Canoe Tales (Part 3)

So there I was...canoeing the North Fork River with Kim in the bow and me in the stern.  It was a chilly March day and the water temperature was numbingly cold.  We were coming to the end of our trip at a location called Dawt Mill.  This mill, now more like a general store, was established in 1866 and serviced farmers who came from far and wide to get their grain ground and their cotton ginned.  To create the water power needed to do this, there was a dam built across the river.  Over the years a small section on the top of the dam had deteriorated and a few brave souls would attempt to go over the dam with their canoes dropping the 6-8 feet in to the bubbling water below.  It was called, "Shooting the Dawt Mill Dam".  As we approached the area to pull the canoe out a sudden shot of testosterone entered my blood stream and the call of the Dawt Mill Dam was overpowering.  I changed course and picked up speed generating a serious look of concern from Kim but she knew it was inevitable so she started paddling faster.  Approaching the deteriorated section, I aimed for the center and Kim was soon suspended in mid air as my section of the canoe was about to clear the top of the dam.  Then it happened.  We came to an abrupt halt when the skeg of the canoe went hard aground on the cement dam and in slow motion started to tip over due to the force of the rushing water.  Our bodies and all of the gear we had in the canoe were dumped together at the base of the dam like laundry in a wash tub.  The water was shockingly cold and I saw Kim floating downstream unhurt so I started to swim for the canoe and all our belongings.  After getting everything to shore, I went looking for Kim and found her wearing some guys shirt who plucked her out of the river sitting next to a potbelly stove in the Dawt Mill store, still shivering.  I went back outside and pulled the canoe above the dam to try it again by myself this time.  Same thing happened.  Darned testosterone.