Meet one of Sundance’s dearest supporters, Mo
I have never been so intent on watching ice thaw. I check various live feeds (intended for traffic) to sneak peaks of our river that splits Edmonton North from South, wondering when my new kayaking community will say we’re free from the danger of ice dams. I splurged on gear so I can be on the water as soon as possible and while I wouldn’t say I’m excited for instant brain freeze water temps, I tell myself it will be good practice for the glacial swims I know I’ll be taking while I fumble through whitewater in the Rockies this summer. I’m new to kayaking, and my inexperience does nothing to dissuade me. Usually, the fear of sucking at something so publicly is enough to keep me from trying new things.
But when it comes to kayaking – I’m hooked.
In late August 2023, after a couple of flights and introductions, I proudly proclaimed on the deck of the Sundance Riverhouse that my goal for my week with First Descents on the Rogue River was to learn how to roll a kayak. One of our guides asked, “have you got a lot of kayaking experience?” To which I replied, “not at all!” They chuckled and said, “that might be ahead of you, but maybe not this week. It takes a while to learn.” How normal of me to pick such a lofty goal.
For that week in August, I was surrounded by incredible people: cancer survivors like myself, volunteers, program leads, and chefs from First Descents, and the expert Sundance crew. I was also in some seriously pretty nature, with the mighty Rogue River endlessly contributing to conversation with its crashing-over rapids below. Later, the noise would drown out how loud people can be when sleeping, as we curled up in our yurts, with warm, tired muscles. We would wake up, get some breakfast in us, pack a lunch, then head to the river for a lesson and be on our way down the river. The rapids became less scary yet more advanced as the days went on. I went from death gripping my paddle in fear to laughing and smiling my way through each rapid. Eventually, I was actually aiming my kayak to hit the bigger waves, eager to feel the smack of my kayak’s bow on water. When we returned each day from our adventure, all paddle smiles and exhaustion, our incredible chefs had snacks and an elaborate dinner ready for us. As we wound down for the evening, we had faux-fire side traditions to uphold.
I love many things about kayaking. I could go on endlessly about feeling a grace I completely lack on land and the gradual improvement in skills I’m finding, but the more I get into this sport, the more I am finding unexpected shifts in myself.
While on the Rogue, I noticed how in the space between rapids, we all started talking amongst ourselves, unprompted, maybe feeling a little braver given the activity. I remarked on this to Todd, aka “P-Rank”, my instant friend on this trip, and he replied, “isn’t that the point?” Damn, Todd. I think about that moment a lot. The depth of friendship built between rapids is wild and natural. My new goal on the trip was to let myself be me and soak in the appreciation I felt for my authentic self. We laughed a lot, but there was also time to share stories and memories that might be suffocating in other locations. In all this, I remembered I am pretty fucking resilient and brave for hoping on a flight to spend a week with strangers in another country. I had to give myself a little grace for not being an immediate expert at kayaking, and for going down a rapid backwards. I had a little pride for not completely sucking at a sport for once, and a quick ego check when I unexpectedly joined the swim team. Most of all, I felt seen and held exactly as I am by incredible people. That doesn’t come from sitting in a kayak, that comes from community.
When we were saying our farewells to each other on the deck of the Sundance Riverhouse, Ryan, AKA “Tarzan” said to me, “I think you need kayaking.” In total agreement, I joined local kayaking clubs when I got home and enrolled in winter classes while I waited for the Spring thaw. I was willing to overcome my biggest anxiety triggers of showing up somewhere brand new, without knowing anyone, and trying to do a thing that I’m still learning how to do. I have the best time, every time. The kayak community here has been so welcoming, and I’ve made many new friends.
So far, I have six weekends set aside for whitewater kayaking this spring and summer on a few different rivers, and I’m really close to rolling. I’ve also dabbled in kayak polo, surfed my kayak on some waves at our indoor waterpark, and I’m going to try slalom in May. I’ve paddled in classes and open sessions nearly every week in the last six months, and I have a little paddle callus coming along nicely. I can’t wait to show up at Sundance in the future and lay in the Rogue again. I’m excited to be back in moving water in a couple weeks, even if it’s still occasionally snowing here.
When I get in my kayak, no matter where I am, I take a minute to think of the amazing people that helped me find myself in kayaking and I know I will never stop being thankful.
Each of my skills are a reflection of my guides, instructors, and fellow kayakers imparting their knowledge, while the joy, acceptance, and appreciation I feel comes from the community around kayaking. My new motto is “anything for kayaking” and I continue to find that feeling of community in kayaking here at home, because no matter where you go, it’s so, so, so much more than being in a boat.
Lots of love and river water – Mo
