Last Saturday afternoon, Linda arrived home in a frustrated mood. She had spent the entire day on the mountain near Brian Head ski resort looking for a specific type of rock. A friend had requested a specialized pendant to share with another family member to memorialize their deceased father.
Linda hadn’t found what she was looking for, and the day was slipping away. So, I suggested she look in our pile of river rock still awaiting placement in our rock garden. If she didn’t find anything there that she could use, we would head up the canyon, eat dinner at Milts Steak House and then walk the stream bed near the restaurant.
Dinner was terrific; shortly after that, we turned south on Right Hand Canyon Rd. My family used to own property in this area, and with the convergence of two streams (Right Hand Creek and Coal Creek), I suspected it would be a good spot for the type of rock Linda needed. Her jewelry project was to create a small rock cairn pendant. It sounds simple enough; however, any time you start stacking stones on a chain that goes around your neck, every gram is noticeable. Linda needed flat, small, river-smoothed edges of different colors to keep it lightweight. No small task.
We parked next to the bridge and walked the short path to the stream. Massive boulders lined the creek bed, and a small, clear stream flowed near the center. Someone had taken the time to construct a small dam across the creek with rock and old timbers. I almost stumbled as the memories came flooding back.
It was 1976, and I had just graduated from High School. The small group of friends in Cedar City had spent the summer riding around in my father’s 1953 Willies Jeep. An old US surplus jeep that was the pride and joy of my dad. Every year before the deer hunt, he would buy a couple of cans of gold spray paint and work the aging jeep over again. My friends and I loved it. The open-air nature of a jeep and the seemingly indestructible frame of the WW2 classic made beautiful memories.
In prior years during my time in the Boy Scouts, our troop had spent a summer building kayaks, and I had spent some time kayaking in this very spot. In addition, the Virgin River further south near Hurricane, Utah, was always a local favorite. Finally, my friends and I spent time kayaking the Snake and Payette rivers in Idaho.
Shortly after graduation, I received a phone call asking if I’d be interested in mapping some ocean reefs; the group calling was looking for experienced kayakers to work for them during the summer months. I said no. I was, after all, already flipping hamburgers at the local hot spot. I had my jeep and a whole summer to look forward to dragging the main street and swimming in Cole Creek.
When kayaking rivers, especially whitewater, there is a feature in the water movement around rocks and boulders called an Eddie. As whitewater crashes around and over the boulder, a back draft of water flows in the opposite direction. As a result, the water flows towards the rock. Eddies can be a calm place of respite or a kayaker’s worst nightmare in a highly volatile river.
I’ve often considered the moment I said no to be an incredibly pivotal juncture in my life. What would my other life have been? I don’t know. But as Linda walked up with a handful of perfectly suited stones, I was again reminded of how grateful I am to have made the choices that led me to this moment.
This post contains elements from a Journal Entry dated February 18, 2011, entitled “Going after all that life has to offer.”