A Dam Release Helped Me Recover from a Backcountry Injury Part II

I’ve been kayaking and instructing for ten years and competing on Class V runs for the last five. After a broken ankle and a traumatic injury of my osborne ligament and ulnar nerve sidelined me from kayaking last year, I went through a pretty dark period of my life. It forced me to come face to face with how much self worth I’d attached to kayaking and other outdoor activities. The injury was the easy part; the challenge was what came next.

It didn’t help that 2019 was a rough year in other ways. On top of that, not being able to move in the way I wanted led me into a dark place. I ended up drinking too much and going for long rambling walks around my neighborhood until my ankle hurt so bad that I’d have to take a bus or uber home. 

I felt like I was in a low place and knew that I didn't want to dig any deeper. After talking with friends, I decided that it was time to get back on the water. I needed to regain my physical strength to the best of my ability. My arm had healed enough, at that point, that I could kayak for a few hours without pain. So I did.

Navigating a ledge on the South Branch, Middle Fork, Feather River. Photo credit: Scott Woodhouse

I rallied to the Chelan Gorge in eastern Washington state, a Class V-V+ run created by a carefully negotiated dam release. Dam releases are highly anticipated events that involve agreements between a local municipality or hydro electric company and a local or national paddling advocacy group, such as American Whitewater. They allow dewatered sections of river to come back to life for a specific time frame each season. The Chelan Gorge is one of the few releases of its kind in the Pacific Northwest. After a year of historically low water levels, Class V boaters in the region were looking forward to the dam release and one last hurrah before shuttering our boats for the season.

I hadn’t paddled in months, but I knew I needed this for my emotional and physical well-being. I also was confident that I could do it safely. I could walk any rapid I didn’t want to run and I was familiar with the lines if I wanted to push myself. 

Photo credit: Faith E. Briggs

I ended up running everything the first day. Then, on the second day, I was unable to right my kayak after it inverted close to the entrance of a Class V+ rapid. I ended up swimming to shore while the safety crew helped me retrieve my gear. Afterwards, I shouldered my kayak and walked around the rapid. On the one hand, it was amazing to be back in the seat of my kayak, solving simple but pressing problems in front of me. On the other hand, I was acutely aware that my body and mind weren’t exactly operating at a Class V level—and that was okay. There was work to be done and it was motivating.

“They’ve also helped me to redefine my self-worth—because I can do a lot of things that have nothing to do with kayaking, running, or fitness—like be a better partner and friend and focus on my goals off the water. ”

— Adam Edwards

I went home excited and began planning how I could take a more active role in my recovery. So how does one get back into Class V shape after months off following a severe injury?

Well, by rebuilding yourself from the inside out. I quit smoking, a habit that a few of us had picked up in remembrance of a dear friend who had a penchant for Winston cigarettes. I curbed my drinking and I started cutting things out of my diet that weren’t making me feel good.

Photo credit: Elijah Burton

I focused on finding positive reinforcement in my day to day. I rekindled my love of surfing and I rode my bicycle as much as possible; taking long rides on the days when I would’ve been paddling pre-injury. I began writing again.

The biggest blow to my kayaker ego was backing out of my third trip to the Green Race, a well-known kayaking competition in Asheville, NC. I knew I couldn’t perform as well as I wanted to and the Narrows are not a place to be nervous about an elbow and still try to put a fast race time down. That was a hard one. I’d finished the race in just under 5 minutes the year prior and was excited to try and improve on that time. The competition could wait; I still had a lot of self-work to do.

After changing my diet, I started going back to the gym. My partner—an avid runner and my main training companion, gave me a Garmin smart watch. That allowed me to nerd out by tracking my heart rate and exertion. Her gift also motivated me to begin running most mornings. 

Those 4:30am gym mornings in November weren’t an inspirational #dawnpatrol montage. I ran slowly on the treadmill for hours because it seemed safer than re-injuring my ankle in a pre-dawn jog around my neighborhood. My goal was strengthening but I had to balance that with the requirement that I be able to perform manual labor for 6-8 hrs at work. So I slowly worked my way up towards my goals. I ran 2 miles a day for as many days as that distance felt right—then 3, then 4 then 5 miles. 

I started doing body weight exercises again as well—slowly progressing through pushups, lunges, planks and squats while limiting myself to movements that felt right. Working within my limits helped me gain better self awareness by actually listening to my body: what hurt, what felt okay, what I could push just a little further without injury.

My recovery isn’t over. So far, it has been a learning process and a challenge. While my injuries, both physical and emotional, have slowed me down they haven’t stopped me. They’ve forced me to find new ways to get enjoyment and meaning from life. They’ve also helped me to redefine my self-worth—because I can do a lot of things that have nothing to do with kayaking, running, or fitness—like be a better partner and friend and focus on my goals off the water. For now, I’m working on setting new goals for myself that are fulfilling and that will hopefully keep me from falling back into self pity and loathing. But if that happens, that’s ok too, because I now know there is a way up and out.

This is the second article in a two-part series. You can read the first article here.