Being from Arkansas and having a family business right on the river, I have spent many hours paddling the Buffalo River which is normally not terribly wild. During a summer weekend, we were on the road to the start of our path when the sky opened up. As if the old god Poseidon awoke from his slumber to find humans no longer worshiped him, the rains came down in vengeful sheets. The river was already swollen from the weekend storms, and this one was just too much. By the time we reached our put-in, the river had already flooded. The normally docile put-in had turned into a roaring beast devouring trees and the banks. Intrigued by the new landscape, the four of us jumped into our kayaks and were swept down the river. I found myself paddling through trees which I had been hiking past and climbing the week before. Whirlpools and new paths threw me left and right, and I spent as much time out of my kayak as I did in it. Normally I was confident on the river, but that day, I knew that the water was in command, and I had to respect its domain.
The river continued to throw me down its path. What was normally a four hour paddle was quickly coming to a close in under three. And with the continued rains, it was only getting more vicious. Over the booming thunder, I heard the distinct howl of crashing water. Because of the flood the river's path had straightened and I was headed straight for a ledge. In the speed of the water, I had no time to correct my course, so I could only go over. Relying purely on instinct and adrenaline, I dug into the river to straighten my kayak and then threw my hands up with my paddle and let the current take me. A rock, hidden under the rushing white water, caught my kayak at the perfect angle and knocked me sideways. Before I could process what was happening, I felt myself slide from the seat and tumble through the air. I arched through the rain and the river below me quickly approached. With a hard splash, I was underwater and tumbling through the current. I surfaced a few moments later pinned to a nearly submerged tree branch and still shocked by what had happened.
My kayak floated down to me and I slid back in. After the waterfall, the river seemed to mystically calm as the flood opened up into a field. I silently glided through the submerged grazing land and, overwhelmed by the complete silence I was surrounded by. It was eerie, and I felt incredibly small in the wake of the flood waters which erased the field and nearby road.
Saving nature is of utmost importance to our livelihood. Regardless of how much we try to command and control nature, we still have a primal relationship with it. Beyond the physiological needs, man seems to be spiritually connected to earth. In our cities, we plant trees, to bring a little bit of nature with us when we leave her embrace. We put flowers in our windows, plants on our balconies and grass in our yards. There is still something mystical about being out in a field with the wind blowing around us. Even the most sheltered sterile people I know who were born and will die in a city, cannot escape the appeal of going out for hiking, even it it just means walking through the woods. It's a place where we can quiet our minds and replenish our spirit. When people take vacations, especially those who work in cities, they end up traveling to natural locations. We even bring nature into ours homes in the form of domesticated animals. For eons, religions have centered around nature, and some still exist today including Shintoism and Animism. It is the purist of finding a new wilderness that fuels our desire to find new life, or exist on other planets. So many motivations come from our relationship with nature, and our need to participate in it.
Despite our push toward urbanization, I don't feel is it were man is truly supposed to exist. At our core, we are animals and you can only cage a beast or so long before it needs to be freed.
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