Whirlpools

It was another day of summer. Neither my best friend Chuck nor I had the responsibility of having a job yet because these were the lazy days of middle school. The best a boy our age could do for money was mow lawns, and next to thinking about girls, the thought of mowing made our skins crawl. Our goal was to hold off on having jobs for as many years as possible.

Our adventure today was to ride our bikes to Whatcom Falls Park to jump in the whirlpools. This was no small ride either. From our houses, it was at least six miles one way on one-speed bikes. Chuck’s bike was a newer Schwinn and mine was a feral Frankenstein’s-monster, made from three bikes dug up from the graveyard. It wasn’t pretty.

Of course, every trip into Bellingham required that we pass by the Pazaski house which had an elevated parking pad above their driveway. This was the parking pad we would jump off on our bikes into the Pazaski driveway below, each time going for a World record distance. It was also the pad which Chuck jumped from the previous year and snapped his pedals off the bike on the landing. Since that jump, he had wrapped the bike center bar with mattress foam telling me that no World record was worth the three months he spoke in the soprano range.

There are two parks in our area which I consider to be wonderfully beautiful: Washington Park in Anacortes and Whatcom Falls.

Washington Park is my go-to park if I want to enjoy the sunshine and the sea water. The park has a one-lane road and trails out to vista views of the San Juan Islands to watch whales and fishing boats. This always de-stresses me. It is a very popular park for walkers.

Whatcom Falls Park is a beautiful park in its own way. Trails follow Whatcom Creek that flows out of Lake Whatcom. The creek is stocked with trout from a hatchery in the park. During migration season, the slow-moving waters of the creek are filled with ducks and geese. You walk beneath towering fir trees and alongside ferns and huckleberry bushes. The creek bottom is covered with moss covered sandstone boulders, rounded from years of being battered by water gushing through the canyons which has been released to lower the water level of the lake. The steep drop in elevation from the park to the bay miles away has formed falls and pools as the creek has cut its way through the sandstone hillside.

Chuck and I stashed our bikes in the brush next to the trails heading to the whirlpools.

“I think I should have brought a chain and a lock for my bike,” I said to Chuck. “I’m worried someone might steal it.”

“Really?” he asked. “I think there is a good chance that you could put a ‘Free bike’ sign on it and it would still be lying here in a month.”

My feral bike growled a little bit.

The first stop at the park was the flume. This was water which I believe was exiting the hatchery fishponds. The water flowed with high volume down what was Bellingham’s only waterside at the time. This was long before the park management had placed a barrier at the top and bottom of the flume to discourage kids from sliding down it. There was a heavy flow of water racing down the concrete slide that day. We looked at the pool that the flume entered. Under the rolling whitewater there appeared that there could be some large rocks scattered across the gravel bottom of the creek.

“Why aren’t there any other kids sliding down the flume?” I asked.

“It takes a brave man to ride to the bottom. A brave man,” Chuck replied.

“Yeah, well there has to be some reason that no one else is sliding on it. The water is coming down too fast. I’m not doing it,” I said, trying to show my logic and not my fear.

“I’m going to try it at least once. Watch how the pros do it.” Chuck stepped into the top of the flume, water spraying off his legs. He squatted down with his rear end inches above the flow.

“I’m going on three, old boy! One, two, threeeee…”

The volume of water hitting him in the back, shot Chuck down the flume. He tried to stay in a seated position, but the water pushed him onto his back, his feet flailing in the air. He was either yelling, “Yeow, wow, or ow,” I couldn’t tell. Finally, at the bottom of the flume, he skipped out into the pool and bounced into the air from doing a fanny dance off a large rock in the gravel.

“Cripes, that hurts.” He slowly stood up holding his rear end. The exposed concrete had not only torn up the back of his cutoffs, but it had also given him a nice road rash on his back and shoulders. “My butt is killing me,” he groaned as he hobbled back to the creek bank.

I must admit, I thought the day was over after that exhibition of hydro power. Little did I know that the exhibition was just getting started.

Our next stop was at what the locals call, The Whirlpool. This was the late 1960s, the beginning of the hippie years. One of the exciting things about going to the Whirlpool was that the hippies went skinny dipping there. Walking the long trail down from the flume to the Whirlpool was a lot like deer hunting, we crept silently, not making a sound lest we spook the skinny dippers. Nothing is more disappointing than accidentally spooking and flushing a flock of skinny dippers from the water. Most of them didn’t care. They just waved as we walked by.

The Whirlpool was packed with kids. Many were jumping from the rock walls on both sides of the creek which was flowing off a waterfall into the large pool below.

As Chuck hobbled to the pool edge, I heard comments such as, “Dude. Crash your bike? That’s a rad rash on your back and your cutoffs are torn up in the back.” He only nodded as he sat down on a log.

“I’m going to go behind the waterfall,” I said to Chuck who by this time could care less.

I swam out into the pool, watching to avoid the cliff jumpers. Once I was at the cliff face next to the falls, I looked over at Chuck and gave him a thumbs up. I then slid behind the falls.

I’m sure that most of my readers have never been on the back side of a waterfall before. The noise of the falling water roars as it hits the pool. The sunlight coming through the water causes the light to flicker. Depending on how much volume of water is coming over the falls, you may have up to a foot and a half of air space between the rock wall and the falls.

Now, I am not making light of this because I know that families have lost children in the falls at this park. Most of us don’t understand the hydraulic power of a waterfall.

I stood with my back against the wall, the falls roaring in front of my face, and I decided to dive into the waterfall and out into the pool. Pushing off from the wall, I dove into the falls. The force of the falls pushed me to the bottom of the pool, and it held me there. Truthfully, there was absolutely nothing I could do to get away from the falls.

“I’m going to drown.” This was the reality. I didn’t panic. I didn’t exhale my air. I just lay on my stomach on the bottom of the pool held by the waterfall with my eyes closed waiting to drown.

And then, the water started pushing me away from the falls (Or was it the water?) I don’t know how far I drifted, but I was able to kick back up to the surface.

Climbing out of the pool, I sat down on the log next to Chuck.

“I’m done,” I said.

“Me too,” he groaned. “Let’s go home.”

The ride home was much more painful for Chuck. He took the foam off his center bar and wrapped it around his bike seat, but he still seemed to sit in what appeared to be an awkward position as he pedaled home.

I must have taken in some water because the movement of pedaling made me belch uncontrollably.

Nowadays at Whatcom Falls Park, there are barricades to prevent dare devil boys from sliding down the flume. There are also plenty of signs put up at the Whirlpool by the parks department warning just how dangerous this fun summertime activity can be.

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