1998
Demons Of The Dark (The Pudre River, Colorado)
by Dan Monskey
I grew up in a rather normal household in a large Minnesota city. I had all the usual and "normal" childhood experiences, but nothing traumatizing or abusive. There's no obvious reason for unbalanced and dysfunctional behavior. So when I started whitewater kayaking a few years ago, I had NO baggage keeping me from diving DEEP into the sport. Though for some reason, I've always been drawn close to the edge.
People labeled me "foolhardy" for some of the runs I made. This confused me because I believed I was performing AT my ability. People thought I was getting cocky and getting a big head because of my paddling performances. I thought I was just able to read water well and evaluate a river for a good line to run. I was always learning more and more about the sport. I also heard people saying I was NUTS for some of the runs I paddled and the routes I chose. I always went for the meat!, down the throat!, where the ACTION'S at! I would stop to scout features that others had decided, before even seeing them, they would portage. I'd be boating with a group of veteran paddlers who were all portaging a feature and, I would be wondering WHY, when it can be run? Although I would also follow their example and portage, out of respect for them, the river, and myself. I believed I should be cautious; I may have missed something they saw. I'd scout rapids to run, preferring the bigger the better. I'd have no problem with running or considering to run something. I still do not know my limitations. I'm successfully running rapids that previously I wouldn't have thought possible for me.
So I was always getting better and better. But I kept wondering why I was the way I was about paddling. Was I suicidal? Did I have a death wish? Was I "foolhardy" as they say? I didn't understand, because I was not afraid of what I was running.
While I was on a boating trip this summer, when I wasn't even running a river – BAMM!!!! – a fear hit me. It was so powerful I shuddered and had a problem shaking it off. Fear had never been an issue for me. Concern for safety was, but never fear. I hadn't come to something I was afraid of yet. But at that moment of revelation, I knew fear and where it came from SO clearly. I could see the fear screaming in my mind. "THE DARK!!! MY GOD, THE DARK!!!
I was with a group paddling in Colorado. We had driven along a real juicy stretch of The Pudre River, scouting it during the day, more for amusement than for intentions to run it. But I still look at rivers with that in mind. We had come to a rough section called The Narrows and another called Pudre Falls. These spots were so intense that, as kayakers we HAD to get out and scout. The water was high (we were out early in the season ), and the features were intense. I was excited looking upon a section of river with such power and energy. Mammoth walls of roaring water crashing, tumbling, and breaking up like the cumulative forces of nature that created this feature were let loose all at once. I looked at this, seeing possibilities as I progressed scouting my route. I continued on, expecting to go back and turn the "possibilities" into do-able drops with further scrutiny. I came to an impressive drop where the water crashed off a diagonal ledge after having rolled off a rock wall. In a kayak, no way could you get near the far lip of the ledge. All the water was rolling away from where you would want to be. And all this water plunged 20 feet along a sheer vertical wall, creating a violent hole in the cleft of the wall at the base of this drop. Boil water was rolling back 20 feet towards the drop and also boiling 100 feet out in this huge caldron. Downstream of this caldron were more violent drops and holes, but an easy run in a boat if someone could make it through the previous drops. "Lucky Boy!" What a rush to see! But I wasn't "quite" ready to commit to this run. After all, we were just "amusement scouting".
All this was scoutable from the road. In fact, the drops started just below roadside and dropped deeper into the gorge as the drop of the falls was greater than the rate the road descended from the mountains. The road recovered the rate of river drop after a while so the road was usually just above the river. There was also a large flat pull-off area alongside the road at the falls location that gave you lots of room at this treacherous feature. So, I committed the run to memory, and we went on upriver to camp–never intending to run this section.
We had a travel companion coming out to meet us. We had firmed up our travel schedule for awhile, so we could now set up rendezvous plans to meet them. So that evening as late as it was, after setting up camp, cooking and eating in the rain, I set out driving back to where we had seen a pay phone along the way to call our companion.
I was driving a big pickup truck in the dark, in the rain, down a winding mountain road. I love rivers, so I welcomed the drive. I was tentatively watching the edge of the road for familiar features to identify where we had scouted that day. For a long time my adrenaline was building with suspense as I was wondering–is this it? Is it just ahead? Then the area opened up and I knew this was it. A chill ran through me. Visions of terror flashed through my mind like unwelcome harassing spirits. Then the sign "Pudre Falls" flashed by, and I knew my senses to be trusted.
I had wondered if I might like to stop and see and sense the power and roar of the river at night, but now I knew to drive on and not tempt the "evil lure." My sensibilities and awareness became so heightened, I must have been experiencing sensory overload. Paranoia itched at my mind. I sensed the intensity of the light rain. I sensed the slippery conditions as, in my mind, the truck slipped around on the road. I noticed the unmemorizeable winding of he road, each curve seemingly new, my uncontrollable rate of descent down the road, as I stepped on the gas. I could see a small tunnel of light cast ahead by my headlights and also the surrounding darkness–darkness I knew DEMONS were on the loose in. As I drove along the river, I could sense the demons chasing me, never letting up, always just alongside the truck, but always out of sight.
I got to the pay phone, and there was no answer when I placed my call. But a message was left for me to try again–they'd be back. So I hung out and waited.
The river was much calmer down by the phone. When I pulled in, I noticed there was a gauge in the river along shore, so I tried with a flashlight to check the river level, but couldn't see it. So I thought after my call I would pull up to the edge and shine my headlights on it.
Well, I made my call, set up the rendezvous, and was ready to head back to camp. I pulled across the road with my headlights shining straight across the river, but the gauge was lower than the light beams. At that moment I received a clear message–the demons were here too! I could see the moving water of the river and the crashing whitecaps in my headlight beams, and hear the intensified roar in my head. The water was surreal looking. Daylight is much different–the water doesn't disappear into the abyss. Shadows and contrasts are not so strong. I had to go–and go fast! River level was unimportant now. The demons were surrounding me!
I didn't understand this fear–a fear that would make me abandon a mission, make me turn and high-tail it from something which I could not see.
On the way back uphill I felt more confident against my adversaries. I would be able to see them coming since they were upstream ahead of me. I might get a glimpse of the river with my headlights shining up at it as it flushed and crashed down ahead of me, instead of in the dark behind me. As I came around every corner, I found myself crossing the road lines or on the shoulder a bit, pushing the edge to get that glimpse of the river, to shine the lights into the Pudre chasm. I then thought about the consequences of this driving pattern if I took it too far.
Now the demons were in my head! I feared I would crash into the river. This would happen above the top drop, so I would be in my truck for the worst of the drops. My headlights would be on so I could get glimpses through the window into the depths of the churning, murky, cold, boily water. I might see a rock outcropping or wall now and then through the windows, but the chill would be from the crashing, banging, and Titanic sound of scraping truck metal in the unseen depths. The vehicle would be sauntering, tumbling, twirling, heaving and rolling as it played Pudre Pinball through the gauntlet of the falls. This would be disorienting in a confined space, especially at night. There would be no daylight to direct me to the surface. I would turn the cab lights on to watch for leaks in the cab, warning me of my imminent demise. The cab lights would also comfort me so as not to feel alone in the dark. Alone in the light is okay. With every crash and scratch of rock, I would fear the hypothermic flood–its pounding at the truck wanting to bathe me in a cryogenic boil.
Do you hope this is over quick, or do you want to endure the pain, fear and discomfort of this nightmare to prolong survival? Do you really think the cab will stay airtight and come to rest on some sandbar a ways downstream as if this was an exciting amusement-park ride–ready for the next passenger? This would be an intense eternity of panic. Those who have been in a car crash know the INSTANT feels like slow motion. I would be frightened, cold, in the dark, wet, and all alone in a remote area, tumbling downriver in a Class VI feature. No one would know how long I was to be gone. Nor would their slumber be disturbed until morning as my demons played games with their dreams. And as a good paddler drowning alone in a river–not intending to run the one he dies in–like a warrior ambushed without his armor and his weapon. NO BOAT–NO PADDLE–NO PFD!!!
I wasn't concerned or afraid during the day when we scouted this river, so why did my mind go nuts now? Everything was the same–except there were demons now. Who were these demons who worked on me so incessantly?
Back at camp and away from the river, I laid out my sleeping bag in the back seat of my truck–the dry-land comfort of my truck. I laid back, closed my eyes, and saw my demons–distant demons–my demons of the dark.
Sleep tight!
