Ian began his campaign to own his own husky on July 2, 2018. On July 3, 2018 he determined his first husky would be a male named Balto. He also decided that day that he would be needing a second husky –a female who he would name Jenna. This is a child who thoroughly believes in seeing his plans through fully.
The last 9 months have brought too much loss to our family. Kidney failure crept in and took Mogwai in December. We lost Chaco this summer after selfishly asking her to hang around a little longer despite her increasing pain and confusion. We prepared Ian for this time to come by telling him he could choose a replacement for Chaco. But then he wore us down sooner than expected, and Balto came into our lives in 2019. Mogwai’s sudden decline in health caught us all off guard, and we once again comforted Ian by telling him he could choose the next dog. As we watched Mog’s days grow fewer, we contacted Balto’s breeder to enter the waitlist for her next litter. Unfortunately mama dog did not take when bred, and a Christmas puppy did not materialize. We buried Mogwai and hoped that Chaco could hang on long enough that Balto wouldn’t have a period as an only child. A few weeks later the breeder called with the good news that she would be having spring pups!
Ian waited on edge for the weeks to pass and Jenna to arrive. Finally, two days before Ian’s birthday we got a text message containing several pictures of teeny tiny huskies! Our breeder, a delightful lady who lives 30 minutes away, sent images almost daily, and a week later invited us to come meet the pups. She generously gave Ian pick of the litter. I (mistakenly) had the idea that we would meet the pups, and maybe in a few weeks go back to actually pick Jenna out once they were a bit bigger and showing their personalities. How wrong I was…
When we made it to Ms. Megan’s home, she pulled the pups out one by one and set them on a blanket near Ian. He sat back on his heels, rather calmly to my surprise, and looked at each one as she set it down. Then she pulled Jenna out and Ian’s hands shot up to take her. This gerbil like pup, with the white dot on her back, was undoubtedly Jenna. Ian half heartedly picked up some of the other pups, but just like when he picked out Balto, he really only had time for the one pup who he knew belonged to him. Ms. Megan pulled out a pink collar to identify Jenna as sold!
Weeks rolled by and Ian asked every day when he would get to pick up Jenna. And every day we had to remind him, “not yet.” As we grew closer to time, Ms. Megan allowed Ian to come by for visitation, and Ian reluctantly gave Jenna back at the end of each visit. But finally the day arrived and Ian brought little Miss J home. She came in like she owned the place and has worked very hard to complete our training in record time. Sibe owners frequently say that huskies don’t have owners, they have staff!
Several of Balto’s fans have asked what he thinks about his baby sister. Obviously Balto is thrilled to have a companion, but he has been the best big brother any little spitfire could hope to have. He’s exceptionally patient, happy to cuddle, but slowly learning to assert himself when he needs to. It’s been interesting to note the similarities and differences between the two as they share a sire, but have different mothers. While Balto loves to please everyone, Jenna loves for everyone to please her. While Balto quietly looks around to make sure no one sees his blunders, Jenna angrily aroo’s at anything that impedes her progress. Balto wants attention, but Jenna demands it –loudly.
Ian insisted that he wanted a feisty female for pup #2. A few days after Jenna came home, we decided Ian had likely selected the chillest pup in the litter, and Jenna would be Balto 2.0. And then she started to come out of her shell and show us her personality… It turns out, Ian sure did get a scrappy little gal. She is everything he hoped she would be, and he’s more smitten with her every day.
Fall colors were just beginning to peak through the leaves that formed a canopy over and around us as we coasted down quickly enough through the chilly air to sting our cheeks while our eyes watered. Some reds and yellows dotted the paved pathway and our bikes crunched over the browns. I can’t quite put my finger on the smell of crunchy leaves. It’s often described as “organic,” but that doesn’t seem quite right. That doesn’t imply enough of the earthy scent mingled with the faint reminiscence of summer. Our sounds alternated between the crunching and zipping of bike tires, running water as we passed creeks, and Mogwai barking when he saw a member of our party up ahead.
Fall break took us for our first trip down the Virginia Creeper trail. As Ian’s bike riding abilities have improved due to his miles looping around various campgrounds, he’s been begging Brinn and I to join him so he can bike for longer distances. Nana has taken him biking several times, and she’s frequently mentioned the Virginia Creeper Trail, so the time came that we needed to explore. Some good friends visited the trail earlier in the year and had some great recommendations for us. Fortified with a campground suggestion, and the advice to only attempt half the trail, we began planning.
After making reservations at the Beartree Campground in Damascus, and reserving a small bike trailer from a local outfitter, there was relatively little planning left. We’d already determined we would be doing self shuttle, so we just needed to pack for our meals and organize our packing based on the weather. Despite warm sunny days in the forecast, the nights were projected to be cool, and we knew it would be even colder up in the mountains at our campground. Packing consisted of lots of layers and our heavy duty sleeping bags.
We made the decision to travel on a Sunday in order to ride the trail on Monday and Tuesday. In hindsight, this ended up being a brilliant plan. My mom left on Saturday in order to meet with my brother in Delaware and bring him back with her to meet us at the campground Sunday evening. It’s been years since I last saw my brother, and Ian barely remembered his uncle Preston. We practically had the entire campground to ourselves as all other campers had moved out Sunday morning and only one other camper arrived before we left on Wednesday.
After hypothesizing about this trip, then finally committing to, and eventually booking our minimal reservations, the time finally came to go. We dropped Chaco off with Tabitha and Jeremy Saturday evening, went to bed early, then left out Sunday morning with the camper, a truck full of bikes, Mogwai, and Balto. We detoured through Wartburg for a quick stop at Grandma’s house to check in on the horses (who were staying there for the fall) and take a short trail ride to give Balto a chance to run in the woods and wear him out to keep him calm for the drive to Virginia. Reggie and Promise enjoyed their trot, and Ian even snuck in a bit of cantering with Promise. After coming back to the barn, we gave everyone an extra bite of grain, said bye to Grandma, and headed off to Oak Ridge to grab lunch and a few last minute groceries. Ian divided the shopping list with me at Kroger so we could divide and conquer quickly. By Sevierville, the dogs needed a potty break and a walk, so we pulled off the interstate at Bass Pro. Brinn and Ian ran into the store for a quick shopping trip, then we made the last leg of our journey.
We arrived at our campground with plenty of daylight left and found the other half of our group settled in with a cheery fire going. Brinn had the camper set up in no time, and we soon had chicken wings grilling over the fire while Ian left with Balto to explore our surroundings. No cell service left us completed disconnected from the rest of the world, and gave us the opportunity to truly enjoy each other’s company. We all huddled near the fire as evening set in, and we soon began pulling on extra layers. Mogwai demanded to always be sitting in someone’s lap under a blanket with a sweater and a jacket. After a pleasant evening of catching up with Uncle Preston and watching Ian learn how to split kindling, we all crawled into our sleeping bags to rest up for our big adventure.
Monday morning broke clear and cold. The sky was probably blue, but we couldn’t see it through all the trees covering our campsite. Balto thought the weather was delightful and couldn’t understand why the rest of us moved a little slowly. Brinn is our main cook while we’re camping, and he soon had bacon and coffee heating on the Coleman. Ian and Preston are both breakfast eaters. They would happily enjoy breakfast foods anytime of the day, so our giant package of bacon was soon demolished. While Brinn cooked, Nana and I packed lunches and Ian walked the dogs. In no time we were ready to head to the trail. The boys dropped Ian, Nana, the bikes, the dogs, and me off at the Whitetop Station put in point while they drove both cars to the bottom. Bobby decided that he didn’t feel up for a bike ride for the day, so he brought Brinn and Preston back up to the top along with the rented bike trailer, then he headed back to the campground to spend the day dozing by a fire.
Mogwai slowed down on us this year. Our best copilot and adventure dog was having more trouble keeping up with us, and he began to take several days, and sometimes even weeks to recuperate after a big trip. We didn’t realize it until later, but Mogwai was actually suffering end stage renal disease. There’s no way he would want to miss out on a trip like the Virginia Creeper, but we knew that there’s no way he could run 17 miles, so we reserved a bike trailer for him. These trailers were actually designed for small children, but Mogwai’s small, and he’s a fur child, so we gave it a try, and it ended up working beautifully! We let Mogwai run beside us for just a few hundred yards at the beginning of the trail, then we settled him into his seat with his jacket on. Whenever he saw one of our group ahead of him, usually Ian or Preston, he would bark his head off until we caught up and moved ahead. Preston actually began using Mogwai as a sonar device to determine how far ahead he was of the group!
Once Brinn and Preston returned to Whitetop, we strapped on our helmets and backpacks and were ready to hit the trail! After an initial flat stretch that crossed back over the road that brought us to Whitetop, we entered Jefferson National Forest and quickly found the steepest section of trail. This portion of the trail required very little peddling and allowed most of us to coast leisurely, but Preston and Ian enjoyed racing on ahead of us as fast as they could go. Balto wore his sled harness and ran ahead of Brinn. Cold mountain air combined with running was a perfect combination for an energetic husky. In no time at all we found ourselves riding over tree tops as we crossed a trestle bridge suspended over a long valley. The trail actually crosses 47 trestles in all. After a few short miles, we reentered farm land, and rode into the Green Cove Station. After a quick bathroom break, water, and a snack, we were all eager to jump back on our bikes to keep exploring. Our next stop brought us to an intersection with Chestnut Mountain Road, where Balto and Mogwai eagerly jumped in the creek for a drink. Balto used the water for a cool down while Mogwai hunted crawdads.
We rode past pumpkin fields, Christmas tree farms, stunning overlooks, small creeks, big creeks, and lots and lots of forest. Other bikers occasionally went past us, but not many. We passed maybe two small groups who were taking the trail uphill. We found a beautiful spot near the Creek Junction Trailhead to stop for lunch. We parked our bikes at the convenient bike racks, then followed a small path down to the water, and found rocks to sit on while we ate. Pringles and ham sandwiches have never tasted quite so good before! The dogs tore into the snacks we’d packed for them and didn’t leave one crumb behind. Preston and Ian led us most of the way down the mountain while my mom and I cruised leisurely. Brinn went at Balto’s pace, which started to slow down as the day wore on.
Around mile 10 Brinn announced that Balto needed a break. Brinn parked his bike off to the side and hiked Balto down to the creek to let pup pup jump in and splash around. We finally, for the first time, had completely worn out Ian’s husky! At this point, we were all feeling the strain in our legs. The trail began to flatten out, and I could certainly tell I had Mogwai’s weight behind me. Ian even started to slow down a bit. The last 3 miles were the hardest of the entire day. We were all thrilled to pull into Damascus to find our truck. Despite an amazing day and a fantastic time on the trail, we were all ready to return to camp.
Bobby had kept the fire going for us, and had it ready for our arrival. Mogwai returned to his position by the fire, and Balto made himself a pile of leaves under a mountain laurel bush. Balto stayed in his leaf nest until it was time to go to bed in the camper! We were all excited to enjoy an ooey gooey cheesy carb filled dinner after a day of exertion, so I was glad to have found this recipe for Dutch oven ravioli on NRS’s Ducktape Diaries. We all dug in enthusiastically and had the rest of the evening to laze about at the campground. Brinn and Preston began discussing possibilities for the next day and decided that they wanted to ride the trail again. Obviously when Ian picked up on the conversation he was in full agreement that we should all take another trip down the trail. My aching seat bones disagreed, so I volunteered to drive shuttle and let Mogwai ride shotgun. Brinn and Preston stayed up late to mind the fire and enjoy the forest at night. Ian climbed in his sleeping bag with his kindle, but he only lasted a matter of minutes before he passed out and I had to turn his movie off. Both dogs happily followed me and jumped in bed with me.
The next morning was not quite as cold as the previous morning had been, but we were all moving more stiffly. I expected Balto to eagerly bound out of the camper to enjoy the cool air, but he stubbornly refused to get out of bed. He may have been a smidge sore. Mogwai also elected to stay in bed, but he was wrapped up snuggly in many blankets on top of his sweater and coat. Brinn put the coffee on in a repeat of the previous day, and we discussed our plans. It turns out, Brinn, Ian, and Preston were the only ones interested in riding the trail again, so after breakfast we loaded up and returned to Whitetop Station. We unloaded bikes, located helmets and backpacks, and the boys set off. I jumped in the truck to head off to Green Cove, but as I approached the intersection where the road crossed the trail, the boys were flagging me down. Balto was DONE and refused to move another step. He ran as far as he did because he saw his truck drive away, but once he caught up with me, he wasn’t going to move anymore. So Brinn tossed him in the backseat of the truck and he happily hung his head out the window to watch the boys pedal away.
The boys were not completely crazy, and decided against riding all 17 miles of the trail, so they only rode the first few miles, then jumped back in the truck. We decided to do a little exploring for the rest of the morning and went back to the Creek Junction Trailhead to walk the path we had seen from the Creeper trail. Brinn and Ian eagerly made plans for bringing fishing poles the next trip. Mogwai was happy for the diversion, so after walking around for a while, we returned to our campground to prep our final group meal. Nana and Bobby were going to leave out after a late lunch to take Preston home, while Brinn, Ian, and I planned on staying at Bear Tree for one more night.
We had premade and froze a giant batch of chili before this trip, so lunch prep was very simple and required heating the already cooked soup, opening bags of chips, and setting out shredded cheese, tomatoes, and onions. We enjoyed a warm, belly filling meal, then helped the departing trio to pack up their portion of the campsite. Once everything was loaded, we all drove down to the Bear Tree Lake hiking trail and enjoyed one last walk together. The dogs were thrilled with all the smells and access to water. No wind allowed for a still lake surface which reflected the trees and skies. Minimal investment for a big payoff left us all happy that we’d come down to explore this trail.
After half of our group left, Brinn and Ian and I continue to explore around the hiking trails in the Bear Tree recreation area, then finally returned to our campsite. The dogs happily returned to snoozing, while we humans broke out the dominoes for the evening. Despite a few heated arguments, we managed to complete an entire game with no hurt feelings. As usual, I don’t stay up too late once darkness falls, so I crawled down in my sleeping bag with Mogwai against my feet and Balto jumped in bed with Ian. Brinn stayed with our fire until it burned down and he could smother the coals.
Ian woke up asking to ride the trail again for a third day. As this was our last day, we would be making a five hour drive home, and didn’t want to completely exhaust ourselves before this drive, so Brinn and I decided on a compromise. I’d ride the first three miles of the trail with Ian from Whitetop to Greencove, then Brinn could switch with me and ride the next four miles to Chestnut Mountain Road. This let Ian ride for seven miles on some of the prettiest sections of the trail. Brinn took a reluctant Balto to run for the second section of trail, but once Balto warmed up his muscles he was happy to zoom around corners again. Ian probably could have ridden all 17 miles, but he was easily persuaded to switch back to hiking after his 7 miles.
After Mogwai and I picked the boys up, we decided to drive down to explore a small section of the Appalachian Trail. Brinn is very interested in thru hiking the AT at some point, but I think I’m completely happy to dabble on short day hikes. Hiking has become one of Balto’s favorite activities. He’s happiest in the woods, but then, so is Ian! We only stayed on the trail for a few hours, but we saw some beautiful scenery and enjoyed giving our legs a different type of burn. Ian took his Sawyer water purifier and had fun filtering water from the creek. Mogwai and I enjoyed going at a leisurely pace while Balto and Ian ran up ahead of us for most of the journey.
Ian’s always enthusiastic about any adventure we plan, and he hopes to return to ride the Virginia Creeper again soon. We learned just how economical an option this trip is for a family vacation. There is quite a bit of free camping along Jeb Stuart Highway (although we paid to use Bear Tree in order to leave our camper set up and unattended all day). Because we had two vehicles, we were able to self shuttle, saving us the shuttle fee. We all own our own bikes, so we had no rental fees (except for Mogwai on day 1). There are no restaurants available near Whitetop, so we saved money by packing and preparing all of our meals. Really, our only costs were Mogwai’s bike trailer, our campsite, and our fuel to get there and back. We cooked the same types of foods that we make at home, so groceries were nothing out of the ordinary for us. If we hadn’t owned bicycles, we likely could have borrowed them to avoid rental fees. I expect we will likely return to Damascus soon for another trip coasting down the mountain.
Some of my earliest memories include my mother reading to me from a book of stories that included fairy tales and Greek myths. I can still remember frequently requesting that she reread the same story of Persephone being trapped in the underworld after eating pomegranate seeds. I’d never eaten a pomegranate seed, so this story seemed so exotic and full of intrigue. By the time I was in second grade, my mom had me reading the Little House series and experiencing life as a pioneer girl through the eyes of Laura Ingalls. Then the horse books crept into my life: Thoroughbred, Saddle Club, Golden Filly, High Hurdles, and even the Lucy Hill Mysteries were all series that graced my book shelves. I read everything I could get my hands on! Is it any wonder that I went on to pursue two degrees in literature?
Ian did not immediately jump straight into a love of reading. He considered sitting still to be read to in the evenings as punishment. He didn’t want to sit still long enough to make it through a book, and he would try to choose the smallest books with the most pictures and fewest words. Ms. Virginia, a former supervisor who has a background in developmental learning, has a knack for assessing learning styles and meeting educational needs. She has kept Ian well stocked in books, and eventually being read to became less of a trial for Ian, and more of a pleasant ritual before bed. Virginia has insisted from the very beginning that parents should provide books that relate to their child’s interests. She has sent me home with dozens of books on tractors, bulldozers, farming, motors, and even dinosaurs. But then we took that trip to Alaska and Ian discovered huskies. Virginia has always been a research ninja, and she began to fill Ian’s bookshelves with books on huskies, particularly biographies of the original Balto and Togo.
Much as Ian enjoys these books, he still struggles to read them on his own as his attention wanes quickly. He still prefers illustrated books, preferable with full color images, but there are not many options available in Ian’s small interest area of Siberian Huskies and sled dogs. So you can imagine my excitement late last fall when I came across a post in a Facebook group describing a new children’s book series focused on a pack of Siberian Husky pups. I immediately placed an order through Amazon, and added it to the stack of Ian’s Christmas presents.
To say that Ian loves Hot Rod Todd to the Rescue would be an understatement. He has found a pack of Siberian pups (his greatest obsession), and each has its own unique persona.
Hot Rod Todd is the leader of the pack, and races classic hot rods.
Eye Patch Echo, one of Todd’s brother’s, provides comedic relief and help around the garage.
BBQ Haku, the only female pup from this litter, wears an attractive, but not overly feminine orange bow. She’s provides a strong model for other girls as she’s employed in technical communications for the racing team.
Rock Star Merc tours the world as an international rock music sensation.
Morse Koda, another brother, lives in Montana. He’s a bit of technological genius.
HRH Simba, the final brother, lives with Morse Koda. Like Morse Koda, he has also pursued a career in technology. Together they use technology to stay in touch with the other pups who live in Idaho.
The first book of the series finds the pups in the wilderness of Montana searching for their lost brother, Rock Star Merc. The pups receive help from wildlife, and are able to reunite with the stray Merc so that they can return home. Positive themes highlight the story, and the artwork is absolutely stunning. You can read the book yourself to learn more.
Here’s what I love about Hot Rod Todd:
Ian is truly engaged in reading this book. He knows the names and appearance of each character. He enjoys looking at the pictures when he’s not reading, but as his reading skills improve, he spends more time reading to interpret the action he sees in the images.
Ian is learning to think critically. We have conversations about the pups even when we’re not reading. On the drive home from school one day, we discussed which rides at Dollywood would each character enjoy most. Ian was able to use evidence from the text to justify his claims. That’s literary criticism! He’s learning how to defend character analysis. I know college students who struggle with these skills. FYI, Ian’s convinced that Rock Star Merc would love the Lightening Rod.
The author is reachable. Mr. Adrian Czarnecki loves feedback from his readers and carefully considers all ideas as he’s working on a sequel. He consults with several parents, and always answers his email, even if it’s simply to answer a question about which pup would most prefer the Lightning Rod (he too thinks that it is Rock Star Merc).
Merchandise is available to increase the fandom. Ian currently has two tee shirts and a neck gaiter featuring Hot Rod Todd. Balto has two bandanas featuring the characters.
IAN IS READING! Now that Ian can read Hot Rod Todd to the Rescue by himself, he’s asking me to read the longer chapter books with him. Even on nights when I am tired and would be fine going straight to bed, Ian is coming to me and requesting that we read together. After we finish a chapter, he asks me to keep going. Sometimes he interrupts me and poses questions about what we’re reading. Other times he’ll take over and he’ll read a few pages to me.
The Adventures of Hot Rod Todd book 2 is now published and ready for purchase! Hot Rod Todd Visits Loch Ness is now available through Amazon or you can reach out directly to the author to purchase an autographed copy. I’ve been fortunate enough to have a sneak peak at this book, and I think Ian will love it even more than the first.
Last year we made a deal with Ian that when he earns a 100% on a spelling test, he gets to pick out any shirt he wants from the Hot Rod Todd store. Unfortunately Ian did not hit that goal during 2nd grade since COVID hit and remote learning didn’t include spelling tests. This year, Ian’s spelling proficiency is improving as he’s spending more time reading! Recently Ian earned his first ever 100% on a spelling test, so he’s heading online to pick out a brand new shirt with his favorite literary characters. I think he’s decided on Captain Chinook!
Ian is a completely different kid than I was. He’s not going to spend his spare time reading about Persephone or pomegranate seeds, but he is reading. I hope that someday he will look back to his childhood and remember reading with me fondly, but in the meantime, we will take his classroom achievements as they come. Thanks for the inspiration, Hot Rod Todd!
Brinn has always wanted pop-up camper. I have never wanted a pop-up camper. Tent camper. Tent trailer. Pup. Fold-out camper. Call it what you will, it sounded like work to me. Why would I want extra work when we’re doing just fine with a tent? We have a large cabin tent for longer trips, and the smaller Columbia tent for quicker trips when we take fewer items. The canopy tent covers our chairs well enough that we can stay dry through a rain storm. For years, I put Brinn off that I just can’t see the reason to invest in a pop up. But then Ian got bigger and really got into camping, so we started going more. Like almost every other weekend from March through October. And Ian started packing more of his own stuff, and as he got bigger his stuff got bigger. And then I began dreaming of trips where we could roll into the campground with already made beds. What would life be without fighting with your husband in the rain while setting up a cabin tent, then sitting in a stuffy tent inflating air mattresses? How convenient would it be to not worry about checking the air pump’s batteries between trips? What if our camping gear didn’t take up half of the guest room anymore? And so I began the Craigslist dance of checking out camper sizes and prices, and I learned very quickly that the pop up pricing suited our budget much more than a hard sided camper would, and so Brinn finally got to go shopping and pick out his very own pop-up camper.
Brinn took his time and scoured all the usual sites (Craigslist, LSN, Facebook…) until he found a little Starcraft Venture in Kentucky. We made the drove on a chilly March day to view the 20 year old travel trailer, and found a delightful little camper. The young owner obviously hadn’t had the camper for much time at all, and had no idea how to assemble it, so he couldn’t answer any questions about it. Brinn pulled out both bunk ends, snapped in the supports, and went over the wood and canvas with a fine tooth comb. Obviously we found a few minor issues, as to be expected in such an old trailer, but we couldn’t find any major structural issues! As there was no where to plug in the electric, we took a gamble and trusted that it was all in working order. I even pointed out to Brinn that I had no need for electric. I couldn’t imagine using an air conditioner or refrigerator for the type of camping we do, and we have head lamps and lanterns for lights, so who cares if the electric works?
Let me tell you, I care! Since we’ve had our little pup, I’m embarrassed to admit to how much I have fallen in love with the air conditioner. I didn’t realize what a game changer it would be to camp in muggy July, August, and September without having to wait until midnight for it to cool down enough to even think about sleeping. The dogs can safely hang out in the cool camper while we go rafting or kayaking during a trip. I can leave a crock pot going inside the camper while we’re on the water so we can come back to a completely cooked meal! We didn’t find a major flaw with the trailer until we tried to turn on its interior lights, but surely that must have been burned out bulbs, right? Nope. We ended up just using lanterns the last two years, until this year when Brinn had to make some repairs for water damage. While he had the panels pulled apart, he found that some of the wiring had been cut clean through! Luckily we have an electrician on hand these days, and Jeremy came to the rescue to make repairs for us. Now we’re fully functional with all forms of electricity!
I think Chaco has been the biggest fan of the camper. She’s always enjoyed camping with us, but her little pop up has lifted her status in the canine world. When we take her for walks around the camp grounds, she holds her head a little higher as if to tell the other furry guests that she’s no longer a tent dog, she’s a camper dog now. She gets more enjoyment from the air conditioner than I would think a short haired dog would like. She’s also pretty taken with the fact that the kitchen table and benches converts to her very own bed.
Since Brinn found our little pup, we’ve taken it out roughly 30 times across the last two years. We’ve stayed in areas with full amenities, but also continue to frequent primitive camping areas. Even without the benefits of full electricity, the camper has made life tremendously easier. Before a trip, Brinn pops our little trailer up so I can make the beds on both ends. I stuff the cargo area under the bench seat with our pillows, and extra blankets for the dog bed. I don’t like to leave bedding out full time as my allergies can’t handle the mildew that occasionally accumulates. Our kitchen box and bathroom box now stay in the camper full time, so they no longer take up any space in the house. We’re also able to keep the assembly box (jacks, levelers, wheel chocks, and other fun stuff) in the camper, along with our general “camping” box, which contains dog runners, my homemade bug spray, head lamps, a hatchet, tarps, and other items that are handy to have in the woods. All of this storage has made a huge difference in the house, which helps me feel so much better. I hate clutter!
The pup came with a gas stove and a sink, but both took up quite a bit of room in the small interior. The whole camper consists of two full sized beds on either end, a table with two bench seats that can convert to a smallish bed (larger than twin size, but smaller than a standard full), a counter top across from the table, and a small counter beside the rear bed. The stove takes up almost the entire long counter, and the sink takes up the small counter beside my bed. After a couple of trips out, where we used neither of these appliances, they were pulled out and are now stored in our rear building. They can stay in storage until/if we ever sell the pup.
2018 saw many adventures in the pup. 2019 didn’t take us out as often, but Balto moved in during 2019, and we also spent quite a bit of time in barn construction. Now we’re several months into the Corona pandemic, and we’re thankful to have the pup so that we can get away from our home while able to practice safe social distancing.
We spent all day Saturday on the Hiwassee river with some fantastic friends and had a great trip. Ian took a bit of a spill at the “Little Rock Island” rapid as the wave stopped his boat and he got stuck in a side surf. It held onto me and the dog barge (our tandem tributary) for a few seconds on my way to go collect Ian. Ian cried for a few minutes after he climbed into the ducky with me, but Balto gave him kisses and tried to help him feel better.
That evening, we let Ian stay up later than he should have, and he got entirely too tired. He got his favorite pajamas wet and moved solidly into overly emotional kid meltdown. Brinn and I decided Ian may do better to sleep with me, so we settled him under the comforter and he finally dozed off. Which means that I finally got to doze off…except a husky and cur dog decided they should get to sleep with us. Then that same cur dog woke me up to let him out to pee around 2:30 am. When you drink that much Hiwassee water all day, you just can’t make it through the night. After Mogwai completed his business, I put him in Ian’s bed with Brinn, and put Balto on the converted table bed, and slid back into my own bed despite the windmilling arms and babbling sleep talk. I found that great sweet spot, where you’re perfectly comfortable and drowsy and sleep feels wonderful, around 6 am. By 6:30 my legs were numb and I felt too hot. As I pulled myself to consciousness I found Mogwai lying horizontally across my legs, Ian smushed against my left side, and Balto smushed against my right side. I finally admitted defeat and got up to go read outside in the cool morning air. Balto and Ian immediately wiggled towards one another and soon it was as if I’d never been there at all. I think it’s safe to say that they are both huge fans of sleeping in the camper.
So now you’re finally caught up on our account of moving into the popup camper life. To Chaco, it’s a doghouse on wheels. To Balto, it’s an ice box to cool down husky hair. To Mogwai, it’s another bed to sneak into beside mom. To Ian, it’s a place to plug in his kindle and watch a movie for 5 seconds before he goes to sleep. To Brinn, it is the culmination of a very delayed gratification. To me, it’s the admission that I was wrong, and Brinn was very right.
I had the absolute best part time job during college: playing with babies at Golden Opportunities Farm, a quarter horse breeding stable 30 minutes from my college campus. My duties included getting baby horses comfortable with being handled and some very light training activities. While at this job, I met two very important gals:
Cori: my predecessor in this job. She occasionally came back to the farm to help Mrs. Davis, the owner, to prep the babies and film sales videos. Cori and I hit if off immediately, as we had a few things in common to talk about, and we remain friends all these years later.
Promise: the sweetest red filly I’ve ever met. This poor filly lost her mama shortly after birth, so she was very comfortable around people. Incidentally, Cori later ended up buying Promise.
Cori and Promise have earned quite a few AQHA points together, then Cori switched gears and started her own breeding program. Now her boys –including Promise’s colt, Arrow– are all grown up and ready to start their own show careers.
So all this backstory contributes to happenings around my small farm a few months ago.
Ian has been more interested in riding with me lately, especially since one his best friends has been coming out to ride Reggie. The two would like to ride together some, but Badger seems to have reached his rider weight and height limit this winter. Ian tacked his pony up one afternoon while J was riding Reggie in the round pen. He jumped on his pony… and then proceeded to sit in the middle of the ring for J’s entire ride as Badger refused to move. The next weekend, I ponied Badger off of Reggie so Ian could ride with me around the field. After we started a very slow second lap, Ian asked if I could get him a bigger pony. He loves Badger, and has made me promise that we would never sell him, but he is getting a bit frustrated that he can’t really ride him any longer.
A few days later, I shared this encounter with Cori while we were exchanging texts, and she asked if Ian would be interested in a Promise sized pony. Now, Promise is nowhere near pony-sized, but her temperament does make her suitable for a small, inexperienced rider. I asked Ian if he’d like to move up to a full sized horse, and then we took a Saturday to visit Cori and Promise for a test drive.
All of this has resulted in Cori allowing Ian to lease a very sweet-natured mare so he has a safe mount while he’s still learning to ride. He’s still not a horse crazy kid by any stretch, and makes it very clear that he’s not a horse-person –he’s a husky person– but he does enjoy riding with me and he loves Promise. He has trouble believing that I knew Promise while she was still a baby, but he is very excited to have his own horse to run out and catch when he sees me bringing Reggie in for a quick ride. Between Balto and Promise, it looks like red is turning out to be Ian’s color!
If you read along last time, you’ll remember that Ian now has his furry companion, Balto. We’ve heard repeatedly since Balto’s “gotcha day” that huskies are working dogs and don’t make good pets. Huskies need a job; without one they’ll dig your yard up and chew everything in the house. While I appreciate all the warnings, we’re not rookies with working breeds. Mogwai, our Tennessee Mountain Hybrid, is a treeing cur dog with a big territory and lots of energy. We sacrificed a few beds early in his life as we learned that he must stay employed regularly to prevent him from destroying everything. Once we figured out how to keep his brain and his body busy, cohabitation got much smoother. Ian never wanted a husky as a pet. From the moment he met the breed, he’s been obsessed with their ability to work.
Dr. J, my former supervisor and director (who I miss dearly!) came very close to diagnosing the situation. He texted me his assessment:
Just had a revelation. You and Brinn are grooming Ian for the Iditarod…1. Trip to Alaska. 2. Purchase of husky. 3. Training Balto to pull increasingly heavier weight. Next I expect you begin assembling (one by one) a team of sled dogs and conducting winter training in Gatlinburg or North Carolina. The picture is beginning to come into focus.
I read this message to Ian who laughed and said: “Mama, that’s not your plan. That’s my plan!” From July 2, 2018, Ian has had it in his mind that he will have a full team of sled dogs. When we returned from our Alaska trip, he had poor Mogwai tied to his plastic snow sled, making him drag it around the yard in July. Mogwai was not a fan, but I remind him that domestication doesn’t come free.
Now that Ian finally has his [first] husky, he’s been determined to train Balto to be his
Photo cred: Aunt Joy
first sled dog. Within days he had a leash connecting Balto’s puppy harness to the plastic sled so Balto could get used to something bouncing around behind him. As Balto has grown, Ian has moved him up to pulling a wagon and carrying heavier weights, including carrying 50 pound sacks of grain out to the barn each week when we pick up horse feed. Ian has the desire for Balto to be a working dog, but we’re lacking in the needed training skills, so I began hunting around online for local trainers who may be able to give Ian lessons. Then Tabitha found an event on Facebook she thought Ian would like: IWPA September in Baxter.
Baxter is only 15 minutes from our house, so I looked up the organization: International Weight Pull Association. Once I read the description on the IWPA website, I knew this would be the perfect event for Ian and Balto. I messaged the members of the local group and asked if we could bring Ian to watch. Multiple owners responded and invited us to bring Ian AND Balto and offered to loan Balto a harness and to teach Ian how to compete in the novice division. After double checking the date, I realized that this event was set for the very next day, so we packed the canopy tent in the truck with Balto’s swimming pool and a water bowl so that we would be prepared for Sunday morning.
The day of Ian’s first pull dawned hot and muggy. We filled two coolers with bagged ice left over from our last camping trip, and stopped by Dollar General to buy more ice on our way to the event. When we arrived, Ms. Sheryl greeted us warmly and helped Ian sign up for the novice division. We popped up our tent to create shade, filled Balto’s pool with ice, screwed in the metal spike to clip to his runner, and settled in to learn about this new world.
So here’s the basic concept: Dogs wear a special harness which distributes weight evenly across their bodies. The harness is attached to a flat cart with wheels, and increasingly heavier weights are added to this cart. After handlers clip their dogs to the cart, the owner goes to the end of a fenced chute and calls their dog to come to them. The dogs are timed to see how long it takes them to pull the cart across the line. Handlers are not allowed to use any type of coercion other than voice so it’s entirely up to the dog to pull the weight. The dog who pulls the heaviest load wins. If there’s a tie on weight, then the dog with the best time wins.
Dogs are not eligible to enter the sanctioned weight classes until they are at least one year old. Balto was six months old at his first pull, so he obviously started in Novice, and will stay there all year. Since Novice follows all of the sanctioned classes, we settled in to watch and wait. Balto laid in his ice pool until all his ice melted, but he splashed so pitifully in his pool of cold water that Brinn ended up running down the road to the closest market to pick up another 20 pounds of ice to refill Balto’s arctic tundra. Finally Ms. Sheryl called for a 15 minute break before Novice would start.
Photo cred: Aunt Joy
Ms. Missy, a trainer and harness maker, gave Ian and Balto all kinds of advice and support. She loaned Ian a green pulling harness to fit Balto and showed us how to put it on. Ms. Missy and Ms. Sheryl instructed Ian in the process, and off they went! Balto did great in his first and second pulls, but halfway through his third pull, he stopped and started his husky talking. It’s hard to describe as it’s not a howl, or a wine, or even a yap. It’s just this weird complaining talking that huskies do. Up until that point, everyone had praised Balto for his great attitude and chill, non-husky behavior. After Balto’s temper tantrum, everyone laughed and Ms. Missy said “there’s the Siberian coming out!”
We finished the day with 4 goodish pulls from Balto, and one entertaining pull. During awards, Ms. Sheryl award Ian with first place in Novice Junior Handler, and Ian doesn’t seem to mind the fact that he was the only junior handler of the day. So far he’s content with “winning” and doesn’t feel like he actually has to beat someone. Some might complain about the participation trophy generation, but this award has lit a fire under Ian to practice and come back with more weight and faster times for the next event.
We left the event with lots of advice and plans for the next event. Ian spent the next month working on sharpening Balto’s reaction to verbal commands of “come” and “hike!” Balto, being true to his husky heritage, tends to only hear Ian when there’s a treat or toy involved. Balto was neutered shortly after his first pull event, and was on limited activities for a couple of weeks afterwards, so Ian has not been working on any weight with him. Ian’s tried to focus on Ms. Missy’s advice for getting his dog excited about coming to him. Ian’s trying…but Balto’s enthusiasm varies.
Yesterday brought us back to Baxter for Ian and Balto’s second weight pull. The group allowed Ian to try to help with the cart during several pulls, and all the trainers continued to offer Ian advice and training tips for Balto. Mr. Joe has invited Ian to come practice with the Knoxville group, and we are going to have Ms. Missy size Balto and sew his own weight harness if the behemeath will ever quit growing. Ian finished the day with some improvements from last time, including more weight and a slightly more agreeable husky. Once again, Ian finished with a first place award for Novice Junior Handler, with no other junior handlers in attendance, haha.
Now that Balto has fully recovered from surgery and the temps are dropping, Ian is ready to start ramping up Balto’s training. With advice from the local trainers and invitation to come train with some of them, Balto is entering his life as a working dog. Now we sit back and see if Dr. J’s prophetic plan for Ian and Balto comes to life.
Thank you East and Middle Tennessee Weight Pullers for introducing us to Ian’s favorite sport!
It all started December 25, 2017 when Grandpoppa said “Let’s go to Alaska.” If we hadn’t gone to Alaska, Ian would have never know what he was missing. But we did go to Alaska, and while there, he discovered that his life just isn’t worth living without a husky to share it. And thus began Ian’s obsession.
Ian’s pack of plush dogs grew alongside his fascination. Every day he found more opportunities to remind his parents how much he wanted a husky of his very own. Brinn and I presented a united front early on, but our resolve eventually began to weaken. Well, mine did. And Brinn just kind of went with me.
Eventually we found ourselves conducting a lot of research, then looking at local options. We ended up calling a breeder for more information, and she invited us to come and view her litter to see if we wanted to put down a deposit on a pup. We planned to let Ian pick one out Easter evening, but the breeder called us that morning to share that the pups were ready to wean, and if we wanted, we could pick one out and take it home that day. Nana helped with the cost as this pup would be Ian’s birthday present, so we cut short our family camping trip, packed Ian and his bike up, and took off to pick up his early birthday surprise.
Ian knew Balto was his as soon as he laid eyes on him. When we pulled up at the breeder’s home, Brinn convinced Ian to close his eyes before he got out of the truck, and he carried him around to the back yard where the puppies were kept. Ian kept his eyes jammed shut until he heard the mama dog bark. His eyes flew open as puppies bomb rushed him, and he immediately scooped up the cream colored male. Ian discovered love at first lick, and knew that this was his dog. We tried to convince Ian to play with the other pups, and for 30 minutes Brinn tried to persuade Ian to consider taking home the adorable grey female, but Ian wasn’t having it. He knew exactly which puppy was for him, and thus the cream pup was christened Balto.
We brought Balto home and began the process of helping him adapt to his new life. The first evening was rough as he missed his brothers and sisters. He tried to curl up beside Mogwai and Chaco, but they weren’t thrilled to have a little brother. After taking Balto out for a last potty break, we shut him in his crate which we’d placed in Ian’s room. As soon as we left the room he started crying, and he proceeded to cry for the next two hours. We thought he had finally cried himself to sleep, but when we peeped in to check, we found that he had a new source of comfort. With our exhaustion combined with the cuteness, we just let it ride. This became the routine for several nights until Balto became more comfortable with his crate and sleeping on his own.
Balto had moved in with us right in the middle of stage 3 of barn building. He quickly had to evolve from husky pup to barn dog. Originally Grandpoppa had been strong with us on our resolve to hold out on waiting to buy Ian a puppy. He also supported the opinion that we did not need a husky in hot, humid middle Tennessee. Grandpoppa is usually the first one to cave to Ian’s wants, but on this one he was staying strong…until he actually met Balto. Not only did Balto take to his life as a barn dog, but he also attached strongly to Grandpoppa, who has grown pretty fond of the pup.
Ian spent his summer falling more in love with Balto. I don’t think there has ever been a more wanted husky on the planet. They’ve had quite a few adventures already as Ian has stayed busy teaching Balto to hike, kayak, play in the creek, drive the gocart, and work the farm. It hasn’t been all smooth sailing, as Balto’s favorite chew toy seems to be human flesh, but Ian listened closely to the vet’s training advice and stuck with the program. Balto’s biting has decreased, but we still can’t break him of his pickpocket habit where he steals your shoe right off your foot without you noticing. I’m not sure if he loves my house slippers or hates them, but he puts quite a bit of effort into tracking and attacking them. Oddly enough, Balto doesn’t really destroy shoes or toys. He enjoys chewing, but doesn’t completely destroy objects the way Mogwai does. I’ve never seen a dog take better care of his toys!
Balto. Fluffy. Shark Teeth. Sharp Tooth. Fluff Fluff. Fluffernutter. Fluffy Teeth. Fluffy Shark. Nutterbutter. Pup Pup. No Bite! When Ian brought this many-named dog home, he only weighed 6 pounds. Now the 6 month old fluff ball weighs a whooping 60 pounds!
Every dog should be so lucky to have his very own boy. I’m sure Balto heartily agrees.
So I did a couple of things Sunday that I haven’t done since my pre-Ian years. The first one was absolutely amazing. For the first time in seven years, I kayaked the Ocoee with my husband. Then we locked our boats in the bed of the truck and jumped in the raft, which we intentionally flipped, something else I haven’t done since becoming a mother.
My driving force in getting through my lessons with Ace Kayaking this summer was to be able to get back onto the Ocoee consistently with Brinn. Before having Ian, we used to go out regularly. Granted, Brinn basically had to hold my hand on those trips, and I always walked around Tablesaw. Nonetheless, I was able to put in at the rails or Staging Eddy (whichever had a parking spot open) and mostly make it down the river with Brinn. I had mishaps for sure, including swims at Surprise (my most hated rapid on the entire Ocoee) and even at Powerhouse (because I’m special like that), but I was out there. After becoming pregnant, I quit paddling altogether for two years, and it was nothing like riding a bike. Not much came back to me naturally.
So here I am, seven years later, taking lessons and plaguing Brandon with the worst student of his teaching career. A few weeks ago I went back for my last lesson, and worked with Jake, another great instructor at ACE. I don’t think I gave Jake quite as much of a headache as I did Brandon, but I still found ways to amaze him with my ineptitude… like when he wanted me to leave the eddy above Moon Chute and surf across a wave to ferry over above the rapid. I left the eddy…and started to ferry onto my surf, but my bow was too high, and the current rejected me. I should’ve have gone back to my eddy and came in again, with a lower angle, but nope, I tried to plow on through, so I blew right past my surf, and then past Jake, and ran the whole thing backwards and caught an eddy below Moon Chute where I waited in chagrin for Jake to come find me.
Regardless of my mishaps with Jake, he somehow managed to cram some new information into my brain and help me build on the skills Brandon had initially installed, and now kayaking isn’t quite as scary as it has been for the last five years. But for weeks now, we’ve wanted to go rafting. I think I forgot to mention this, but we bought a new raft this year! After saving for the last few years, and sacrificing most of our tax return, we finally bought the Super Puma we’ve had our eye on for years. More about that another day. We have this awesome new raft, and we’ve only had it out two times all spring and summer long. Rafts aren’t meant to stay dry. It needed to be on the Ocoee surfing. So Brinn and I finally had a Sunday that wasn’t accounted for. I didn’t have kayaking lesson, neither of us had a rescue course, and we hadn’t scheduled to go with a group to a different river. It looked like we finally had a day we could hit the Ocoee with our tree frog green raft. Except I realized that I kind of wanted to kayak. On the Ocoee! I thought I was starting to burn out a little bit after 5 lessons and multiple trips outside of lessons. But when we started planing our day without Ian, I realized that I really wanted to get back out there again. So we decided to do both!
Once we started our ungodly early drive to the Ocoee, which was even earlier than planned because someone mistakenly set his alarm for 4:00 AM…, my nerves started to build and make themselves evident. I won’t say I regretted asking Brinn if we could kayak first, but I was starting to worry a bit going out for my first post-Ian non-lesson trip down the Ocoee. Then I received a response text from our beloved Mrs. Anderson who completely changed my perspective on the situation. I hope she doesn’t mind that I’m sharing her words: “Don’t worry. You will have a wonderful day. What a blessing to paddle with your husband.” I immediately shared her text with Brinn, who drove in silence for a bit as we both thought about Dr. Anderson for a few miles and how much we miss him. And how much more Anne must miss him every day, especially when we beg her to join us on the rivers that she paddled frequently with him for years. Anne was right. I’m extremely blessed and fortunate to have the opportunity to paddle with my husband anytime that I want, and I should absolutely take that opportunity whenever it presents itself. So I went to the river stronger and more thankful.
People often wonder why I am so reluctant to go boating without Brinn. I mean, I managed to paddle for months before I met him, so why couldn’t I do it now? Because I’m a dunderhead without him. I had offered to let Brinn put in at the ramp with Jeremy so they could both run Grumpy’s and meet me at the rails, but Brinn valiantly declined and insisted that he wanted to paddle with me. It’s a good thing, too, since I got to the bottom of the stairs and went to screw my drainplug in, and found it missing! It had been attached the evening before when I loaded this exact boat into the bed of the truck. How did it just up and disappear? Fortunately I had MacGuyver #1 and MacGuyver #2 with me for the day. After Brinn failed to find my drain plug in the truck or the raft, he yanked his out of his boat, and screwed it into my boat while Jeremy hunted for an appropriately sized stick. Brinn pulled out tape and a lighter, and somehow sealed up the drain hole on his boat, and we were river worthy and finally able to put on while Tabitha drove down to Goforth Creek to pick us up.
Because we were going to raft as well, Brinn suggested that we only kayak a half lap so that we wouldn’t get too worn out. This sounded like a great idea to me, except Brinn wanted to do the top half of the run, which has always intimidated me more. Usually when we did a half lap, it was from Goforth down. But here we were, running the scarier half of the river, with conservative lines at Broken Nose and Double Suck, and we ended up having a fantastic day. The drain plug ended up being the only mishap, and we had an amazing trip down the river with Jeremy, who I didn’t even run over. No surfers were harmed by my refusal to look where I was going on this trip.
After our kayak lap, we said a quick hi to Rick Ford, then piled humans and boats back into the truck and drove back to the top to unload the raft. And guess what we found? My drain plug! It was safely wedged into the raft, so at least it don’t blow or bounce out. Now it is safely screwed back into a hard boat. Brinn dumped the raft and gear out by the ranger’s stand and he and Jeremy left to park both vehicles down at bottom and to pick up Mrs. Anderson who was joining us for our raft lap.
This is the day we hit every eddy we came across.
Tabitha and I are still working on getting comfortable in the Super Puma. The higher rocker really helps it punch through holes and over waves, but it also makes it a bit harder for the front paddlers to brace in as we keep sliding back. It didn’t matter, either way, as Brinn wants to test the limits of this boat every time we take it out so we will be fully prepared for winter creeking in it, and to avoid mishaps for trips with Ian. On the last trip, Brinn and I R2ed and he wanted to see how many eddies we could catch in this boat…including the teeny tiny kayak eddies. We only managed to catch one eddy through Tablesaw, to his disappointment, but we did catch the eddy directly behind Diamond Splitter rock that day. On Sunday, rather than catching eddies and making hard ferries, Brinn wanted to test to stability and weight distribution of the raft. Actually, he really just wanted to flip it, but he built compelling evidence for the need to flip it. So after Hell’s Half Mile, he moved me back beside him, and Tabitha and Anne directly in front of us. We went through the first big wave, and caught some air, but the bow settled back down. We went through the second big wave, and thought we were clear, but then the stern of the boat (with all of our added weight) did exactly what kayakers try to never do: lean upstream.
As soon as the stern buried in the current the bow climbed again and inertia did its job. Hydrology and physics worked together to take us over spectacularly. We didn’t just dump truck. We flopped the whole thing right over on top of us. Seeing the carnage coming, I settled back and grabbed hold of the chicken strap in anticipation. After we completed our flip, I reached up to feel the raft over the top of me, and used the chicken strap to pull myself out from under the boat and I popped up right behind it, still hanging on. But then Brinn shoved his paddle at me and said “here, hold this.” He grabbed the boat, so I floated away from it and started looking for my eddy. Brinn struggled with the boat, so I swam into the river right eddy directly across the current from Jump Rock. Funny, I just spent half my summer ferrying back and forth between these two eddies. After watching Brinn go deeper in the eddy and still not flipping the boat, I resigned myself to the fact that he probably wasn’t going to be ferrying back across to pick me up. Tabitha was even further down in the current and Jeremy was helping her swim for the bottom of the eddy. Anne waited right behind Jump Rock, where I should have gone. I waited for a few kayakers to go past, then left the eddy high, but lemme tell ya, that current was a lot pushier without the benefit of a double blade and a boat. I swam, and swam, and then swam some more. Finally I got near the eddy and Jeremy darted over to grab the paddles from me so I could finish my swim on my back, because my muscles were done.
Brinn got the raft back right side up and we discussed tactics for flipping it next time. Ultimately we agreed that he should’ve shoved me on top to flip it because his shoulder chose to disagree with climbing on board. I’m thinking hitting the Green Narrows less than a year after major surgery may have been a bit too much for him this year. We all climbed in and laughed about our experience. Even Tabitha showed good humor at her unrequested bath. Jeremy delivered our paddles to us, so we were able to head back down river.
Jeremy was the major MVP of the day. We left the ramp with five paddles, and we arrived at the takeout with all five paddles! Not a single loss on Jeremy’s watch. I bought him a beer that evening.
By the time we made it down to Flipper just a few rapids later, Brinn didn’t even ask if we were up for surfing. I think he knew that we were all exhausted from swimming. I decided then and there that I would be visiting the campus pool a lot this winter to swim with a paddle. I obviously need to get stronger and more efficient with a single and double-bladed paddle because, well, swimmers are going to swim.
Going through the Doldrums, Tabitha motioned toward her husband and mouthed for me to flip him. Jeremy had decided to ride down in my Nomad for his second lap of the day. I knew I couldn’t be stealthy enough to pull it off from inside the raft, so I motioned for Brinn to swim over and grab his boat. Unfortunately Brinn telegraphed his intent all too clearly and Jeremy saw it coming. I launched out of the boat to grab the bow while Brinn shoved the boat over. Despite his unsealed skirt, Jeremy refused to swim. Even when Brinn flipped the boat over, Jeremy came up and held a brace against Brinn flipping him again and through clenched teeth he yelled “WILL.NOT.SWIM!” Somehow Anne came out of the raft after I did, so Tabitha and Jeremy ended up being the only two to not swim here.
After Jeremy drained about 600 gallons of Ocoee water out of the Nomad, he jumped back in and we floated on downstream. Our second mishap of the day came at Tablesaw. Brinn wanted to try for the top eddy on river left, and called for Tabitha and I to paddle hard as we crashed over the top wave. The bow rode up so high that we struggled to get our paddles in the water, and we blew past the eddy. As Brinn regrouped and aimed for the next eddy, Tabitha went bonkers and started yelling about her foot. With her T grip waving around in my face, I quit paddling as well and stared at her. The side of her foot had locked up in a giant cramp, and it refused to relax. I grabbed her foot to mash my hand into the Charlie horse, and she came unglued. She yanked her chaco off and threw it in the floor of the boat while hopping around in her seat. Brinn thought we were both possessed and yelled at us for not paddling. Tab’s moment finally passed and she was able to put her shoe back on. Neither of us remember anything about going through the rapid.
We completed the rest of our trip smoothly with no additional mishaps. I think Brinn would’ve liked to back stack at Hell Hole, but I didn’t have it in me to swim for another eddy. I would’ve just floated to the takeout… So instead he had Tab and I scoot back just one thwart so we could brace in a bit more securely, and we had no issues plowing right through both waves, then floating over Powerhouse. We arrived at the takeout both tired and hungry, but every bit of the exhaustion was worth it. It’s been a hard summer of ferrying and eddy hopping, but I finally feel like I’m back!
I went back to the Ocoee this past weekend for my next round of lessons. A few days before we began packing my gear I received a message from poor Brandon that I’d been reassigned from my new instructor, and would be continuing to work with Brandon instead. As excited as I was to work with a new instructor, I was still more relieved than anything to be able to continue with the instructor I was familiar with and had come to trust. You would think that I would have been grateful enough to be a model student, right?
Saturday went well enough, but everything changed Sunday. Brandon began the day with an easy warm-up of stretches and review of basic paddle strokes (which I still can’t do) and then laid out his plan for the day. He announced that he’d thought it over the previous evening, and he’d decided it was time to step it up. I was going to do one of two rapids that we’d been putting off –both of which he felt I was ready to do, but he was only going to make me do one. All I could do was stare in horror as he continued: “Broken Nose or Tablesaw.” Ice, ice coursing through my veins and a slight buzzing noise in my ears. And Brandon went on to announce the winner for my personal fear contest: Tablesaw (cue the flying monkeys soundtrack).
Guys, from this point on I was the absolute worst student in the world. Seriously. If Ian
had behaved this badly I would have yanked him up and taken him home after having a “come to Jesus” discussion. If I’d behaved this way in a riding lesson, any of my many instructors would have removed my stirrup irons and made me finish the rest of the day in a two-point at working trot. Ordinarily I would be mortified to see anyone behave this badly, but man, I wallowed in it. I talked back. I argued. I stalled. I whined incessantly. I negotiated. I came up with excuse after excuse. I ran over rocks. I missed eddies. And all the while Brandon, my beloved instructor who had reassured me for three days of lessons that everything we would do was challenge by choice, took a firm stand and ignored my very logical and eloquently delivered rationale for walking Tablesaw.
I’ve never run Tablesaw in a hard boat. Ever. Broken Nose either, for that matter, but at least Broken Nose was off the table for this day. Back in the days before Ian, when Brinn would help me tiptoe down the skirt lines on the Ocoee, we always ran far, far left at Broken Nose, and I hiked around Tablesaw while everyone else ran it and waited for me below. When I signed up for lessons, I just assumed that I would continue this routine. It had been working pretty well up to this point. It’s hard to swim or hit your head on the ejector rock when you’re busy shouldering a boat across the giant table rock… Brandon has asked me several times what was my goal for lessons. And always my answer is to not be such an idiot on the water. I don’t want to be a liability for anyone else, and want to be able to control my boat better. I didn’t realize I needed to add that I wanted this control so I could hit all the portage eddies…
Saturday was a really good day on the water. I felt like we were taking off my training wheels and I was finally starting to move beyond beginner tactics. Brandon continued building on our earlier lessons to enhance rules I’d learned earlier in my paddling career, and in some cases, completely toss out those rules. I’ve consistently heard that you have to be moving faster than the water to be in control… While we didn’t address this particular adage, Brandon did teach me how to use my bow angle to speed up or slow down a ferry. A slow ferry requires more paddle strokes, but gives me a tremendous mental boost to know that I can take time to look around and consider what’s coming up next. I’ve always heard to leave the eddy high. And sometimes Brandon had us leaving high, and sometimes he had us leaving in the middle, and at Hell Hole we just slid right out the back of the Eddy. So I learned to leave the eddy high sometimes when our next move required it. But what helped more than anything was to learn that when we leave high, we don’t start high in the eddy. Brandon had me backup and start much lower in the eddy to begin paddling so as to build momentum for that ferry once I broke the eddy line. And most important of all, he was teaching me to see which situation called for which moves so I could start assessing scenarios and know what to do and how rather than just following someone else like a duckling. We paddled from the Staging Eddy to Goforth with no major mishaps and one minor mishap as I paddled clear over the top of the boulder I was supposed to slide off of sideways… Only I could botch the move I saw a 10 year old kid pull off just two weeks earlier. But overall Saturday ended as the best day ever. Brandon was the best instructor ever, and one of my most favorite people ever.
Now as I’m sitting in the creek near the takeout on Sunday morning Brandon is looking less and less like one of my favorite people. I suggested we could drive over to the Hiwassee and he laughed it off. I offered to take us shopping at Rock Creek, my treat! He declined. I even volunteered to paddle back upstream from the lake to the commercial takeout again. No dice. We were headed up the river road and Brandon seemed to determined to do his job. He carried our boats down the steep bank to Jump Rock and we warmed up with some attempts at a one paddle stroke ferry, which I failed at, but I did get more confident in charging for the green water to initiate my
ferry. Then we turned and followed the river downstream…bringing us ever closer to Tablesaw. All went well until we made it to Flipper where Brandon decided we weren’t going to go far, far, far right as we had previously. My negotiations and protestations began again, and he calmly waited out my temper tantrum, then waited some more on my nerves, and finally we sliced diagonally across Flipper successfully with none of the issues I’d built up in my mind. We floated on down to Goforth where we were greeted by Brinn and Rick as we got out for a break to stretch. Since complaining wasn’t working, I went to sit quietly by myself in the sun. Brinn kept asking if I was okay. He didn’t seem to support my opinion that Brandon is the meanest person in the world, but instead helped me get back in my boat when Brandon decided it was time to go.
Brandon guided us over to river right just above Tablesaw where we hopped out, parked our boats, and began hiking across the table to watch Brinn and Rick come through. Brandon pointed out visuals that I should identify early to hold my angle. He showed me how we were going to come in behind the first wave, maintain a left hand angle, and only paddle for stability and to maintain the left angle if the water dropped my bow. He insisted that this angle would push me into the gigantic friendly eddy on river left. Then we watched several boaters come straight down, and others even with a right hand angle, proving Brandon’s next point that there was a wide margin for error in this rapid. We left the water with a good plan and unfortunately the walk back didn’t take very long.
Once we reached our boats, fear completely took over my heart and mind. I don’t know if I looked as sick as I felt, but I felt pretty yucky. I kept waiting for Brandon to show one sign of weakness. Had he waivered for even a split second, I would’ve jumped all over it and used the excuse to climb out of my boat and start dragging. But he didn’t. He offered some reassuring advice, made a few jokes, and patiently waited while I shook like a leaf. Lots of stuff rolled through my head. I finally followed Brandon back into the current. I shook like a leaf and bumped every rock between our eddy and the main current. Brandon peeled out into the current with one hand on his paddle so the other hand could wave and remind me of my visual aids and show me my boat angle. I glided out behind him, and glided right down through and over the waves and into a river left eddy where Brinn was waiting for me and cheers erupted across the river.
So many emotions. Too many emotions to feel them all individually, and they completely overwhelmed me. Had I known how many friends had stopped to wait on me, I may have ended up chickening out. I had no idea that multiple good Samaritans had hopped out of their boats with ropes and cameras at the ready for me. Shane, Krystal, and Michelle, along with their friends and family, parked their raft and waited for my first go at this rapid with the camera rolling. Rick filmed from the other side of the river. His friend, Charles, who I had just met minutes earlier waited as well. Brinn stayed parked in the higher of the two eddies to be ready to go after me or give me a focal point to paddle towards. Brandon swung in and waited for me as well, and the first emotion I could actually identify was overwhelming gratitude for this amazing group of river family to cheer me on in my success. I threw my arms up and tried not to cry as I felt the fear sneak away and warmth replace it. Adrenaline coursed, and I continued to shake all over, but no longer in fear. Brandon reminded me that it would still be pretty scary next time, and probably the time after that, but it won’t be as scary.
Still jittery, and now distracted by it, we left Tablesaw and meandered down through Diamond Splitter (my most favorite Ocoee rapid) to eddy on the left before Dixie Drive for Brandon to issue the next set of instructions. I had to ask him to repeat himself about 10 times, and apologize repeatedly for listening to only half of what he said. I now have a greater appreciation for how hard Brinn has to work to listen through his ADD. Finally I digested the bulk of my directions and we headed back downstream, where I proceeded to miss eddies, fail to hit surfs, and blow ferries as well. At some point it became clear that we weren’t finished and Brandon wasn’t going to let me jump out at Torpedo or at the bridge, so there would be another first to add to my plate: Hell Hole. Hell Hole scares me because it’s big, it’s fast, it’s incredibly pushy, and I’ve never ran it in a hard boat. But I’ve swam it, so I guess I’ve already experienced the worst that could happen. I like to think that I didn’t protest running this one quite as vehemently as I did Tablesaw, as I’d pretty much resigned myself to going through it. And Brandon helped to set an angle through this one that helped me punch straight through and into the eddy on river right. And it was absolutely fantastic! Now all that was left between me and a swim-free day was my old nemesis…Powerhouse. Rather than get in the pushy current that goes straight for the junk over on river left, Brandon helped me sneak right out the backside of our eddy and paddle straight over the river right side of Powerhouse. I’m ashamed to say that it was much smaller than I had remembered it, and there was no risk of falling over backwards this time.
So I did it. Over the course of two days I managed to creep down the Ocoee from the Staging Eddy to the takeout without carrying around anything. We ran conservative lines on most everything above Goforth, but I didn’t have to bushwack and shoulder a boat. And Brandon is once again the best instructor ever and one of my favorite people again.
I can’t even possibly begin to thank everyone involved in helping me add this to my paddling portfolio. My mom kept Ian all weekend so Brinn could come out and watch me achieve new things. Brandon worked overtime to protect me from myself and help me work through some tough moments. Brinn cheered harder than any husband has ever cheered on a wife. Rick and Krystal documented my achievement so I could relive it over and over. And so many more people were responsible for getting me to this point. Hopefully an opportunity will arise where I have a chance to give back to them just a little of what they have done for me. Until then, I’ll try to pay it forward as best I can, because the river is not just a waterway filled with spills and thrills, it’s a community –one whose membership floods me with gratitude.
“Bad coaches make their students dependent. Good coaches make themselves redundant.” -Paul Strikwerda
I’ve never been a good kayaker. Those who know me, who have watched me boat, can attest to this fact. I wasn’t necessarily a bad paddler, and could get down class II fairly competently (aka, not dying). Heck, I could even make it down class III if someone (cough, Brinn) would let me follow their lines. If I flipped, and didn’t manage to completely panic and bail, my roll would usually bring me up. I definitely wasn’t headed towards class IV or anything particularly hairy, but I could typically make it down the Ocoee with minimal swimming so long as I took the cheat lines (which included hiking around Table Saw).
Then I decided to have a baby.
I assumed that I would pick paddling back up the same way I’d picked riding back up.
Riding was a little rough immediately after birth as I’d lost more core strength than I’d realized, but with time my strength came back and once again I could hop on Reggie and go. Paddling was a bit trickier. Because I nursed Ian for a full year, and worked a forty hour week, time to fit in a full river trip was just too hard to come by. So a year went by without any time on the water. The next year, I was able to fit in one trip, then the following year Ian was ready to start going along with us, so I spent a lot of time in a funyak. By the time Ian turned four, I finally felt less guilty about leaving him behind to hit the river without him, and I thought I was ready to start stepping it back up, but a new experience confronted me at many outings.
Anxiety can absolutely cripple you. I’d never experienced it before, but my postpartum existence invited it to creep it slowly. I went from happily running my beloved Jett to Lilly on Clear Creek, to finding myself sitting on Spring Creek and unable to leave an eddy. Just a few weeks before this paralyzing trip, Brinn and I ran Spring Creek from Waterloo down to Tom’s house by ourselves and had a great run, despite one swim. But when we came back a few weeks later with Ben, I couldn’t make myself go through Meat Grinder. The same rapid I’d had no issues with just weeks prior seemed enormous and impossible. I realized that I couldn’t do it. I may have had the ability in me, but my brain and body were not cooperating well enough to get me through it on this day. It’s hard to describe the feeling, except to say that it was overwhelming, like an elephant sitting on my chest. I ended up walking around 3 or 4 rapids that day. The hike was twice as hard as the rapids would’ve been, but I just couldn’t do it. And I had more experiences like this to hit me. I couldn’t make myself get back on the Ocoee. We took the raft down, even the ducky, but I just couldn’t will myself to carry my kayak down the rails to get back on this river.
I needed help. Lots of it. And all kinds. The first step was to seek medical advice. I’ve never had anxiety issues before in my entire life. Rather than looking for a chemical option, I began a nutrition program to look for a holistic option. I’ll have plenty more to say about this program in a future post. The condensed version: getting a handle of my dietary needs and eating the right foods for my body, while taking food based supplements to satisfy deficiencies has helped bring my baby-growing hormone-wrecked body back together and drastically improved my outlook. So now I should be ready to get back on the water, except I still had that feeling of helplessness. I couldn’t make my boat do what I wanted it to do even through class IIs. Brinn, God bless him, tried so hard to help advise me on technique, but he just couldn’t dumb it down simply enough for me to get it. So I reached out to Joe Gudger of Ace Kayaking and he recommended a series of lessons. He finalized my schedule and last week sent me a reminder that I should meet Brandon at the Ocoee takeout on Saturday at 10:00. The Ocoee. With my kayak. Excitement warred with dread as I tried to convince myself that I was looking forward to my first lesson, but dread started pulling ahead. Despite my reluctance, I got in the truck Saturday morning with all my gear so Brinn could drop me off to meet Brandon Beaty.
Brandon is a superhero hiding in a Jackson Nirvana wearing a disguise of Kokatat and Sweet Protection while accessorizing with Werner. I hope Brandon didn’t find the day as exhausting as I did, but I fear he must have. Laughing and issuing the same advice to an inattentive audience has to be trying and tiresome. Saturday began with seemingly simple work on the lake where we quickly established that I didn’t know anything at all about kayaks or paddles, or how to combine the two for forward movement. Brandon patiently answered my dumb questions and showed me the same strokes again and again and again as I attempted to imitate his technique. Then we began going upriver while working on attainments. This kept me too short of breath to ask as many dumb questions, but don’t worry, I still thought of them. After this portion of the day, we floated back down to the take out ramp, took a break, and loaded up Brandon’s truck to head up river for some work in real current.
Brandon carried my boat down the bank to put in below Slice and Dice and immediately put me to work on ferrying across some very minimal current near the bank on river right. He tweaked and adjusted while always encouraging. He’d remind me to rotate while I would insist that I was rotating –picture me sitting stiff and rigid from hip to head with not one degree of rotation in there anywhere. I’d start across the current and lose my angle and he’d patiently remind me to use my stern draw. Too bad I wouldn’t listen to him until seconds before I hit my new eddy. But despite my best efforts to stemmy Brandon’s efforts to fix me, his commands were actually starting to sink in! So he led me across the pushier current coming from the bottom hole of S&D to the big eddy on river left. From here, the goal was to go to the top of the eddy and practice ferrying across the slightly pushier water. And here is where fear found me again. The current looked so strong. I knew I’d lose the angle of my ferry and get pushed down river and have to make a sloppy S turn to hit the new eddy, if I didn’t blow right past it. Brandon talked me through our goal and method of execution and reassured me that I was over thinking it, and the current wasn’t nearly as bad as I was building it up to be. And I sat and over thought and worked myself up. Brandon never yelled at me (as I deserved), nor pushed me to jump out before I was ready. He patiently waited for me to speak or indicate my readiness. And I finally identified the source of my fear: the bow draw. This one, seemingly simple paddle stroke still confused me in flat water. Now I’m supposed to put it all together, leave the eddy with forward strokes to initiate my ferry, use a stern draw on the left to maintain my ferry, then throw in a bow draw to turn my boat before charging my new eddy. Easy, right? Sure, except for that bow draw. So I finally shared this with Brandon, and rather than telling me to suck it up or dismissing my fear, he simply announced “then don’t do the bow draw.” And he graciously left the eddy to show me how to complete the exercise without the bow draw.
Finally, after much internal dialogue, I left the eddy. And it was nothing! The rushing current I’d worried about felt more manageable than I expected, and I found myself following Brandon’s instructions (to an extent) and was able to join him in the next eddy. It wasn’t pretty. There was lots of yuckiness. But it was starting to come together! Now he changed it up a bit to go back across the current, leaving from a different eddy than the last time we ferried this direction, and ferried through a different section of the current. I followed a bit more quickly this time and didn’t require as much coddling to jump out there. More yuckiness ensued, but some good stuff started surfacing too. Then the rafts showed up. And they kept coming. Starting to feel more confident about myself and my newfound abilities, I decided I could be brave enough to jump out between rafts. I reviewed Brandon’s commands in my head: “leave the eddy and hit the current in the second trough, right below the big trough, then let my bow drop to charge the eddy. Don’t pause between my forward stroke and my stern draw. Rotate at the waist AND LOOK WHERE I’M GOING.” I spotted my opening in the rafts and I shot out towards the current…and proceeded to let every single one of Brandon’s instructions leak out of my ears. I left the eddy with too high of an angle, didn’t let the current drop my bow at all, never looked at where I wanted to go, and found myself landing right in the first trough…on top of another kayaker who had been merrily surfing before I came to town. I immediately apologized to him and he reached out to touch my arm and tell me not to worry about it, that it was completely okay. At this point I frantically tried to reverse my ferry (bear with me, my brain is leaking, remember?) to get off of him, so I yank away from his hold and then I hear splashing and maybe even a chuckle out of Brandon. Kayaker manages to roll so at least I haven’t caused someone to swim, but he was snorting and spluttering a bit. While this was probably the worst of my gaffe’s, it certainly wasn’t the only one. Some of them were bad enough that Brandon would just shake his head and say “we’re not going to discuss that one.” Other times he’d start with “well, do you know what you did wrong?”
By Sunday morning Brandon had correctly assessed that my brain couldn’t hold any new information, so rather than trying to teach me more strokes and concepts, we headed up river to practice the programming he’d attempted to install on Saturday. Some parts were really yucky, and some parts were great. I had a few moments where the light bulb would go off, and several instances where I realized how lost I was. By jumping around to different places on the river, Brandon subtly began working us down river so that we finally went through a few rapids and did a short section of the Ocoee. Anxiety backed off and was replaced with apprehension, which I found easier to push through. As we prepared to hit the waves below Flipper on river right, my heart raced and my muscles constricted with fear. For lack of a better expression, I kept a nervous grin on my face and let Brandon lead me out of the eddy…and I blew my instructions again and hit the swifter current and blasted past my fearless leader. But he calmly issued a few commands, and somehow I managed to follow them, and my control returned. At this point, my boat climbed over the waves smoothly, and I found success. My nerves still caused my whole body to shake, but I’d done it. I know it’s a tiny achievement to most, but it’s a mountain of an achievement for me. Now I actually feel excited to return to the Ocoee in two weeks for my next lesson with a new instructor. Thank you Brandon, for helping me ease back onto the Ocoee and move out of the blinding fog.