Day
7 Rapids
Mona, Ardis and I
stay with the boats while the gang scouts Horn Creek Rapid -- named for two
large water-cushioned rocks pointing out at the top of a steep drop. There’s a
rocky climb to the lookout and besides, I have to put on my wetsuit and
helmet. Helmets are not required for
rafting the
Jack comes
a-running for his boat. This happens –
the kayakers take a quick scout then blaze down to surf as many waves as
possible before the rafters finish.
But Ardis says, ”Oh-oh, I don’t
like the look of that.” Insightful,
that Ardis.
Clint and Yozzy
flipped. I guess Clint took a
hellacious line – if he was looking to find the limits of his 14’ craft, he did
just fine. Here’s the photo sequence
from left to right: the beginning, the raft upside down, and Clint the next
evening taking his penalty shot from a river shoe.
Bill comes back from
scouting downright ashen. He’s a
kayaker and has been driving the big raft for only two miles -- just long
enough to know that it doesn’t handle so well.
He expressed some trepidation scouting the class 10 rapid and the group
tried to figure a way for another captain to walk back up after the run and
take Bill’s boat down in his stead. No
luck – the shoreline is impassable beneath the lookout point. And now Clint, the most qualified oarsman,
has just capsized. Bill’s in the hot
seat. He takes Liz and Mona right over
a horn-rock, I hear, but the 18’ raft pulls them through.
Sandy makes the
run look easy.
I wonder what it
will take to right a fully-loaded 14’ raft.
Unbelievably, the raft is face up when we get there. The combined of strength of three
adrenalin-charged Wilfley men brought it over on the second heave-ho. Thankfully no injuries but all their personal
water bottles, Clint’s favorite sun hat, and 1½ cases of beer are forfeit to
the river.
I spend the
afternoon trying to imagine what it would be like to run the big rapids without
the benefit of a boat. I wish to
practice in a safe environment so I won’t be completely incompetent if I get
tossed in the drink by surprise.
The next thing you
know we’re at Hermit and I’m about to get my wish. This is the rapid Charlie deliberately swam on a previous
trip. I go up to scout. The haystack waves aren’t the legendary 30’
but they’re big enough for me, thank you very much. We’re at mid-to-low water so according to my
map Hermit is only a class 8 instead of its high water rating of class 9.
Here’s Sandy again, making this run look easy,
too.
Its late afternoon
and I am the only swimmer. Charlie
recommends wearing two life jackets, er, personal floatation devices or
PFDs. I keep forgetting to call them
PFDs, preferring the connotations of “life preserver”. The gun-shy manufactures are making it
painfully clear that floatation is all that is promised, any preservation of
life is apparently just a bonus. There are no rocks in this rapid, however, so
floatation should be all I need.
Clint corsets me
in a spare PFD from his boat. When I
complain that it’s too tight to breathe, he says, “Well you don’t want the
river to tear it off, now do you?”
My eyes grow wide
and Clint gives me some last minute coaching. “You
know when to breathe in the rapids? Any
time you can! That means you have to
breathe out whenever you’re underwater so you’ll be ready to take in a quick
breath when you come up. You’ll be
fine!”
Demonstrating more
guts than brains at this point I wade in without hesitation. I backstroke out onto the tongue of the current,
thinking how easy it is to get into the flow.
Well, of course it’s easy! Every
water drop from the snowcapped
I’m sitting back
in rapid-swimmer position but my arms are cold so I hold them up out of the
water. Maybe that has them wondering
on shore because Charlie puts his hand flat on the top of his head. From a distance, a wave is indistinguishable
from a panicked flail or drying ones arms for that matter. Charlie’s deliberate motion is the universal
boater’s signal to show all is well and I interpret it as a question. I give the sign right back and that’s the
last I see of the riverbank.
The first two
haystacks go just fine. Inhale in the
trough; exhale as I punch through under the water. That yellow dot’s me, taking a big deep
breath.
The third wave
gives me a good spin and I neglect to exhale.
When I come up I can’t immediately inhale – gotta blow out first. Already I’m at another wall of water. An avalanche from the snow-capped
I come up
sputtering, flailing, and facing yet another big wave. Frantically backstroking, I make a futile
effort to put it off until I catch my breath.
When I come up
again, I feel quite alone and so very puny.
A corner of my mind knows I must sit tight and conserve energy until I
get to calmer waters, but the flailing part seems to have the upper hand. Just then Jack and Jules circle me in their
kayaks. Angels from heaven! “Help me!” I gasp.
Jules has me grab
the back of his boat and tows me to the far shore. The kayak cuts through the remaining waves
and I glide at ease behind. He tells me
it’s not a free ride – I have to kick.
At least I have practiced this part in the pool. Once I’m standing safe on the rocks, I
realize how close I was to the end of the rapids, how much easier it would have
been if I’d sat still in there, and I want to try it again. Get it right this time. Julian tells me I did just fine.
Jules leaves to
spot the rafters as they come through.
Or maybe he’s going back to surf that big hole again.
I watch the
rafters from my vantage spot. I think
this is Charlie and Ardis.
I didn’t bring my camera
through the rapid, but Jeff did. Here’s
the rafters’ perspective of Hermit.
Click on that third shot. I
believe those far waves are where I fell behind in my breathing but I was too
disoriented to tell you for sure.
We camp at mile
96. The day isn’t done until the boats
are unloaded and dinner is served. My
team is cooking but we’re in luck as the menu calls for clam chowder. Mona does the hard thing making Waldorf salad
and the rest of us just open soup cans.
I pitch my tent
two steps outside the kitchen. I’m too
tuckered to even get up and greet our guests when ring-tailed cats visit the
camp. I’ve been remiss in recording the
wildlife we’ve seen. I’ll try to give a
rundown when we come to a break in the action. Meanwhile, here are the cute Yoda-cats.
