I originally wrote this story as a submission to The Rural Councillor, a periodical of the Saskatchewan Association of Rural Municipalities. I was a new counselling student, and had been unemployed for seven months when I wrote this. Our first child was three months old, and my wife had returned to work from maternity leave to help pay the bills. My mental wellness was taking a beating. I was navigating rough waters, but felt at peace and in good care. This article was written during that time of turbulence.
Edgewalkers, I want to share a story with you from my youth. It is as true as I stand before you today. This is a picture of me sometime around 1982 at Echo Lake, Saskatchewan. It is not my very first, but close to my first time knee boarding.
I love water sports. More than all of them put together, I like to kneeboard. I remember the first time I ever got on a kneeboard behind a boat. It was the summer of 1982 at my Uncle Wayne’s cottage on Echo Lake. The fancy fiberglass boards had not been developed yet, and so I went out on the water on one of those big Styrofoam floats–kind of like a flutter board you would find at the local pool, but bigger.
Conditions on this early August afternoon were perfect for my first solo voyage, which would undoubtedly take me to new heights of excitement. The water was calm, and clear as glass. It reflected the opposite shore with a crisp clarity that made me wonder where the water and shore actually met. It was scorching hot, and the water felt warm around my waist as I stood about twenty feet off shore, receiving my instructions from my older cousin. He was, in my eyes, a professional knee-boarder in every respect. He could even do a “360” with ease. He was doling out instructions like a professional blackjack dealer. “Thumb up means go faster, thumb down means slower, and always watch the spotter and for other boats, and always wear your lifejacket, and…” It was all a mess of words that were made mute by my growing anticipation, as I nervously wrung the handle of the ski rope in my hands.
My cousin’s voice came back into focus, “… got it?” I nodded my head. The time had finally come, and I slid my body onto the board, with my feet sticking out behind me. The boat moved ahead slightly to tighten the rope, which I held in my hand as if it were a lifeline. At last it jerked tight and pulled me forward slightly before my uncle returned the boat to neutral.
“Are you ready?” Asked my cousin, who was still standing in the water beside me. I nodded again. We both looked to the boat, where my uncle was behind the wheel, looking back at us.
With a holler like a shotgun start at the local golf course, he yelled, “HIT IT!”
In an instant I heard the old Mercury boat engine scream, and I looked at my cousin. “Wait! How do I…” It was too late. The rope yanked me out of the water and I was gliding across the lake with the grace of a chicken trying to fly. I managed to get myself onto my knees from the lying down position and was soon in control. I yelled at the spotter, but he could not hear me. I put my thumb in the air, and the boat was soon speeding up. “Okay, I’ve got it. Piece of cake,” I said to myself.
The boat turned, and I slowly inched toward the wake. Before I knew what was happening, I was riding the wake, then beyond. The kneeboard skated across the water outside of the wake, and there was no sound except the swish of the board breaking the plain. It sounded like a crazy carpet going down a hill of ice.
Suddenly, the rope was jerking in my hand, and I looked from the water around me to the boat. It was bouncing over its own wake as we were heading back toward shore. I saw waves that looked as though they could sink the Queen Mary.
For those of you who are familiar with such water sports, you will know that part of the privilege of those in the boat is finding ways to make an otherwise uneventful ride much more eventful for the person behind the boat. One of those ways is to look for the perfect colliding locations of boat wakes as they cross each other’s’ paths. This was one of those times. I could see the smile on the face of the spotter looking back at me.
I held onto the handle for all I was worth. I remembered the question I wanted to ask my cousin. “How do I stop?” My question was about to be answered.
With the first wave, the board bounced out from under me, and I was flying through the air, still holding onto the rope for all I was worth. I hit the water like a crash test dummy, and was getting dragged behind the boat. My uncle, thinking I had let go, sped up and began his circle to pick me up. The spotter had become more interested in where they were going, and, assuming I had let go, was facing forward. I am sure they would have stopped if they had known that I was now about five feet under water, transformed into a high-speed Rapala trolling for walleye.
I clung to the rope, not knowing what to do, waiting for the boat to stop so I could get a foothold and return to the surface. I was getting battered with seaweed and sand, and finally, all strength gone, the rope slipped from my hands. I floated to the surface, and gasped for air, about 150 feet away from the kneeboard.
“…Finally, all strength gone, the rope slipped from my hands. I floated to the surface, and gasped for air,”
I still laugh when I think of that day at the lake. The experience has provided me with insights that are crucial principles to success in my life.
We all have ropes in our lives. Most of the time, these ropes are quite trustworthy. When things are going well, the ropes can help us glide through calm waters with ease. But can we trust these ropes to be lifelines when the going gets tough? Is holding onto just any rope going to get us through a wipe out?
Get a Spotter. I need at least one person in my life that I can confide in whether times are good or bad. The relationship I form with this person may someday be crucial to me staying above water. I look for good spotters. They have perspectives I do not have, and can see things I cannot see. They point to dangers that may be in my blind spots and help me make wise decisions.
Who is the critical person in your life to serve as your spotter?
Know the Signals. It is important that I am prepared for things and know how to communicate with my spotter. Communication is the most important aspect to any relationship, be it professional or personal. When the going gets tough, I need this communication to help me make the necessary adjustments to keep things running smoothly.
Do you know the signals; how to communicate with you spotter?
Trust the Driver. Some of us believe that we are subject to nature and are victims of fate. If this is the case, then fate is the driver in our lives, and it is in fate that we trust. For others, there is a spiritual faith in the Divine as the driver, in control of where we go in our lives. In my real-life experiences, my Divine Driver has never abandoned me. I must be able to trust my driver at all costs.
Who is the driver that takes you where you need to go and guides you through rough waters? Do you trust your driver?
Be Prepared. My cousin taught me all he could about knee boarding. There was no guarantee that the experience would be without flaw, but I was well prepared. In spite of how prepared I was, or thought I was, there were unexpected things that happened, triggering a wipeout.
Are you prepared for your journey? What do you still need to do to get prepared?
Let Go of the Rope. Now don’t get me wrong. I am not saying here that we should give up. All I am saying is that it does not matter how big or tight the knot that we tie is, we can only hold on so long before our human strength gives out. The very rope that had once allowed me to glide upon the water was killing me; dragging me under. For some of us, social drinking that allows us to keep moving through the ranks of the community or corporation can soon become the alcoholism that drags us under. For others, flirting with co-workers or other people within the community makes us so much fun to be around. It is not until the flirting leads to an affair that we realize how it was dragging us down all along. If we let go of the ropes that drag us under, an amazing thing happens.
What ropes do you need to let go of? What ropes do you need to grab hold of?
Always Wear a Lifejacket. Once I let go of the rope, my lifejacket took me to the surface for air. For me, this lifejacket is the faith that I have in the Divine. For others, the lifejacket may be a group of friends who are always available for each other. My mother is a member of such a group of friends. They are a threesome that calls themselves “The Sisty Uglers.” They have carried each other through terrible times and are each other’s lifejacket that they can depend upon. No matter what your orientation or preference, it is crucial for you to have a lifejacket because there will surely be times when you cannot maintain your hold on the rope and have to let go. Without the lifejacket, you fall, or sink. With the lifejacket, you are lifted up.
“If we let go of the ropes that drag us under, an amazing thing happens.”
You may be thinking, “Sure Donovan, that’s fine. I’ll just hold on to my rope by myself, thanks anyway.” My question of caution to you is this: how deep are you willing to let the rope drag you before you let go? Echo Lake is about 90 feet deep. The ski rope could have allowed me to go down 50 feet. That’s a long way to go down and come up without a breath of air. I would have either drowned, or the depth could have seriously shocked my system.
Spotters, drivers, instructors, lifejackets: these are all words that describe help, care, and nurture. A rope is also something that can be a lifeline. However, I challenge you to be careful that the rope you confide in is not the same rope that drags you down.
This article is dedicated to Wayne David Mutschler (1940-2021), husband, father, grandfather, uncle, cousin, good friend, and one heck of a boat driver. Thank you for teaching us so much about living life to the fullest.
Donovan Mutschler, MA
For more information on the content or processes included in this article contact Donovan Mutschler at donovan@edgewalkers.ca.
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