Many Oysters, No Pearls 16.02.2012

Like a thunderous swarm of bees, the rescue chopper, its rotor blades severing the silence of the tranquil valley, blistering the misty morning air it needs.  the river's skin broken by the vibrating down draft and the slick edge of the synchronised paddlers blades. the piercing canoe, leaving a trail in its wake. Spectators littering the hillside and the breaching bridges, supporting, seconding, assisting. Camera men sit precariously on slippery rocks hunting the drammatic shot. A murky mist rises from the saddle to reveal a frothy chocolate-milk whipping river that cuts a wound through the body of the Pietermaritzburg landscape leaving a cavernous valley of emerald greens and dusty soiled reds. the terraced land a formal geometry in an organic setting. the cliffs dotted in pastel painted houses, roofed in corrugated sheeting.

This is the drammatic setting.This is the Dusi Canoe Marathon

the Pope-ellis’ farm. here we bunkered in. the farm house bursting with seconders, supporters, former champions, current champions, olympians and runners.

from here we would sling shot our way to the race and back. this was our respite.

 

The 3 day gruelling challenge is set into motion as the cannon blasts 'Maritzburg to notice.

Suddenly the quiet landscape, trade and local football is interrupted by the hum of paddlers. the freedom of the ‘city’ is theirs. 

Guts clad in iron, our canoeists, Shaun Ruby, with a heart the size of a coconut pumping oxygenated blood like a texan oil rig, his upper body, powerful, built strong as a turbine,commands. He knows this river, he understands it's undulations, it's ripple, it's rocks. He's the driver, powering, captaining the canoe, guiding it through it's easiest path. the river is ebbing, it's flowing, it's dynamic, Ruby knows it.

Steve F,an elongated skeletal structure, braced in tensile iron muscles, taut, to take him from 0-100 in 3 seconds. zero percent body fat but for the Gu he digests. he co-pilots, the terrestrial wingman, he is grounded and will catapult the pairing along the portages.

the seconding team, punching way above their weight category were my family for the weekend. 

oom Terry Ruby, a ball of magic putty hatched from a plastic egg bouncing off the walls, thinking, strategising

Mama Ruby, a supportive rock, outside she looks calm, inside she's chopped liver, thoughts and dinner ideas. she's the guide ropes, anchoring the buoyant Ruby's

Ced ruby. so passioned, a grenadilla squirms.he knows and he wears Shaun on his sleeve. and Rudy, he's paddled this river, he's the cutman you want in your ring.

the Kwazulu Natal heat exhausts the land. evaporating, desiccating
Pre-race day prep. we arm our paddlers with water bottles, ice cubes and drip bags. coca cola dilute,energy mix and gobby goo their fuel. the whole nine yards, we're packing their heat, their bullets of energy.

Careering down to the dam, our red Ford double cab, a projectile. puncturing interception points along the race route. It's a race for positions to refuel the athletes. 

Post race day and we check the boat for scars, for gashes from the days brutal onslaught. our gladiators are ready for another days sun rise, another days ebb and flow.

Ernie Pearce Weir, i'm tweeting and the lads are unseen, Mussons for a good view and, Cabbage Tree Portage with only but seconds to cool and hydrate Team Ruby

Marianni Foley, and they dip under the bridge. they hold 6th, cementing it. The Blue Lagoon and they're on the payroll.

the Dusi is 3 days of gruelling punishment, of muscle rupturing pain and endurance.
it's rapidly gushing volatile water, this you cannot bottle.

i rung out my sweaty socks, and a portion of the river gushed on the floor, my sneakers soggy as a marie, i left them out to dry on the patio. the dry stain lingered.

my day to steer will come