Suicide is such a harsh word
I hate long posts, (short attention span) so, here’s some more to give the illusion of a short read.
Work was interesting, we had two what we call “superstats” which are the 911 calls of critical care ambulances. They are the only time we get to go lights and sirens, justifiably so, as the person is usually suffering from an acute heart attack or some other serious ailment. I usually like these calls, as I can use some of my critical care skills, have a patient who is suffering from something that is pretty interesting, and well, the lights and siren thing. The problem was that were in an upgraded BLS van and squeezing all the necessary equipment and people in there was difficult.
Yesterday Ewing and I went on a little kayaking trip to celebrate his purchase of a fine new paddle, and my purchase of his old one. To try out our recent acquisitions we went to a section where we could park one car and paddle around freely. Just up the river from this area is a section that the local paddlers call ‘suicide.’ Don’t let the name fool you, wait, I mean, take it seriously, as at certain times of the year, I am certain that doing this section would in fact be suicide. It is at anytime class II whitewater, and at high water, easily class III/IV. In addition, it is on a relatively steep grade, and peppered with large, protuberant rocks that constantly threaten to capsize any paddler stupid enough to cross their path.
We first discovered suicide last summer, when the water was ridiculously low and we foolishly went through the section. We both survived somehow, but man was that dumb! The last time we saw it, the water was about six inches higher, and upon examination, we both easily agreed ‘no way.’ But yesterday the water was at a reasonable height and after about an hour of scouting and carefully choosing a good line, we decided to run it again. Ewing did the whole section while I stood on the rocky shore, waiting for him to die. Although, he didn’t die, he survived quite well, until the very end when a hydraulic caught and capsized his boat. I decided to do just the lower half, which after a little psyching up was a pretty fun ride. It was the first time I had to paddle very conservatively and follow a very careful plan. I had to plan at least three large rocks in advance, like climbing down a steep hill. Having learned from Ewing’s run, I knew I had to employ precision, especially at the end. I am happy to tell you that I didn’t get an impromptu swimming lesson, much to Ewing’s chagrin.
I also learned that real life is scary and inevitable, but kayaking, cheap beer, good friends, and ice cream can cure all ills.
Work was interesting, we had two what we call “superstats” which are the 911 calls of critical care ambulances. They are the only time we get to go lights and sirens, justifiably so, as the person is usually suffering from an acute heart attack or some other serious ailment. I usually like these calls, as I can use some of my critical care skills, have a patient who is suffering from something that is pretty interesting, and well, the lights and siren thing. The problem was that were in an upgraded BLS van and squeezing all the necessary equipment and people in there was difficult.
Yesterday Ewing and I went on a little kayaking trip to celebrate his purchase of a fine new paddle, and my purchase of his old one. To try out our recent acquisitions we went to a section where we could park one car and paddle around freely. Just up the river from this area is a section that the local paddlers call ‘suicide.’ Don’t let the name fool you, wait, I mean, take it seriously, as at certain times of the year, I am certain that doing this section would in fact be suicide. It is at anytime class II whitewater, and at high water, easily class III/IV. In addition, it is on a relatively steep grade, and peppered with large, protuberant rocks that constantly threaten to capsize any paddler stupid enough to cross their path.
We first discovered suicide last summer, when the water was ridiculously low and we foolishly went through the section. We both survived somehow, but man was that dumb! The last time we saw it, the water was about six inches higher, and upon examination, we both easily agreed ‘no way.’ But yesterday the water was at a reasonable height and after about an hour of scouting and carefully choosing a good line, we decided to run it again. Ewing did the whole section while I stood on the rocky shore, waiting for him to die. Although, he didn’t die, he survived quite well, until the very end when a hydraulic caught and capsized his boat. I decided to do just the lower half, which after a little psyching up was a pretty fun ride. It was the first time I had to paddle very conservatively and follow a very careful plan. I had to plan at least three large rocks in advance, like climbing down a steep hill. Having learned from Ewing’s run, I knew I had to employ precision, especially at the end. I am happy to tell you that I didn’t get an impromptu swimming lesson, much to Ewing’s chagrin.
I also learned that real life is scary and inevitable, but kayaking, cheap beer, good friends, and ice cream can cure all ills.
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