20.2 miles to Sportsman’s Marina just past the Calvin Coolidge Bridge

I spent a bit of a restless night. There was a train yard not too far upriver and a number of times throughout the night I was awaken by some tremendous banging of train cars. On top of that it was a hot and humid night and my side was hurting. I had trouble rolling over and finding a comfortable position. I was glad when four AM rolled around and I figured I could start packing up for the day ahead. I wanted to get an early start but I did not want to be on the river in the dark.

Just before I set out from home with my Ebike I received an email from some people I did not know telling me that when I reached Sportsman’s Marina in Hadley, Mass, they would pick me up for a night. They offered to feed me and let me shower at their home. Tom and Vivian, who I had met on the river in southern Vermont, had emailed some paddling friends of theirs asking if anyone would help me along my way. Tad and Tarin responded with their kind offer. When I had been home to resupply I had called Sportsman’s Marina and made arrangements for Jenny to stay there for a night. Now all I had to do was paddle the twenty miles in time to meet Tad by four PM. I was ready for some good company, a shower and a real meal.

I enjoyed my breakfast of re-hydrated yogurt and homemade granola. The pint of fresh blueberries I had bought during my bike ride was such a welcome addition. I took time to admire the lovely moldering privy. https://www.mass.gov/doc/final-guidance-for-moldering-privy-local-upgrade-approval/download It was certainly the nicest privy I had encountered on the river. I also admired some pipsissewa blooming along the trail to the privy. Then I put on knee socks to protect my feet and legs from the slog down through the poison ivy back to my boat. It did not take me too long to load Jenny up. By now it had become routine.

I love the glassy calm and reflections on the river in the early morning hours before the wind picks up, as it does most afternoons. I admired many bald eagles, herons and flowers along the banks. I noticed the rock had really changed here. It was now much redder in color and looked to me to be more sedimentary.

About three hours into my morning I realized that not only was I going to make it to my rendezvous in time, but I was on track to be two hours early. Even though I had eased up a bit on my paddling to protect my hurt side muscle, I was making well over three miles per hour. The day was fairly hot so I pulled into a small, shaded cove for a lunch break.

My friend Deets had texted me some numbers to help me get more information about what I could expect as I got closer to Long Island Sound. I had heard the river becomes quite tidal and you must paddle out with the tide. I had no idea where I might begin to feel the effect of these tides. Nor did I know how difficult it would be for me to paddle back upriver if I paddled all the way out with the tide. I tried calling the first two numbers which made the most sense to me. One was the harbormaster who never returned my phone call. The other was the coastguard who told me they “know nothing about tides” and “only do rescues.” Luckily the third number I called, the North Cove Yacht Club, went out of their way to be helpful. They gave me the information I was looking for and invited me to stop by when I came through. I also managed to call the folks who run the Holyoke Dam. They told me they would provide a truck to portage Jenny and I around the dam. I was ecstatic.

After my leisurely stop I set off again, happy to have more pieces in place for this trip. I noticed an old thought pattern creeping in. For much of my life whenever I felt happy that things were going well, I immediately would squelch the happiness, fully expecting everything to fall apart. I know this is a result of childhood trauma and I have worked hard to believe that good things can happen to me. Rather than waiting for some catastrophe to hit me, I focused on strengthening my belief that by trusting my instincts and moving ahead, what I needed would appear when I needed it. I pulled away from that cove sated physically and emotionally. Even my hurt side muscle was feeling better.

People along the river had been warning me that the motor boats in this next section would be difficult to contend with. They were absolutely correct in their prediction. The river opened up and the size and number of motor boats rose exponentially. Three or four large ones would pass me at one time. Their combined wakes caused large, squirrelly waves for me to contend with. At one point I was dealing with both the wakes from the boats and the waves from the rising wind. I had to pull hard to keep Jenny on course, sometimes making quick maneuvers to avoid waves crashing over my bow. On one of these quick maneuvers I felt a pull in my sore side muscle. I hoped it wouldn’t end up being as bad as it felt. I did not want to have to take time off like I had when I injured my knee while hiking the Continental Divide trail the previous summer.

I seldom take any pain killers. I feel my pain is there to remind me to take it easy and pay attention to something. I know that if I take anything to numb the pain I am apt to push my body when I should not, causing more damage to an injured part. I feel the same about my emotional pain and have made it a point not to take drugs, prescription or otherwise to numb the pain. My experience has been that by leaning into the pain I can learn something and come out stronger on the other side. I am determined not to live a life of numbness.

With my side hurting, I struggled the last few miles to reach Sportsman’s Marina. I wanted to be early so I could get Jenny settled before Tad arrived to pick me up. The wind kept rising and the motor boats became a pretty constant stream. By the time I reached the marina I was ready to cry. I could feel myself on the edge of dissociation, which is how I coped with pain as a child. It was interesting to me to notice that I have now developed the skills to recognize dissociation as it is happening.

Dissociation can be triggered by an outside event that feels emotionally similar to some original trauma. Often it feels as if a switch is instantly pulled and one is back into some past traumatic event. When this post traumatic stress response happens one often feels outside of the body and unable to make conscious choices. It is like watching oneself on a conveyor belt forced to go along for the ride.

I have worked hard over the years to get to the bottom of the pain and trauma I have carried from a very young age. But it still sometimes grabs me and feels as if it is taking over my life. I was glad to notice that in this situation I was able to catch it before it took on a life of its own. It made me wonder how many reactions are a result of unresolved trauma. I think many times people react in anger to cover up hurt that was a result of some emotional trauma. I also think people eat, gamble, drink, avoid close relationships and more to cover up trauma. I try to remember not to judge anyone for seemingly off the mark reactions. I want to have compassion for the hurt they are carrying which causes them to act in a way that seems “unreasonable.”

Once I pulled into the landing ramp and got out of the boat I stared at her, willing Jenny to jump onto her trailer without me having to lift her. I did not feel I had it in me to get her up the ramp to where she was to spend the night. My side was really hurting and all I wanted to do was sit in the shade and cry.

I engaged in conversation with a family getting ready to set out. I readily accepted the offer of a cold, sweet iced tea. As I gulped it down I felt the sugar lift my mood a bit. I asked one young man if he would help me lift Jenny onto her wheels. I was so grateful when he did most of the lifting himself. Then I struggled to pull her up the hill. Luckily someone came along and offered to help me. From there I was able to get her to her resting place for the night.

Needing some comfort I reached out to my friends. I was talking to Bix on the phone when Tad arrived. We loaded what I needed for the night into his car. I was glad for the break as we drove to his home, stopping along the way at a farm stand so I could pick up a few ears of corn and some more blueberries to take on my journey.

After a heavenly shower, during which time I rinsed off my stinking clothes, I enjoyed a lovely evening with Tad, his wife Tarin, and their friends Marsha and Kyle. The dinner of fresh corn, salmon and salad was fantastic and the conversation was even better. Kyle Pruett is an internationally known psychiatrist who teaches at Yale and shares my concerns about the pharmaceutical industry’s influence in psychology. Like me, he values connection and its healing effects. He also is a skilled sailor and was able to give me more information about what I might expect once I reached Long Island Sound. His wife, Marsha, is also renown in the field of psychology.

Even though I was not sure how I would continue to paddle with my sore side, my spirits had been renewed through the kindness of these fine people. I dropped into bed, tired and grateful for all the miracles the river was sending my way.