The River of Life

Author Lisa Cedrone on the Tuckasegee River during Women’s Paddlefest 2024.

Feeling safe and supported are important deciding factors when it comes to assessing whether to take a risk to learn and grow.

When I’m on the river, some days are much better than others, but I’ve come to understand that they are all perfect in their own ways—when I feel safe and supported in my learning and personal growth.

Whitewater kayaking has become a personal metaphor for creating strong, positive ritual in the second half of life. The wisdom gained from working hard to develop progressive skills—after starting this journey in my mid-50s—and learning to respect and connect with the mighty power of nature have become invaluable for building resilience, perseverance and patience as I grow into my authentic self.

I’ll give you an example of how this works. Last summer, I attended Women’s Paddlefest at Nantahala Outdoor Center, near Bryson City, NC, which was an incredible opportunity to meet other women in the paddling community, many of whom I had only crossed paths with online as a member of Anna Levesque’s Mind Body Paddle community.

Everything started out great—especially Saturday’s trip on the Tuckasegee River Gorge in Dillsboro, NC, with a group of women from APEs. It’s one of my favorite Class II whitewater runs, and conditions were perfect!

And then Saturday night it started raining. It rained…and rained…and rained some more.

It was still pouring when I woke up Sunday—the day I signed up to paddle my first full Class II-III trip on the lower Nantahala River. Conditions were far from perfect, and I didn’t have a combat roll, but I decided to go anyway because I paddled part of this river section several times the summer before, and, in preparation, I did the same shorter run from Ferebee down with friends the day before Women’s Paddlefest started.

But the river was high and fast from all that rain, and just after paddling out into the current at the put-in with almost 30 other boaters—which made me extremely nervous—my glasses fogged up and I couldn’t see much of anything. I paddled straight into the hole at the very first rapid, Patton’s Run, which is a Class II+. That was my first swim. It was cold, with the air temperature around 60 degrees and the water at 50 degrees…and I forgot my brand-new dry suit at home, so I wasn’t exactly dressed for a full-body immersion. It was intimidating, but there were at least five instructors in the group and many experienced paddlers, all of whom where right there to help get me to riverbank and drain my boat quickly.

My next swim happened halfway through the eight-plus-mile paddle, near a Class II rapid called Delebar’s Rock. Again, I couldn’t see through my foggy glasses and, as we turned the bend to enter the pour over between two large rocks, I hit the rock on the right, flipped, caught my foot, and lost my Astral boot while I was coming out of the boat—but I was quickly pulled up to the bank paddling on the back of someone else’s boat. At this point, I decided to take my glasses off and gave them to a friend to put in her drybag. Most importantly, I was safe and surrounded by helping hands, and I got back in the boat, which someone in the group kindly drained—and, thankfully, my boot was still wedged in the bow.

In the end, I felt supported enough to attempt my first run of Nantahala Falls, the last rapid of the day and a tricky Class III at that water level. Despite my fear and a less-than-perfect mindset, I knew there were multiple safety boaters at the bottom of the falls, and I was sandwiched in a subgroup between two experienced paddlers, so I followed the lead boater down. I did manage to make the traditional line down the tongue before I went over on my right side as I hit the wave seam at bottom hole. A paltry triumph in an otherwise miserable performance for my PFD, I thought at the time.

However, I later realized my mindset needed a HUGE adjustment. I tried something extremely hard under less-than-ideal conditions and learned from it—setting myself up for success in the future.

Was I embarrassed? Yes. Was I vulnerable? Absolutely. However, I felt safe and supported—and I realized these are the most important deciding factors for me on the river and in life when it comes to assessing whether to take a risk that can help me learn and grow. And it wasn’t just the safety boaters that mattered; it also was the emotional and community support that came from this group of women paddlers.

The Next Step

Later in the season, I was back in Bryson City for Week of Rivers, hosted by Carolina Canoe Club, and I decided to focus on the lower Nantahala River the entire time I was there. My goal was to learn the lines and work through my fears still lingering from that fateful rainy day. But I decided to hold off on running the falls again until I took a clinic on the lines at the end of the week—despite friends pushing me, saying: “Just try it again.” I knew I didn’t have enough knowledge, and, even if made it through successfully, it would be random chance. It just didn’t make sense to me from a risk management standpoint.

Trying something “blind” once with support can help me overcome fear of the unknown and provide the launchpad for progress, but I personally need to develop a pattern of learning—a ritual—that builds on understanding fundamentals first and then honing my skills in a safe and supported environment. And from this comes the wisdom: the ability to use knowledge and experience to make good decisions and judgments over time.

Lisa is a fellow APE who lives in Burnsville, NC. She began her whitewater journey in 2023—30 years after taking her first rafting trip on the Ocoee and falling in love with the rivers of the Southeast.