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CONTENTS
HOT
SPOTS
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Rafting Is Not A Spectator Sport
by Lisa
Hofmann
photos by Allison Waltz
 Rich Bebb digs his paddle into the water to battle the ruching rapid. |
Charlie's Washing Machine
We paddle over to calmer waters near the bank to reconvene with other rafts and guides. I'm glad for the respite. Already my arms feel the tax of plowing through the rapids. We deposit our acquired passenger with her original crew. The guides deliver lost paddles to their owners. They explain how to maneuver through the next set of rapids, Charlie's Washing Machine.
"Let's go first," Becky says. "I don't like being behind everybody."
It's true. If you are following another raft and they get stuck, you have to encounter both them and the rapids.
We pull out in the lead. This time we're in control. We reach the rapid at the correct angle, but the clash of our raft against the rocks still makes our trip turbulent.
As our raft slams over the rapid, a crest of foam engulfs our boat. It snaps my head back, and water fills my nostrils. The force of the water pushes me into the center of the boat, which I appreciate much more than being tossed into the river.
"Whoa," I exclaim as the swells diminish. Lauren shares my sentiments because she fell into the boat, too.
We let the river carry us down to a calmer section of water, dipping our paddles in whenever we drift too far to the left or right.
"Do you want me to tell you a little about the river?" Becky asks.
She points out the V-shape the current takes through the rock formations. We want to follow through the point of the V when we're going down a rapid. It makes the ride smoother. Becky also explains eddies, which are currents running contrary to the current of the river. They're created by rock obstructions.
"Sometimes you'll get a whole section of water running upstream," Rich adds.
Welcome Rations
After negotiating a few more rapids, we break for lunch on the bank. Standing up feels strange after sitting in a raft with my feet tensely tucked in for two hours. I feel gross in my sweaty life jacket, and my pants are nearly falling down with the weight of saturation.
Rich had told us about lunch on the river in the van.
"You're so hungry that the peanut butter and jelly sandwich tastes so good you're like, 'Damn! Where'd they'd get this?'" he said.
He was right. There's no peanut butter, but there is turkey on squishy, white bread. And it never satisfied my appetite so well.
Twenty minutes later we are back in the boat, switching sides so we can alternate arm muscles. Not that it matters because all of my muscles are pretty much spent.