Elation to Dejection and Back Again

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Saturday, September 1st, 2007. Along the Nulhegan River, New Hampshire. After Friday’s exhausting riverbed dragging, Darrin started the day with a new resolve. He left his campsite on the Nulhegan, portaged back to the East Fork of the Nulhegan, and then portaged over to the Connecticut River. The Connecticut was most likely to have a runnable water level.

His decision was clearly validated when he reached the Connecticut. The river was big with a fast, strong current. Thanks to a steady tailwind, he zoomed along, accomplishing a solid 20 miles by noon. For the first time in a long, long while, he experienced the elation of having everything go just right. Forgotten were the resistant upstream currents, the long, heavy portages, and the pain of cuts and bruises.

From the Connecticut, he began his way upstream on the Upper Ammonosuc River. The first couple of miles were meandering with a slow current and one gravel bar after another. Despite the slowdown, his elation remained intact, for it was only 2:30 p.m. when he pulled up to the town of Groveton on the Upper Ammonosuc. His day would end early, leaving plenty of time for extra rest.

Just when he thought the day couldn’t get any better, it suddenly became precipitously worse. Upon hauling his canoe and gear into Groveton, he quickly learned that the “in-town” motel was five miles away from town and inland from the river. In that moment, his elation turned into dejection.

He considered his options. The upriver town of Stark was too far to paddle to, and there weren’t any campsites situated within paddling distance. He settled on pulling his canoe seven miles to an inn that would at least keep him close to the river.

He started walking. After about two miles, his dejection deepened when he realized his whitewater paddle was missing. This is an essential piece of gear - one he couldn’t be without. Without hesitation, he turned around and hauled his canoe and gear back to look for the paddle. After about a mile of walking, he gave up. He didn’t have the heart to backtrack any longer, so he opted for going on without the paddle. He turned around again and headed back in the direction of the inn.

Moments later, his dejection turned back to elation. A Chevy Suburban slowed down and pulled up beside him. “Can I help you with your portage?”, asked a friendly gentleman, leaning out the window…

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