Looking upstream at Burnt Hill. The Main Southwest Miramichi enters left, Burnthill Stream centre right.
Guagus
Paddles clenched in anxious grip,
You've been here before.
A thin black line before you slip
into the rapid's roar.
Looking upstream at Burnt Hill. The Main Southwest Miramichi enters left, Burnthill Stream centre right. |
Glide up to the threshold,
Cross the eddy line.
Feel the river's power unfold
as boat and stream entwine.
Knees braced against the
tumblehome,
Neck craned to spy the spot.
Graze the granite, ride the foam,
line up for the slot.
Climb the pulsing haystack,
Skirt the gaping hole.
Keep it on an even track,
don't give up control.
Rocks rear up from nowhere
Right before your eyes.
Use your paddle, keep her straight,
or surely you'll capsize.
Part the waves and pass them by,
Glide into the pool.
Thrust your paddle to the sky,
you are the man, you rule.
Again you cheat the river gods,
Slip through rock garden's gates.
Prepare anew to brave the odds,
ahead, the next one waits.
Nanook of the Nashwaak
Reach out and touch a rock
