Beyond the Gap
A Lesson in the cost of half measures
June 1, 2024
North Fork of the American River, Euchre Bar to Colfax-Iowa Hill Road, aka Giant Gap
Well, whaddya know, after many years of pining for it, we finally got on the Gap! Though bad luck nearly left me out, with Greg’s game night being prescheduled on the one day of the year that proved propitious for the run (hot weather, ideal flow, and willing strangers to show us the lines). I drove to the mountains three days prior with the plan to hike some snowy peaks around Lake Spaulding and then join Pat for a lap on the Yuba, parting ways afterward so he could run Giant Gap (the next day) while I attended Greg’s event.
It’s a painful thing not only to make tough choices, but to accept the need for doing so as an inevitable feature of our existence. The healthy way to grapple with a tough trade-off is to focus on what truly matters and try as best you can to let go of the “fear of missing out” on other options. What I was trying to focus on in this case was staying true to my commitments and, more importantly, continuing to invest in meaningful friendships that have lasted for more than two decades. I was also trying (through various psychological contortions) to allow my happiness for Pat to outstrip my envy, knowing that this was a wonderfully exciting opportunity for him.
Evidently, though, I still have growing to do. Because instead of sticking to my original plan and accepting this opportunity to embrace limitation and “choose to choose” between powerfully competing options, I eventually managed to convince myself that the choice was a false one. I could send this ultra-classic stretch of whitewater and make the games later that evening, if only I was willing to show up at Greg’s a couple hours late. I didn’t actually have to miss out on much, and the only trade-offs were in the realm of optics and effort.
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Well, that’s what I told myself. And I did make both events. But truth be told, there may have been other, unseen trade-offs somewhere within my character — and a haunting sense of this possibility lingered in my mind, producing a divided focus that affected both experiences (in ways too poorly understood at this moment to list).
The Gap did not disappoint, and surely lived up to its reputation for spectacular scenery and stompy, exhilarating rapids. Pat’s consummate impression was that it felt “within our level.” I agree, but I also believe it was a step up even from Devils Nose (last year’s big experiment), and that it would have been rough to take on by ourselves without other boaters to run safety and lead us through the cruxes.
Individual experiences on the water help shape one’s subjective impression of difficulty, and can lead to various differences in take. Me — I got chilled to the point of shivering just a few miles in, managed to bang both elbows several times, floated backwards into a boulder like an idiot and bruised my iliac crest, smacked my head against the board at the base of a vertical pour-over and incurred a mean headache and neck pain that refused to relent, inexplicably injured my right index finger, and exacerbated a pulsing pain in the right knee that first appeared on my twenty-eight mile hike two days prior.
Then there was that divided focus, which I’ll insist was partly to blame for a scarring mishap that was fortunately (or unfortunately) captured on film — namely, getting munched in nasty hole that briefly pulled me underwater, not just backward, and held my board hostage for nearly a minute after I escaped its ravenous maw. (The board wasn’t dancing about on the surface; it was deep in belly of the beast, where I might still be too, had Pat not come from behind and yanked me out.)
The slow stuff after mile eight felt endless, and by the time we reached Pinball (mile fourteen), I was exhausted from the swimming and my efforts the previous two days. What’s more, it was nearly 5 pm, and I was badly stressing about how late I would be to the game night — that is, if I could even survive the three hour drive to Greg’s house without yielding to fatigue or to the massive dopamine crash that would inevitably begin the moment I exited the water.
If you add all that up, it sounds like a bad time. But the truth is, despite all the injuries and mishaps, the fear and the stress, I was thrilled to be on the Gap and loved nearly every moment of it. It is a special run with “wonderfully boisterous” rapids like Nutcracker and Five Alive, and you feel like a boss running through that stuff. There were so many rapids on the upper end of our stout threshold that our hearts and lungs were continuously employed in a quickening (and indeed successful) effort to make us appreciate our vitality of form and adventurousness of spirit. Among the attractions and aims of leisure, perhaps no greater virtues exist.
Still, on my return home from the games the next morning, I couldn’t help but wonder whether my unwillingness to fully embrace a single, well-chosen path had prevented me from experiencing all that either activity had to offer that day. Embracing limitation isn’t just about missing out. It’s also about knowing the riches of giving your undivided attention to a single, valueable object when the price of doing so is high. At any rate, there are trade-offs and costs to every choice that we make. That’s a hazzard you can’t escape.
