I will recommend to the kids.