With the trip on a timeline and the river level down about eight inches, we made the decision to send it and run the last five river miles before the confluence. Since our friend Justin was scheduled to come meet us midday to help us shuttle up to the start of the West Branch, we figured the safest way to get to Hancock was to leave the bulk of our gear in the car and run the still-flooded waters with just ourselves and an emergency change of clothes in a dry bag strapped to the thwart. Once we hit Hancock, Justin could bring us back to the car and the rest of our gear.
The current looked slower than it had been the previous day, but as soon as we launched we realized we were in for a wild ride and decided we were happy to be wearing life jackets. We did very little actual paddling; I perched white-knuckled in the bow scanning for any indication that a boat-flipping boulder or log might be ahead of us in the muddy surge, and Steve ruddered cautiously in the stern.
Everything went smoothly until we were in sight of Hancock when we came around a bend and confronted a quarter-mile stretch of three- and four-foot-tall standing waves. Steve steered admirably while I hollered out boulder locations and tried to convince myself I wasn’t scared shitless. I was soaked to the bone about ten seconds in (Steve remained suspiciously dry), but despite the amount of water we took on we stayed upright and coasted to shore as soon as we were through the rapids so we could bail out the boat. I like to think that I came across as nonplussed and completely comfortable with the fact that I had just been spat out of the largest waves I’d ever run in a canoe. I picked some mud out of my teeth and poured the water out of my pockets and tried to play it cool. Steve seemed pretty unfazed; you’d have to ask him if I looked like something other than a half-drowned river rat.
As we rounded the last bend into Hancock the sun burst through the clouds and with the chanting of angels ringing in our ears we barreled into the pullout at the confluence of the East and West Branches- our paddles’ first taste of the Delaware proper.
We walked into town and straight to the library (I left a trail of muddy water droplets behind me for the first mile), established that Justin was en route to meet us, stuffed ourselves with diner food, acquired a FUDR sticker, and then parked ourselves at Honest Eddie’s Bar at the Hancock House hotel to see how many $3 Yuenglings we could finish before our ride arrived. (Three each.)
Justin tore into town with nearly as much force as the river, shuttled us back to Latoya, and then we all returned to the parking lot at the confluence to set up camp with a 30 rack of Miller Lite. Steve and I rejoiced that all our dry items had been safely stowed in the car all day when the temperature dipped below freezing… and kept going. The angry geese and the bald eagle across the river must have envied us our snug tent as it sank into the 20’s. Steve mocked me for wondering if the nearby flock of ducks was warm enough.