Dehydration, sleep deprivation, hallucinations, relieving yourself in the river, shitty, muddy check points, sweltering heat, impromptu night swims through rapids to chase down a $260 racing paddle, hypothermia in the Texas summer, the Safari has it all...some times within the span of 24 hours. Where else would you pay $125 for that kind of treatment?
I won't lie, realizing that we had forgotten our extra gallon of water had me seriously worried. 38 miles of paddling is some thing I can “manage” on just 1 gallon of water, especially at our easy pace, but I wasn't crazy about the idea of rationing water in the afternoon heat. An even bigger concern was how long Matt would survive. We started the Safari with a ½ gallon of water each to stay light for all the portages in the first 16 miles. By the time our crew surprised us, about 1.5 hours into the race, Matt was already through his ½ gallon. How the hell was he suppose to paddle 9-10 hours on just 1 gallon?
Nothing to do about it now. There's no where for the crew to meet us before Hochheim and no real options other than to keep paddling and see what happens. That didn't keep us from fantasizing or cooking up some “strategery” on how we might obtain extra water. I determined that at some point we'd have to see a house and they'd have to have some sort of faucet out back. Even better, maybe we'd just find a full water jug along the bank some where...
Despite our crisis, the race and the day proceeded along as usual. The Gonzales to Hochheim stretch is relentlessly monotonous. The river is wide, slow, shallow, and mostly uneventful. I expected this section to be horrible, but it actually wasn't too bad. OK, so maybe my expectations were so horrible that the reality was some what tolerable in comparison..? It really is a nice stretch of river, even if it is a bit boring. After some of my coastal bayou paddles, where the tallest thing around is a blade of grass, you won't hear me complain too much about paddling along tall, tree lined banks.
This is another case where the low water had it's benefits. As pissed off as I was running into logs and junk during the first night, we both agreed that all of that in and out of the boat stuff seemed good for conditioning. It kept the circulation going in your lower body. Similarly, on the Guadalupe, low water meant that there was usually a reason to pay attention and stay alert as you were looking for deeper channels and trying to avoid running aground. These little rapids were at least a little entertaining on an otherwise mundane stretch of river. Better circulation or not, it's hot, and long, and you really REALLY don't want to run shallow and have to hop out. We were always alert and searching for that deeper channel. After our argument on day 1, Matt had taken to being the spotter in the bow, and he usually did a better job than me on determining which route was deeper. I'm less patient and would rather pick a route and hit it.
At some point on the way to Hochheim we started catching up to other boats, mostly Novice class teams. Pretty much every one (except us) either goes hard on day 1 or tries to hit their pace as soon as possible. Most of these teams were probably dragging after a tough first day or they were already locked on to a pace. I felt like we had energy on reserve and I knew I could paddle significantly harder if I had a reason. Really though, I couldn't see a reason. I knew we were some where in the back half of the pack. I was still dead focused on finishing the race, but I couldn't see what was to gain by trying to race these guys.
We traded places with these teams over and over. One of us would stop to lay in the water and cool off or one of us would pick up or drop the pace. Some teams pulled over for a nap. I couldn't blame them, it was hot and the river to Hochheim just goes on and on and on. We weren't using the GPS at this point, so we had no idea of the mileage we'd covered. That was fine with me and was actually part of the plan. With a GPS, it's too easy to lock onto mileage and start waiting for an end, even if you're having a good time. I wanted a bit of mystery, with only a watch and the time to give any clue of where you might be. At least then you can tell yourself that it's just a couple more hours to the check point...
Some where along this stretch we passed Brian, who was paddling an aluminum canoe, from the bow, by himself, with a big pile of rocks in the stern to trim the boat. His partner had dropped out at Gonzales and like most other Safari racers, Brian refused to let that stop him. He'd run the Safari in 2010 and agreed with us as to our assessment of the suckiness of this section. Brian thought we were about 10 miles from the check point. Now armed with a “must be correct” estimate of mileage, Matt picked up the pace, desperate to get to Hochheim.
I didn't like the increased pace. We were spending a lot of energy in the heat and were probably not moving all that much faster. Over that type of distance (especially in our slow as shit, heavy canoe) a slight increase in pace is better than a more intense pace that you can't hold, especially in the day time. Of course, it wasn't long before we started passing teams, one of which told us the mileage. The news was not good. We had hammered the pace for I don't remember how long and still had 10 miles to go. Matt was slightly pissed defeated...I though that was funny.
Shortly after this, Matt ran out of water and I passed him what was left of one of my jugs. We had both been trying hard to ration all day. Holy shit do those cooler jugs work! We couldn't even get the rest of the water, because it was still ice. That was almost unbelievable to us. I guess we've both spent too much time hiking or paddling with uninsulated hydration bladders that melt with 10 seconds. I knew we were both dehydrated, but again, nothing to do about it until we hit the check point...when ever the F**K that was going to be. And speaking of the check point, I swear that river was taking it's sweat ass time in getting there. It felt like we were swerving back and forth, towards, then away from the check point. Google Earth does not confirm this, but possibly some one has altered those satellite images.
Two weeks after leaving Gonzales (or maybe it was 10 hours?) we arrived at Hochheim, dehydrated and ready for sleep. We had jumped from 55th place to 49th place. As much as any thing else, this felt like a TWS rite of passage, not just surviving the stretch to Hochheim, but surviving and arriving there to proclaim to any one within earshot that yes, in fact, “this check point sucks!!!”. I probably looked lost and delirious, but I walked back and forth determined that there had to be some where suitable for sleep. There was not. Hochheim is just a steep, muddy slope under a bridge. A couple of teams pulled up and blasted off as we were standing there, but I didn't care, we were SUPPOSE to get some sleep. Screw it then, we told our crew that we'd pull over up the river and grab a nap. Another team's captain at the check point suggested that we just push on to Cheapside, “it's only 24 miles”. Hah! That sounded like an eternity at this point. No way we'd make it that long...right?
Or maybe we would. We pulled over on the bank about 5 minutes down river. We both climbed up and found reasonably flat spots to lie down. For what ever reason, neither of us could sleep. After 5 or 10 minutes we said F**k it and pushed on. Not long after, we both popped some caffeine and decided to just keep plugging along until we hit Cheapside. “It's only 5 hours” I said. At the time, that seemed perfectly easy for some reason. Funny thing though, as soon as the sun set, my brain *clicked* and I knew it was going to be an interesting night. I think I told Matt some thing along the lines of “I'm going to start saying some weird shit later, just ignore it”. I can't describe the feeling, but the sense that “things are going to get weird” was undeniable.
Fortunately for both of us, I didn't completely lose my mind that night, but shit most definitely got weird. The caffeine pill probably kept me charged for 2 hours or so (damn the caffeine tolerance of a coffee junky...). After that, I started hallucinating. I was never confused about what was going on. I knew I was hallucinating, I knew some of what I was seeing was not what it appeared to be, and I knew some of what I was seeing just wasn't there. I wasn't really worried about it, but steering the canoe was a hell of a lot more interesting all of the sudden. I had enough awareness of the situation to tell Matt that he'd have to tell me where the hell we were going.
OK, so maybe I lied about not being confused, because there were a few odd thoughts running through my head during those miles. For one, I couldn't tell what was in the bow of my canoe. Had I not already spent 40 hours paddling with Matt, you might have convinced me that there was some sort of amorphous, alien blob paddling bow. I don't wear my glasses when paddling, so squinting up towards the bow just made things more confusing, “yep, a brown blob with light radiating from him, definitely NOT shaped like a human, but he keeps burping and trying to communicate with me, so it MUST be Matt”. Even more odd was the thought that we were missing some one. Who it was or why we would have had a third person with us, I couldn't say. But, there had been some one else in the canoe, I was almost sure of that. Was it Ed? No, that's our team captain, he's at the check point. Well, who the hell was it then!? I know we had some one else with us, when and why did they get out of the canoe..? And who was it, damnit?
Even weirder still, I was now questioning whether I had even paddled with Matt today. I could distinctly remember paddling the Hochheim stretch with my brother. Yep, I could clearly remember navigating the little rapids and channels with my brother in the bow. Over and over we had discussed which channel would be deeper and whether we should steer left or right. When the hell did Matt replace him? That daytime stretch seemed like an eternity apart from what we were currently doing and where we were. At least I didn't voice any of these mental debates. I was feeling a little sick and was probably fairly quiet. Had I actually said any of this, Matt surely would have thought I was out of my mind.
In the midst of this, the free entertainment, I mean the hallucinations, continued. Often, it was as simple as seeing a stump that wasn't there or seeing a stump that WAS there, but not being sure exactly how far away it was. I had almost no spacial awareness, I couldn't have told you whether the stump was 50 yards away or 5 feet. During the day time, I'd see a sun bleached log on the distant bank and think it was a canoe. This was more severe at night. EVERY log on the bank was a canoe, at least until we were nearly right next to it. That thought alone had me seeing people on the banks and in the woods. The most convincing one was wearing a green headlamp and peeking out from behind the trees. Why was he hiding? Was this one real? When Matt looked in that direction I was sure that this one had to be real! After discussing this with Matt later on (NOT while it was happening) he told me there was a green reflector on one of the trees. I could have swore it was moving...
Steering was not getting any easier. Matt was telling me “left, right, 20 yards ahead”, but I was still hallucinating and having trouble focusing. At one point, we ran into a small patch of fog and I suddenly saw a gravel bar with a tent on it right in front of us. I jammed my paddle in the water to steer around it, then it vanished. Hmm. I could see more gravel bars and tents up ahead, were any of them real? My paddling and steering slowed as I had NO idea any more which objects were actually there.
Not long after this, we started on the “endless river” to Cheapside. We kept waiting for the check point and waiting and waiting. Google Earth does confirm this one, as the river in this area starts to snake back and forth. On top of that, you're sort of running parallel to the highway, so you hear traffic and assume it's the bridge, but it's not. It really felt like we were running through one hairpin turn after another, barely moving south at all. We when did hit a straight away it would look almost infinite. I'd squint into the darkness ahead, but couldn't tell what was at the end of the tunnel. Matt was starting to crack now. He REALLY wanted to get to the check point and couldn't understand why the hell it was taking so long. At one point, he suggested that we must have missed the check point...some how. Holy hell, I'm glad I wasn't out of my mind enough to agree with that assessment, that's how Safari legends are born. We'd turn around, paddle back up river, and if we were lucky, we'd bump into another team who'd set us straight. If we weren't lucky, we might pull over and wander off into the woods in search of civilization, before our sanity returned at day break...
“No way in HELL we passed that check point!” I knew that wasn't possible. A big bridge, with people, and lights, not a chance of missing that. “Did you see that tent back there though?” “No.” “Really!? I swear this one was real. It was a big tarp with chairs under it. Didn't see any people though...”
The weirdness continued as we were still running through tight, bending turns, then long, infinite straight aways. We were both looking forward to sleep at Cheapside. Matt only had about 15-20 minutes of sleep after the first night and I'd had zero sleep. Suddenly, the river made a couple of turns and we were running through rapids. Not rocky, frothy rapids, just fast flowing channels with sweeping turns. In the darkness and in my condition, it was happening way too fast. I reminded Matt to give me steering directions, but I was mostly just hanging on. We cleared a couple and then I thought I could actually see a slope ahead in the darkness. We got swept into a right turn and then sharply left. Just as we were swinging out of the left turn we slide into some thing, hard, probably a stump. The canoe tipped to one side and when it did, my paddle flew right out of my hands.
Funny, there was not a single thought in my head, I dove straight out of the canoe and grabbed the paddle. Shit! Now I'm getting swept down stream. I think Matt was much more shocked than I was. No big deal, I'm about to float on this gravel bar. Wait, I KNOW there was a gravel bar right there? Where the hell did it go!? Matt pulled over, but the water was deep and I was getting washed down stream too quickly, so he pushed off again and gave chase. I don't remember if I washed ashore or climbed back into the canoe. We ended up on a gravel bar, a little shocked, only to look up and see...the F***ING check point!!! You have to be shitting me!? I stayed dry all night only to get completely F***ING soaked RIGHT before a sleep break!? Son of a bitch...I wasn't happy. Of course, what are you gonna do? I climbed out, got naked, and put on the only dry set of clothes I had. I'd have to leave my paddling clothes out and hope they were reasonably dry in the morning.
Pulling up to Cheapside was not as joyous as I'd imagined, not under these conditions. My new clothes were dry, but my hair was wet and I was still slightly pissed. Lots of people were sleeping and it was quiet, so that was good. We told Ed that we hadn't slept and that we were going to knock out for two hours. The muscles in my shoulders were getting severely knotted, so I popped a muscle relaxer (left over from a tweaked back muscle two weeks before the race) and shoveled down a Dinti Moore. Ed lead us up the hill next to the car. I brought the emergency blanket and my inflatable seat cushion. It really wasn't a bad spot on the cliff over looking the river. I laid down, tossed around for 5 minutes or so, then was out cold. Unfortunately, this was the only real sleep I'd have the entire race.
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