On Rivers and Humility

We are all here to help each other get through this thing… whatever it is.
-Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

A boatman told me today that he had “kicked the Cribworks’ ass,” this on day two of his training on the Penobscot River. I sighed deeply for the brilliant naiveté of the boast.
Guiding a difficult river is a beautiful and challenging endeavor, but the technical aspect of the work is the least of the challenge. You could push ten empty boats out of the Bailing Eddy (how many of us today stop to consider the significance of the name?) and one of them would have a very nice run through the Cribworks.
As with life, the Cribworks doesn’t give a damn about your run. When next you return don’t expect Telos Hole or Guardian Rock to cower in the face of your prowess. Don’t expect Pillow and Pelican Rocks to part at your approach. The river flows on, unperturbed by your frail thrashings.
Many of you paddle solo boats and confront solitary challenges of a different sort every bit as rewarding as those of guiding. But don’t confuse the two. The people in your raft are the true source of your successes and your failures. Each brings from the world beyond his or her own baggage and expectations. Many are afraid and some admit it freely; others conceal their fear behind bravado. Many are burdened by expectations they can’t possibly manage. Some are simply here for the thrills. It is your privilege and complex task to discover the true needs of your crew and to find a way to enrich each of them through the experience. In the midst of a busy season keep in mind that, for some of your crew, their trip with you will change their lives. Treat each trip as though it were your last.

We should all be students of the great boatmen of our time. Emulate their styles freely and study the subtleties of how they tend to their crews. We all know such guides. They are the ones requested by crews every other day and most of them bear the physical infirmities of their many years of experience. Copying them is the only shortcut I know to mastery.
Don’t get me wrong, a fine run feels very nice and can make the whole world seem a bit brighter for a time. Take pleasure in your run; this may be the closest that you come to a state of grace.
Don’t take all the credit for it though. After a nice run, give thanks to your crew who, despite their fears and inexperience, paddled when you needed their help and refrained from messing up your lines. Give thanks to your fellow boatmen who cheered your successes and rescued you from the consequences of your errors. Give thanks to the outfitter who made the trip possible and handled the myriad little details you don’t even want to think about. And finally, give thanks to the relentless, implacable river that tolerated your audacity and bore you on her broad back.
It is the reflection of the river within yourself that strengthens you and builds your character, and the quality of your run has less to do with the course of your boat than with spirit with which you approach the challenge. Most of us eventually move on to other things. Return now and then, and as you negotiate life’s river, preserve a piece of the Penobscot in your heart. The challenges you face here will serve you well downstream.

Phil Gormley