Let’s just say the day began with the discovery of a tick in an incredibly unfortunate place and leave it at that.
We made the decision to scout out some of the more severe Class II+ rapids before running them, but then… managed to paddle through them before realizing what had happened. Apparently high water will really minimize those five foot standing waves.
High water will not, however, do much for submerged ledges beyond making them absolutely invisible from upstream. Noting whitewater crests on each side of the river, Steve steered us toward a glassy patch dead center of the Staircase Rift. Not seeing anything amiss, I calmly paddled forward… until I realized that the calm spot was the top of a substantial drop off a limestone ridge. The height obscured the roiling water below, and by the time I realized was happening there was nothing to be done but scream “BIG DROP! BIG! IT’S REALLY BIG!” in Steve’s direction and hope for the best.
As the front of the boat plunged downward, I heard Steve cackling like a madman. For a few moments the entire bow was underwater. I was half convinced that the rest of the boat going to flip on end directly on top of me and the last words I would ever hear would be Steve screaming “THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!!”
Amazingly, the canoe remained upright and we leveled out below the rift. There were more than a few gallons of water in the boat. Most of them got thrown in Steve’s general direction as I bailed. Fortunately it had warmed up to a temperature befitting mid-May and the dousing did little to our spirits.
We pulled in for the evening at a lovely beachfront park in Milford, PA. We figured the best way to cap a sunny (and soggy) day on the river was with diner food, some cold beers, and a recharge for the few electronic items we had that still functioned. I attempted to take a photo of our diner meal for Instagram, but in the mere moments it took me to pull out my phone after the waiter set down the tray Steve had cleared the plate.
After we set up camp for the night, we realized we were sharing the (mostly) abandoned park with a very odd gentleman who rolled in on a bicycle and claimed he owned the bulk of the county. According to his story, he was embroiled in a massive legal battle with the state to get his land back, and we were totally welcome to camp in the park because technically he owned it all. Maybe we met some Pennsylvanian royalty. Who can say? Steve thought he was funny and weird, and I agreed; however, as a female who routinely travels alone, I couldn’t shake the “I’m not super comfortable sleeping in this guy’s immediate vicinity” feeling and startled awake at every rustling noise outside our tent. After a few friendly jabs (“Are you sleeping in your sports bra in case you have to get up and kick that guy’s ass?) Steve eventually conceded that some of us are right to be cautious around strangers since not everyone is blessed with being a 6’4” male with a huge beard.