Springtime in Bloomington: canoeing the Flatrock River

Bloomington is beautiful in the spring!  Flowers – daffodils, bluebells, violets, and tulips are everywhere, cheerfully sprouting out of the ground, growing by the hour.  Trees all around are enveloped in a greenish – and sometimes a white or pink – haze, somewhere in between buds and fully-developed leaves and flowers.  Birds chirp in the air; water gurgles in the forest.  The earth is very much alive – and, with only three weeks before I'm done with my masters' degree, so am I!

This past weekend, I took a university-organized "Outdoor Adventures" canoeing daytrip at Flatrock River, some two hours north-east of Bloomington.  I say "I", because unfortunately we were also told that there was only one spot on the trip, so Katrina – helped by massive amounts of work she'd intended to do that weekend – sacrificed that spot for me.  Outdoor Adventures' description of the trip ran as follows:

Join us for a day exploring the Flatrock River by canoe! Depending on water levels, this could be a relaxing class I river, to an exhilarating class II moving water paddle.  The Flatrock River is one of few low-level whitewater rivers in the state of Indiana. ... We'll meet the morning of the trip, at 8am at the IUOA office to talk about trip details, then we'll drive an hour and a half to paddle 6 miles of Flatrock Fun! We should return to the office by 6pm.

The trip sounded like good spring fun, though I personally had my reservations about the bold "class II" statement. When Matt had visited us last year, we'd looked at nearby river-kayaking possibilities, and had come to a definitive conclusion that Indiana is just a little too flat for real moving water.  We'd still had a good time paddling the Blue River, some two hours south of Bloomington, but we were definitely paddling:  the river was doing little to propel us.  Still, with the beautiful sunny springtime weather now showcasing itself outside my window, combined with the chance to go with a group and the opportunity to see something new, I was pretty excited.

The day before the trip, we had received some heavy rain in the morning, followed by warm sunny skies in the afternoon.  I had gone for a walk with Hazel in the woods by our house, where the influx of water had formed tiny streams along dried creek-beds.  It had been a good walk, and the trickles of water (along with the blue skies and high-70s weather) had made me all the more hopeful about the upcoming trip.  Perhaps now we would have a tiny bit of rapids on the river!

On the day of he trip, I woke up a little before 7 in the morning.  It was still dark outside, which put a slight kink in my plan:  I'd intended to bike to campus, so as to leave the car with Katrina.  By the time I was ready to leave, though, the sky had lightened – indeed, I left the house with the very first rays of sunshine.

It was a pleasant bike ride.  Dew still lingered on the grass, and the trees all along the road were in bloom.  Patches of fog drifted lazily past the base of each "rolling hill" along the road, invigoratingly cold and fresh compared to the otherwise sunshiny road.  Within forty minutes I was on campus, as awake as could be.

It took some time to grab gear and load canoes in the car, and even more time to wait for other participants, half of whom never did show up.  We had with us three trip leaders, including the main organizers, Julie and Taylor, and six participants, myself included.  They were all girls, which was strange, because I would have expected a more gender-balanced group, male-biased if anything.  Two girls were first-year students (roommates), two girls were sisters (a fourth-year and a visiting older sibling), and one lady, Beth, was a member of the Bloomington community, training to become an outdoor leader (though just a participant for today).

By the time we arrived, in two suburbans, at the river, dropped off one of them at the take-out point, ate lunch, and transported the canoes, paddles, lifejackets, helmets, and a random assortment of gear to the riverbank, it was half past noon.  Ironically, we almost left the keys to the take-out car in the glove compartment of put-in car, but while the rest of us nodded complacently, the older sister, in a split-second flash of brilliance, pointed out how remarkably foolish this would be.  Instead, we wrapped the keys in a dry bag, and secured it to one of the canoes – the same canoe, in fact, that the older sister would be paddling in.

After some brief instructions, we were off floating down the river.  The water was quick-moving but flat – perfect for enjoying the views while the river carried us forward.  Most of the banks smoothly transitioned into a forest, but some displayed a colorful array of bluebells, or were composed of very thin sheets of rock, stacked like pancakes (maybe that's why they call if "Flatrock River"?..), or had an occasional mini-waterfall trickling down their side.  Trees grew right out of the base of the water, tall sycamores with great thick trunks, shining white limbs, and little balls of seed, hanging off of delicate white branches like Christmas decorations.  Many of the sycamores also had picturesque cavern-like openings in their trunks, or bumpy tentacle-like roots that extended into the river.  The roots – along with stray logs and branches in the river – harbored a bunch of turtles, several on each branch, that would jump one-by-one into the murky river as we approached.

I am not sure if I'd ever been in a canoe before.  I'd thought I had – but the paddling motion did not feel familiar, so maybe all I've ever been on were kayaks and rafts.  In a canoe, there is only one paddle, and it only has one blade, so, in a two-person canoe, you're constantly paddling on just one side, while your partner paddles on the other.  The person in the back does get a little variety, as he is responsible for steering (though it is the person at the front that can see ahead better – hence necessitating good communication!).  I was the steersman in a canoe with Beth, and we made quite an excellent team.  The other double-canoes housed, respectively, the two roommates, the two sisters, and two of the leaders.  We also had a smaller, single-person canoe, captained (and crewed) by Taylor, the third leader.

The river continued to be mostly flat, though certain sections were punctuated by a series of class 1.5-ish water:  turbulence that was noticeable, but still pretty mild and really fun.  Beth and I maneuvered the canoe beautifully, and even the novice sisters – who, initially, were more piloted by the canoe than successfully in charge of piloting the canoe, had gotten into a rhythm.  It was roughly then, some 45 minutes or an hour into our paddling, that we came across a bridge.

The bridge was for a highway, and was supported by two concrete pillars, which divided the river into three even sections.  It was also right after a bend in the river, and in a series of those lovely rapids.  Now, with all that foreshadowing and careful description, you might think we turned over here.  No, we didn't.  We were the first to go under the bridge, and though the current did pull us with surprising vigor towards one of the pillars, we paddled fast and hard and had a beautifully smooth ride.  But the roommates, canoeing a little behind us and to our side, were swept sideways and promptly turned over on first contact.  The instructor canoe dashed over to aid the roommates, whose boat was floating alongside them in the water, completely covered in water, and spilling paddles, booties, water jugs, and miscellaneous contents into the river.  The sisters, meanwhile, were so caught up in watching the roommates, that they forgot about their own precarious predicament altogether – until their boat turned sideways and hit the pillar square on the side, throwing the two overboard.  Taylor, in her one-man canoe, saw that she was on course to collide with the two floating sisters – and, in an attempt to not mow them down, flipped as well.

All in all, it was an eventful 10 seconds.  Once on the other side of the bridge, and seeing the domino effect of canoe-flipping, Beth and I paddled hard to the bank, snatching up a couple of paddles, a neoprene bootie, and two girls along the way (well, not quite snatching up, but extending a hand; the third made it to the bank a little downriver by swimming).  We were not quick enough to intercept the roommates, but the two actually looked quite content floating in the water, with Julie in the instructor boat chasing after them and the two loose canoes.  Taylor, meanwhile, joined us on the bank, looking slightly dumbstruck:  "You should see that boat", she said, referring to the sisters' canoe.  We walked 100 yards up the river, and came to the bridge.  Sure enough, the boat was there, bent at a near-90 degree around the pillar, water gushing on either side, completely inaccessible.  We waited for a few minutes for Julie, but, realizing that she might well be half a mile down the river by now, we decided to turn back downriver.  Except we had a bit of a problem:  five people, one two-person canoe.

We toyed with the idea of loading all five of us in the boat, but Taylor, the wisest and most experienced of us, sensed that that would end very badly.  Instead, she and the sisters walked downriver along the bank, while Beth and I stuck to our boat.  Within a few minutes, just around a bend, we saw Taylor's canoe, floating peacefully in an eddy.  It must have been floating there, undisturbed, for a good 15 minutes, but just as we approached, the boat took off downstream, and into the largest rapids we'd seen yet.  We gave chase, narrowly avoiding capsizing as we reached out to the boat, only to have a standing wave wash it right out of our fingertips (and fill our canoe 1/4 full with water).  Finally, the river flattened, and we managed to capture the feral boat.  In another minute, we came to the bank further downstream, where the two leaders and two roommates were awaiting us.

Loss of a canoe, a paddle, a couple of water bottles, a neoprene bootie, two or three waterproof jackets, and a bit of self-confidence notwithstanding, we were actually doing pretty well.  The water was cold but not icy, and the sunny 80 degree weather could not have been more welcome.  Taylor and the sisters had already made it down the bank towards us, so there was nothing more for us to wait for:  and it's not like we had any choice about which way to go, either.  As for the lost boat, we'd have to do without it:  we could not recover it by ourselves without more people and lots of rope, and even if we did manage to pull it out, the boat was in such a condition that it still would not do us much good.  The roommates, as the least experienced and the most shaken by the recent swim into the water, volunteered to become "passengers", so that one sat in the middle of the leaders' boat, while the other joined Beth and I.

With three of us in a two-person canoe, the boat had become palpably less stable and maneuverable. Beth and I tried to avoid as much of the whitewater as possible, but in another 10 minutes we came, full speed, to a lose-lose choice of hitting a rock on the right, or a clump of branches on the left.  We opted for the branches, and managed to almost not flip... almost.  On colliding, I grabbed the branches we hit, and tried to hold the boat in place – but the bow had began to fill with water, and once it did, there was no turning back; I was merely postponing the inevitable.  Soon the three of us were taking a plunge, the cold water squeezing air out of our lungs, so that I was suddenly very aware and very thankful for my lifejacket.  Grabbing the boat, I guided it to shore, while muffled commotion upstream told me that we were not the only ones to have capsized; indeed, looking back, I saw that only the leader boat had remained afloat.

Another scene of gear-rescue followed, where I valiantly saved a paddle and a water jug by jumping out onto the river and swimming towards them.  I was getting ready to jump in for Taylor's boat, too, but evidently the not-quite-tamed canoe had a mind of its own.  Veering at and under a fallen tree, it managed to get itself 90% submerged and 100% stuck on a rock or some other submerged feature.  Having already gotten myself thoroughly soaked, and as the only guy and proud member of the Chugiak High School swim team, I swam to the tree and spent a good 15 minutes trying to extricate the boat:  tugging and pushing the boat, lifting and swinging the branches of the falling tree – but all to no avail.  Finally, we were forced to conclude that that boat, too, was claimed by the river, at least temporarily.  The leaders would have to try to extricate the uncooperative boat some other time, perhaps in a week or two, if the water level would drop.

On the shore, we once again re-grouped to find a spot for Taylor and her gear, and to go through a mental inventory of what else went missing.  Nine out of nine participants were still with us – check.  Three out of five boats – 60%, just barely passing.  Food:  probably failing, as most of it either got carried overboard, or soggy beyond repair; fortunately, I had brought an extra five or six granola bars in my backpack (note to self:  extra food = always worth it).  Paddles: 90%, impressive, I guess it's a good thing they're so big and they float – granted, you'd think the boats would too.  Water bottles: one less than whatever we had 5 minutes ago, and one less camelback-like water jug from the group gear; that's a shame, the University won't like that.  It was roughly at this point in the list that the older sister gave a cough:  she'd just realized that the car keys – both sets of car keys, one for each vehicle! – were still in a dry bag, securely attached to her boat; and the boat, in turn, was crumpled on a pillar in the middle of the river, 20 minutes upstream, and completely inaccessible by us (lesson learned:  always keep the keys on you, i.e., in a zippable pocket of the lifejacket... and, in the case of multiple keys, preferably distributed amongst different people!).

As it turned out, none of us had a cellphone on us (granted, the one electronic device that we did have, a camera in a supposedly waterproof ziplock, proved that maybe leaving the cellphones in the car was only for the best).  So, we continued downriver, till we came to a house near the shore where Julie borrowed a phone to make an uncomfortable call to the university.  I was not there to hear it, but I can imagine how it went: "so... we might need someone to pick us up... or bring us keys.  Well, no, we didn't lose them, we know exactly where they are... but they're in a canoe.   ... Yes, we're in a canoe too, but that one's jammed on a pillar in the middle of the river, we can't get to it... yeah, and we lost another canoe too.   Yes, of course I'm serious!  ... Where are we?  On the river, downstream from the put-in, not quite at the take-out ... What, what do you mean no one has spare keys? – well, call the office.  Oh, they're closed on Sundays, aren't they?..."  Poor Julie continued down her list of University emergency contacts, while the rest of us sat on the bank, engaged in idle talk or staring down at the river.  The weather was still great, and the nature resplendent.  This would all be quite comic, really, if we didn't feel bad for the University's outdoor club's lost gear, or for the fact that the soonest anyone could come pick us up was some 2.5 hours away.

We continued downriver, which had now become exceedingly flat:  probably a good thing, too – as refreshing as falling overboard had been, it was getting to be later in the evening and a little cooler, and none of us fancied another swim.  We had less than a mile left, and at least a couple of hours until the University could get someone out to us; so, with nowhere to rush, we let the current carry us at its own speed, taking in the scenery.  A goose squawked at us loudly as we passed, taking off low above the water, and landing some 50 yards away, only to repeat this another handful of times more; perhaps it was drawing us away from its nest?  We also saw many more turtles, basking in the fading rays of the sun, as lengthening shadows crept over the trees and the water.  Then, right as we neared our destination, a blue heron – a Native American omen for good luck – flew overhead, and then onwards and onwards... further downriver.  All is well that ends well! (– And having to wash only three canoes instead of five, when we got back to campus in the wee hours of the morning, counts as "well" enough, right?!)

Europe 2010 and New GoldenPup

Katrina's quick summary of our trip, given that my blogs about all of our other recent trips -- including our two-week trip to Corsica in 2007 -- are still at the work-in-progress stage, or more accurately, the hope-in-progress stage ;) ...

After a slightly frazzling start -- namely, forgetting one of our two large, 50lb bags in the trunk of our car and discovering that the only way we could get it to Europe by the time we remembered about it would cost at least 500 dollars (i.e. we did without!) -- we began our 3-week trip to Europe. We landed in Rennes, France, rented a car (for having only driven stick shift once before in his life, Michael has now become a very skilled manual driver!), and drove for about 3 hours to the northern coast of Brittany. There we stayed in a charming Chambre-d'hotes (Bed & Breakfast), where for the first time in our relationship, I got to become the speaker and the translator as Michael watched in bewildered silence as I conversed with our hosts in French (usually it is I who have silently watched the conversations between Michael and his family as they speak in Russian, in gradually diminishing bewilderment as my Russian has improved over the years)! ....

Day 1: Chateau de la Roche Jagu

Here Michael and I happened upon a "Spectacle" -- of water and glass, as it was called: it was quite interesting, though perhaps a little too mystifyingly "New Age" for us, with lots of ritualistic audience participation walking around a pond holding long glass tubes...! But there was a really interesting instrument being played during this "ceremony", made entirely of crystal tubes and water, and played somewhat like the piano, but by sliding wet fingers over the crystal, rather than pushing on hammer-like keys...

And meanwhile, the ritualistic walking had transformed into some impressive feats of yoga-like "dancing" by the two leaders...

It turns out I'm not actually that short -- I would not have been able to pass through this medieval door without the square extension on top of the arched door-frame!

And who knew that Misha was such a giant!

Day 2: Côte de granit rose (the Pink Granite Coast)

Isn't French architecture so charming?!...

Île de Bréhat: a flowery island 10 minutes away from the North shore by ferry, where no cars are allowed, and distances are given in minutes!

Abbaye de Beauport(early 13th century)

Day 3: Chateau Fort-la-Latte: a defensive castle built in the 13th century, at the same time when most of the castles in Brittany were built, in order to protect Britton independence from the growing threat of centralized French power; and Michael's favorite castle due to its impressive surroundings...

Chateau de Combourg: childhood home of famous French writer Chateaubriand (18th century), where we discovered that living in a castle might not have been a fairy-tale-come-true back in real historical life when castles were built thick and sturdy for defense (the walls are 3 meters thick!), and furnished not in the lavish aim of personal comfort, but rather dismally with damp, cold, dark rooms and towers haunted by ghosts ... (Chateaubriand himself claimed that the cat ghost who haunted his childhood room not only truly existed, but was actually just the companion of the real ghost, a lord who had died a century earlier in the same tower he would thereafter haunt, identifiable by his wooden leg....!)

Day 4: And, of course, I could not leave Brittany without exploring its mythical Celtic "landes" (moors) and forests, where the old Medieval French lais that I had been reading last semester recount of the mysterious adventures in which white deer or boar lead valiant young knights over into the "other"-world to win the love of some beautiful fairy...

And here, in the Cojoux moors, we got to see some of the prehistoric Neolithic and Bronze Age monuments (4,500-1,500 BC) that Brittany is famous for...

The charming Medieval town of Rochefort,

where we saw a horse-drawn carriage selling fresh fruits and vegetables that reminded Michael of the phrase: if the mountain will not come to Mohammed, Mohammed must go to the mountain...!

Chateau Josselin: My favorite castle, where -- because we arrived a little too late to catch the last tour -- we were kindly granted our own private tour, in which I got to practice simultaneous interpretation for Michael!

In the 11th century, this "castle" consisted only of nine defensive towers, but over the next five centuries, a much larger and more luxurious castle connecting all the towers was gradually constructed. Today, though, only a few of the original tours remain, and the history is an interesting one: the duke living in the castle in the 16th century was a Protestant, and during the terrible wars of religion in France, Cardinal Richelieu had to retaliate against this treasonous heretic. Normally, Richelieu would have had no scruples killing the duke and completely destroying the entire castle, but this particular man was actually his distant cousin, and blood ties could not so easily be forgotten.... So, he decided not to kill him, but only to destroy his castle... except that he quite admired the beauty of this Renaissance-style castle, and so decided only to destroy a few of the towers, leaving the rest intact!... lucky duke! (And later in the 19th century, the whole castle was restored and renovated in a neo-Gothic style ...)

And passing by on the way back to our Chambre-d'hote, we stopped to look at this private castle: does this chateau serve as evidence of the progress of modern geographical studies, that teach constructors NOT to build houses on the very edge of a cliff or a lake?! The variety of mold species in their basement must be quite impressive by now!

The Brittany part of out trip concluded, we spent the next day taking trains from Rennes to Cologne, Germany, where we met Michael's uncle. We stayed in his apartment for the rest of trip, spending our days traveling by bike or tram down south of the city to visit Michael's grandparents (Michael's parents and his mother's parents all immigrated out of Russian to Israel in 1993, but his father's parents and brother immigrated to Germany, lured by Germany's offer of free housing and a monthly pension as reparation for their earlier anti-Semitic crimes). There Michael played guitar, we listened to stories, and of course -- ate! We thought we had "splurged" on food and especially deserts in Brittany, where the Chambre-d'hotes provided bountiful and very sweet French breakfasts (croissants, bread with jelly, crepes with jelly, hot chocolate...) and for lunches and dinners we would enjoy crêpes and galettes (main-meal crêpes with eggs, cheese, tomatoes, onions...), but Brittany has nothing on Russian hospitality! -- you just can't say no! One day, after having already eaten breakfast at Michael's uncle's house, we came over to his grandparent's house where we could only stay for half the day. Even though we had already eaten not too long ago, his grandparents wanted us to help out in the kitchen to prepare lunch, so we entered the kitchen... and did not exit the kitchen until we had to leave their apartment four hours later! And then, getting back to Michael's uncle's apartment, we were offered to join him for his dinner! I don't think I have ever eaten so much in my life as I ate during this trip in Germany! And not only were we continually offered food from Michael's grandparents and his uncle, but every time we passed by a German bakery the delicious aroma of freshly baked pastries and pies wafted by us... As compared to other European countries, German body types are definitely those that most closely resemble Americans, and I can see why! When you go into a pastry shop in Germany, and buy some tasty-looking pastry, it's amazing how it almost always actually tastes as good as it looks!

Originally, Michael and I had planned to go on a five-day camping trip through the Austrian Alps with Michael's uncle during our stay in Germany, but unfortunately (due to our lack of most of our camping stuff in our forgotten bag in Bloomington, and to the awful weather forecast in the mountains of heavy rain and cold), we decided to cancel. Though rather disappointing, it ended up working out nicely, as we then got to spend more time with Michael's grandparents, and got to spend a few days visiting some of Cologne's surrounding castles and towns.

Our first such trip was a day-trip organized by a Russian tour group (there are apparently some million Russians living in Cologne) to explore castles along the Rhine river. Riding in a bus along the scenic river, we got to admire castle after castle, and listen to the history and legends of the area (granted, this was all in Russian, so I unfortunately missed most of the details, but Michael translated later on for me). We made several stops -- the first for wine-tasting (the valley along the rivers supports an incredibly grape-growing conducive climate) in a small medieval town where we learned about the very high standards for German wine-producing (nothing artificial allowed!), and the second for touring Marksburg Castle:

Constructed between the 13th and 15th centuries, this castle -- like all the others lining the Rhine -- was designed for defense and to charge tariffs along the river, but unlike all the other castles, it is the only one that was not destroyed by Napoleon in the 18th century to be left in ruins or subsequently renovated in the following century. Besides touring the castle and its wax museum of ancient Germanic warriors,

I also got to experience one other memorable event. Having grown up with cats, I have come to love animals with a passion, as evidenced by my decision to become a vegetarian. However, I always knew that, presumably, not all animals were as loveable, intelligent, or "alive" in a human-like way as cats are, which I assume is the usual justification people use for killing and eating them (in America at least, people would definitely object to eating cats or dogs). However, I was very surprised to discover the incredibly affectionate nature of a goat that was kept at this castle: Michael discovered that he enjoyed eating grass and flowers out of your hands, which is fun and all, but not particularly surprising. But who knew that a goat would like being rubbed and petted behind his ear so much, and would seem so sad when I had to leave!

Our last stop that night was to the city of Düsseldorf, where we joined the throngs of some million people who were celebrating the finale of a week-long Japanese festival by watching a huge fireworks display over the Rhine, and it was quite a firework display, with glittering explosions of colors and smiley-faces and the night sky shimmering with gold...

Our other trip was a two-day trip Michael and I organized ourselves by renting a car: the first day we drove to Belgium to tour the underground caves in Remouchamps, named "la merveille des merveilles" (the marvel of marvels), where we saw many impressive stalagmites, stalactites, and other rock formations, and took a boat ride through the lower, most recently formed stretch of the cave. As an aside, you can remember the distinction between stalagmites (grow up from the bottom) and stalactites (hang from the top) by the T-shape of the stalacTites (which grows downwards), and the M-shape of the stalagMites (which grows upwards). As per our tour guide, you can also use the "ants in your pants" phrase: "the ‘MITES go up, and the ‘TIGHTS (tites) come down". Afterwards, we spent the evening in the small medieval "city" of Durbuy, and toured a very unusual garden made of sculpted trees...!

The second day, we left Belgium and headed back to Germany, to visit two of the castles towering over the Moselle River: Cochem,

and Eltz:

Both castles possessed an interesting feature: a hanging mermaid winged with deer antlers, meant for good luck! (a little strange, no?!)

Michael's Uncle:

Grandfather:

and Grandmother:

And after three and a half weeks in Europe, we returned home to be greeted by the most wonderful of welcome-backs: the meows and purrs of two very loving and very furry kitties!

And only one week later, we added a new furry to our home: a 9-week old goldendoodle we have named Hazel. (And no, he's not a girl: while apparently Hazel is commonly used as a girl's name in America, everyone who thinks that this is exclusively a feminine name should go read Watership Down -- our puppy's namesake is that of a heroic, valiant, and altogether masculine bunny!!) Here he is in his very nice, not-so-little play-pin that Michael made for him...

And finally, our first-ever, amazing vegetable garden! We've already made ten delicious salads from our very own spinach!