Kremmling – As poignant moments go, this one had a decidedly grunge flavor. There, in the dirt parking lot 10 miles south of town, the small group of shaggy and shirtless young athletes just as easily might have passed as a metal or punk rock band landing along the banks of the Colorado River after taking a wrong turn.
Had we piled out of a Chevy van or a Winnebago instead of an economical little Subaru loaded down with the weight of five unkempt kayakers behind dark sunglasses at a pre- noon hour deemed far too early for any self-respecting rock star, the pretense might have proved convincing. But instead of guitars and groupies, this close-knit band unloaded only boats and paddles, its members joking as they set up for the first of many stunts planned for the day’s show.
“C’mon, Nick, get your gear,” they coaxed the driver. “Let’s go kayaking.”
“Dude,” came the faintly tentative reply, “I’m going to college.”
It wasn’t until he said it out loud that the gravity of this defining life moment sank in. But the look on Nick’s 18-year-old face revealed the weight in his heart as he wrestled with a decision many might otherwise dismiss as a no-brainer. With the first of many maternal care packages resting on the shiny Subaru’s passenger seat, he watched his friends slide into the river before slowly turning toward the car and driving off to a new life of academics in Denver.
Whether the rest of the group felt the heaviness of change was uncertain after the “good luck” send-off. They had done their job, not just as friends, but as partners at the upper echelon of the life-supporting sport of Class V kayaking. The passion for paddling had united this band in the first place, and while the rhythm might be altered slightly, the reverberating pulse of the river remained, offering ardent life lessons of its own.
Not long ago, and perhaps still today, the unruly crew might have been considered among the wildest of the bunch at the annual gathering of the tribe known as the Gore Canyon Whitewater Festival, testing the limits of the law and showing little respect for authority after pulling their boats to shore at the Pumphouse Recreation Area takeout.
But while the stories from the previous night’s campfire are hardly a mother’s fairy tale, they are equally far from the makings of America’s most wanted.
Indeed, as the morning haze lifted off the water, hints of maturity began to shine through. Nick made his way to college. Alex didn’t try to sneak across anyone’s private property. Hobie proudly displayed the “Baby on Board” sticker in his rig. Everyone, it seems, is growing up.
The same should be said for the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) rangers charged with monitoring the annual festival. After some 14 years of uneventful anarchy, the agency was called in to regulate the throng of festival-goers last year, bringing in armed reinforcements from far and wide to intimidate even the most law-abiding among us. But after recognizing the error of their ways, BLM officials made the mature decision to back away from the scare tactics last weekend, opting instead to embrace the event and its community through dialogue and self-control.
The result was a Gore Canyon Festival that many longtime participants consider among the best in history.
It’s a pretty small sample of society, but, to my way of thinking, this little slice of life speaks volumes about human nature and our ability to grow when we’re given the opportunity to do so. Sometimes it’s a matter of trial and error, others it’s life experience, and still other times it’s academic, but invariably everyone develops to some degree with a little feedback and nurturing. Whether it’s learning how to run a rapid, manage an event or ace a math exam, typically it all begins with some effort and an open mind. And, when appropriate, it ought to end with some recognition of the achievement. So for everyone involved, consider this credit due.
Staff writer Scott Willoughby can be reached at 303-954-1993 or swilloughby@denverpost.com.
