Deep in the suburbs of Portland, Oregon in July 2020, three friends and I pitched tents on the banks of the Clackamas River. The Clackamas flows off the Columbia River and, at the very point we were camping, creates a natural whirlpool as the river, split in two by a putting-green-sized island, merges and bends. The whirlpool is a trap for the drunkest, most sunburnt, Ozempic candidates the greater Portland area has to offer.
With our campsite set-up and at least one half of one piece of chemically-augmented paper adequately dissolved beneath our tongues, we wandered down to, what we eventually came to learn, was the center of the universe.
Thanks for reading Just a Thought! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
Lying along the river’s rocky beach, we watched with an intense focus (and big smiles!) as these tankini troops, armed with more Busch Light than Sun Bum, continued to get deployed into the most underwhelming battle of their lifetime. (Getting trapped in the whirlpool is essentially just a really slow loop that, if sufficiently drunk, you might not even realize you’re in until you no longer see your corpulent comrades next to you.)
Lucky for these buoyant boys, girls and otherwise, a fellow, local light beer enjoyer/amphibious watchman sits nearby, cosplaying as both lifeguard and drinking buddy for these otherwise-trapped floatersby. We had been given a heads-up by the property-owner that his buddy likes to set up shop down by the river and throw a few cold ones back. He’s no harm, he said. What he didn’t say was that this Nascar David Hasselhoff would change our lives forever.
Lounging underneath an expert-angled soccer tent, with a bucket of beverages of his own, he too was taking in this off-Seaworld production. Every minute or two, some intoxicated creature, trapped in the vortex, would dismount their floatation device and try to brute force (walk, swim, pray) their way against the current. Giggling the sort of giggle that can only be achieved by a well-timed group psychedelic trip, we watched in awe as our new friend slowly revealed himself a mythical-Merlin-type. Nonchalantly and incessantly, from the comforts of his throne, he repeated the same bit of wisdom at the puzzled people attempting to resist the mighty stream.
Don’t fight it!
After each decree, he’d turn to us with some much-welcomed, additional color commentary: “They think they can overpower the river” or “Another one who thinks they’re a stronger swimmer than the current” or “Yup, I’m sure this one will be able to swim their way out.” Possessing the wisdom of the stars and the might of the sea, every once in a while, our sloshed associate would put his beer down and wade into the water to push one of his captured companions along. A tip of the cap, a sip of the can, they’d float on their merry way. Our king.
With each “Don’t fight it!” our loyalty grew stronger. So many people trying to fight it, each coming up just as short as the last. Those that relinquished, who did not fight it, were liberated from the whirlpool’s clutch with ease. Was this life’s great lesson? Don’t fight it? We were gobsmacked. How many currents were we each trying to fight? Where in our lives are we trapped and attempting to swim (or walk!) against the stream? What would it look like to simply not fight it? Is it really that easy? Is surrendering paradoxically the force that pushes us through and on our merry way? Is this what enlightenment feels like?
Confident that we could take on the wrath of Poseidon, along with the added comfort of knowing that the patriarch of our voyage was there to save us if need be, we journeyed out to sea. Rounding this celestial pool at the center of the cosmos like a romp of otters, we did as we would now — and for all of eternity — and did not fight it.
Then, in a twist of fate, one of our fellow otters, having not fought a little too hard, unintentionally escaped the pool, and found himself floating downstream. He’d be swallowed up by the Pacific in no time! But before the otter could truly panic, our protector rushed into the water (in a remarkable zig-zag fashion!) to shout one final nugget of wisdom: “Sometimes you gotta fight it!!!”
Don’t fight it!* *sometimes you gotta fight it
Thank you for reading Just a Thought. If you enjoyed this story, it would mean a lot to us if you sent it to 3 friends who might like it too.
Joel Tudor excels at a lot of the things I want to be good at: He’s in the conversation for most stylish longboard ever; he’s won multiple jiu jitsu championships; and he’s not afraid to speak his mind. Part of what draws me to Tudor’s surfing is the amount of time he’s put into riding waves in New York. Tudor has been putting time in on Long Island for decades, and that experience shows aplenty in this video where he makes the most of the early New York hurricane swell. — Justin
I’ve lived in New York City for 24 years and still have very little clue about where the boundary lines are for the Carroll Gardens, Cobble, Hill, and Boerum Hill neighborhoods. I’ve long wondered whether Williamsburg or Greenpoint could lay claim to McCarren Park. Thanks to this map by the Times, I now have a better idea. —Justin
You may think that November is the worst time to share a Halloween mix, but my neighbors still have pumpkins outside their front doors. This might actually be the first spooky mix that is not only not cheesy, but actually great! I do wonder if you played this at a dinner party if anyone would realize it’s a Halloween mix. Give it a go and let me know, please. [Soundcloud Link] —Andrew
One final note here. I’ve been really stuck, struggling to write anything I thought was half-decent. I spent weeks on a piece that got less coherent with each session. Feeling like I was letting Justin and myself down, I went to him for some advice and he nailed it. —Andrew
Thanks for reading Just a Thought! Subscribe for free to receive new posts.
