Eddylines

mara's lake

"That's it?"

Marek glanced out the driver's window at the tiny trickle running through the stony riverbed beyond the trees. "That's it. That's the Deerfield."

"Oh."

"Oh what?"

"I thought there'd be more water."

"There is, it's just still behind the dam back there."

"Ohhhhhhh. I don't know why I didn't figure that out, I think I'm still too excited to be in another state, and for once I didn't fly there with a bunch of boring people to talk to more boring people who don't care what I have to say." He tugged at his collar. "And I didn't have to wear a suit or a stupid tie."

Marek chuckled as they followed the river's edge, slowing for a sharp corner. "That may be the story of our lives now, kuvano, but that's why we're coming here to escape."

Daszé nodded thoughtfully, then craned his neck to see the sparkling water below as it wended and spilled through the rocks. A few big white passenger vans carrying and trailing rafts suddenly interrupted his line of sight, and his eyes followed them until Marek slowed for a railroad crossing. A trestle crossed the river on the left, and on the right, he made out a great hole in the mountain, the ancient stonework stained black from generations of trains.

"That's the Hoosac Tunnel," Marek said, then dropped an octave into a sinister croak. "Some even call it The Bloody Pit."

"I'm not even going to ask."

"No, no, you should! It's got ghosts and tales of terror and falling rocks and one time my mom even walked the whole thing, all four miles or whatever, completely in the dark. I just know it was almost the longest tunnel in the world at one point, but they didn't finish it in time."

Daszé stared into the void in the mountainside, framed by the thin trunks of relatively young trees and a riot of green leaves. "Your mom walked that!?"

"She did, and the place we're gonna camp is right by where they have the ventilation fans for it. If we're lucky, we might even get to hear them tonight."

"Wait, they still use it?"

The sudden loud clanging of the crossing answered his question, and Daszé's already immense respect and admiration for Marie Sarruma skyrocketed as the van scurried across the rails and onward to the take-out.

A few minutes later, they began to climb up and away from the river, and Daszé settled back into his seat as another small wave of vans trundled by. He already liked it here, remote, quiet, and yet industriously busy even at this early hour as it geared up for another Saturday of adventure tourism. But a small, gnawing fear was churning in his gut, and Marek seemed to sense exactly what it was.

"When we get out there, just ignore them."

"I know, I just... they're all gonna be staring at me."

"Well, of course, you're a handsome dude."

Daszé just snorted.

"You're here for you, not them, and as a newly minted United States citizen and taxpayer, you have every right to be on this river." He grinned. "Once you're out there, you won't care anymore, I promise."

"I don't know, kuvano." He slumped against the seat. "I'm just really nervous and excited because I've been waiting for this forever, but..." He trailed off, watching another Subaru roll past with a bright blue playboat on the roof. He'd lost count of both kayaks and Subarus already, and that made him feel a bit better for reasons he only vaguely understood. It felt kind of cozy and safe, proof of a tribe he'd spent countless hours studying, learning, and watching from afar in hopes of eventually gaining entrance.

He knew his flatwater roll was good, and he hoped that was enough. His best friend certainly seemed to think so.

"Wanna see the Gap?" Marek asked as they emerged from the trees on the opposite side of the hill, bumbling toward the bridge up ahead.

"Wait, like, THE Gap?"

"The one and only."

Daszé swallowed, his confidence reshaken. "Sure." He knew about the Zoar Gap, and it seemed that everyone else in New England did too. The thundering ledges and swirling currents were a legendary rite of passage among regional paddlers, and at some point in everyone's whitewater career, it had claimed them all. In fact, a local outfitter even sold t-shirts emblazoned with ZOAR GAP SWIM TEAM in collegiate lettering, and Marek had already teased him about having to get one.

But the gentle tumble of water through the boulder garden upriver from the bridge didn't look remotely threatening.

"That's... it?"

"Well, yeah, the water's still turned off. It gets gnarly in there, but you'll see."

"Uhm... can we look at it before we run it?"

"Of course! And don't feel bad if you're not up for it, it's... it's a big step."

That failed to quell the new swirls of nervousness in his stomach.