There’s this feeling you get when you’re out on the river, gliding through a channel you’ve paddled a hundred times. It’s comforting. You know the bends, you know where the log jams are, and you can practically predict where the heron will be fishing. You feel completely in control.
But the truth is, the river is always in charge.
A few months ago, after a sudden heavy rain, the water levels dropped back down almost as fast as they rose, but they left behind a mess. One of my favorite, most reliable creeks was totally blocked by a massive, freshly fallen cypress. I knew the trip for that day was a bust if we couldn’t pass.
I could’ve turned back. I could’ve just called it a day and rescheduled the tour. But something in me—that urge to conquer new adventures—said, “Let’s see where this forces us to go.”
We found a tiny, overgrown tributary, barely a trickle in the summer, now swollen and open. It was a route I’d never considered, a complete detour from the predictable path.
As we paddled in, the whole world changed. The noise of the nearby highway vanished. We were suddenly immersed in a cathedral of green, with tall, silent cypress trees reflecting perfectly in the still water. We saw a pair of Barred Owls perched on a low limb, calmly observing us. Then, we heard the sound: the loud, rhythmic drilling of an ivory-billed woodpecker (or maybe its close cousin, the Pileated—but let a guy dream!). It was a call I’d only heard on old recordings.
It took us three times as long to paddle the unexpected route. We got muddy. We had to push through some thick vines. It was not the “easy” experience I had planned.
But it was, without a doubt, the most memorable trip of the month.
The Lesson of the Log Jam
How many times in life do we hit a “log jam” and try to fight the obstacle, desperate to get back to the familiar channel? We see a career setback, a relationship challenge, or a personal failure, and we try to force our way through the original plan.
The river teaches us that sometimes, the obstacle isn’t a wall—it’s a signpost. It’s the universe saying, “That direction is closed for a reason. Take the detour.“
The path of least resistance is often the one that leads to the greatest discoveries. That narrow, unexpected tributary showed me a deeper part of the ecosystem I’d never known. It was more challenging, but the reward—that rare, intimate connection with the wild—was priceless.
The next time your plans are blocked, don’t turn around. Look for the small, unexpected opening. Look for the detour. That’s where the best stories, and the deepest connections to your own strength, are waiting.
Are you ready to embrace the detour? Join me on the water and let’s find a story together.