Joining the 'family' created by the waters of the Flint River

ALBANY — The Flint Riverkeeper’s hosted its annual Lower Flint Paddle Saturday, where 30 patrons were able to enjoy quality time and learn about the river's deep roots.

For someone who has never been kayaking before a day in her life, the entire experience was full, subtle, and brought on a type of motivation that can only be seen from a closeness with nature. From the shuttle ride to a starting point at Radium Springs, I kept reminding myself to have presence on the trip and that it is OK to put my phone down, a task that is hard for my generation.

Once at Punks Landing in Baconton, everybody quickly became acquainted with one another and who was who. When tour guides Henry Jackson and R.J. Gipaya asked who was a first-timer, I thought I would be the only one to raise my hand. There were only two of us that stood out among the “river people,” as they call themselves. We both looked at each other with assurance, a look that said, “You look out for me, I look out for you.”

Of course, we were given the protocols and safety measures of the river. One thing that the guides failed to mention, though, was how to paddle! A feeling began to ruffle my feathers, as we were putting on our life jackets.

One guide then proclaimed, “I tipped over on our last trip, so not to worry.”

Well, we had one chance to speak up or forever hold our peace. We put on our big girl pants and held our peace.

The river was calm, steady, captivating, and full of life. It was as if the river was telling its own story to its unique shape and curves. I took a deep breath in and out with each row, as my fears, worries, and unwanted pressure from daily life were drifting away.

Every the skeptical notion from thinking that I was going to tip over was laid to rest, as the river guides would often paddle alongside to check in with how I was making it.

There were no big ripples that would pass or a hard flow to paddle through. Yet, it was a task to keep up with the leader of our group, as he was the one giving history lessons about the river itself.

I paddled once, and I paddled twice. I found a rhythm in my stroke, and my kayak seemed to move faster.

The bark from the evergreen and pine trees would stick out, and it would occasionally rush toward me to where I thought it might have been an alligator. “Don’t panic, just row faster,” I said in my head. There’s only two ends of this one paddle, so I can only go so fast with alternating each row.

Then, my kayak started to spin in an opposite direction of the river's flow. I was drifting backwards and to the left, as a nice-sized boat came toward me. Yes, this would be the practical leisure of a first-timer with such anxiety fighting against me in this river.

My boat started to rock back and forth, and then I remembered what a patron, who happened to be a biologist, said to me: “Ride like you are in a rocking chair. If you rock one way, level your hips and then rock the other way.”

This saying was key, so I rocked left and then rocked to the right. To my surprise, I did not fall off.

Finally, I paddled up a ways where I caught up to the leader.

It turns out that the Flint is in a bit of a community war. The main objective is to keep the river in great working capacity as designed by three measures: 1. Increase the quantity. 2. Improve its quality. 3. Make it safe and in line with the community’s view of access and availability.

According to a guide, during the civil rights era, the river’s spring went into a huge debate with community leaders about who the spring legally belong to. African Americans argued that it was rightfully theirs and later it was determined that the spring’s function should not go to any one group.

This argument remains a part of the Flint’s conversation today, as the Flint Riverkeeper continues work with the legislature to make all three objectives possible, current, and equally driven for the betterment of the communities impacted.

As the guides made note of every important part of the river’s history, we stopped along its banks for light swimming, lunch and hydration. The heat waves were drawing in, and the sun was indeed a presence.

I decided not to dive into the water, instead I thought of the opportunity to simply sit in the water and ground my center with a little meditation. In doing such an act of grace and humility, I gained patience for the 9-mile trip. With its makeup being around 333 miles long and nearly 30 million years old, the Flint, in hindsight, takes a part of a history that lies within you and adds it to its historical grounds.

With patrons traveling from Thomasville, Talbotton, Missouri, or New York, the Flint keeps track of all of its visitors and plunges them into its water family. No matter your demographic, everybody has a sweet little story to tell while on the river. Also, the low currents make it easier to hear the next person while in deep conversation.

There were no dull moments.

Even when I started to tire from paddling, the river helped me by having a pathway in which its current would push me forward even as I sat at a standstill. My fear of turning over soon fell by the wayside. If I were to take a dip, I was safe, in the best hands, and the river was not so mean after all.

A chef’s kiss to the tour guides and the reoccurring “river people” for leaving a little to the imagination when exploring the Flint River for the first time and for bonding with a gal like me without any judgement. I most certainly found a new hobby, friends, and a wholesome respect for a small town like Albany.