(According to our rafting guides, this is how all good rafting stories begin.
I was ten at the time, so it really stuck with me.)
No shit, there I was. A ten-foot waterfall looming ahead of us and the guide at the back of the boat yelling, “Pull right! Pull right!”
My father and I had decided to be in the paddle boat that day. That’s the one boat on our guided raft trip that was paddled by guests along with one guide at the back. I chose to be in that boat most days because you got a lot wetter, and to my ten-year-old sense of adventure it was a lot more fun. At that particular moment, it was a lot more frightening.
We were attempting to aim for the right of the big hole where the wave was a bit smaller. That would let us run the rapid without flipping the boat. Unfortunately, we missed. We managed not to flip the boat over. However, the boat managed a superb beavertail that flung out more than half of its occupants, my father included. Left in the boat: two ten-year-old girls, one dentist and the guide.
“High side, high side, high side!” The guide yelled at us from behind as I watched my father disappear under water. Well, I won’t say I wasn’t scared — I think I started crying for my dad — but I did have myself under enough control to do as the guide said and put all my ten-year-old weight onto the side of the raft that was getting pushed upwards by the hole we were in which was the side that would have caused us to flip.
Someone handed me a paddle, I think it was the dentist.
“Pull HARD!” We pulled hard.
As the guide shouted, I witnessed my second family member go under water. My brother, who was in a kayak behind us and couldn’t see over the waterfall, plunged directly underneath our boat. His kayak popped up a few seconds later on the other side of the hole we were trapped in, but I never saw my brother pop up.
“Keep pulling!” We kept pulling.
I’m really not too clear on the details of what happened next. My mind was frantically considering all of the horrors of having just witnessed my brother and father disappear into a fast moving river, and my eyes were blocked by tears and spray from the rapids. But a very loud voice was shouting directions, and I was following them with all my ten-year-old might.
“Paddle forward!” We paddled forward.
Somehow, two ten-year-old girls and a dentist managed to pull out of that hole. In retrospect, it might have had something to do with the bear-sized guide at the back of the raft.
After we were clear of the rapid, we pulled into the nearest eddy, and the guide took stock of who and what was missing. As soon as we were close to land, I leapt from the raft and began running towards the line of rafts that was stationed down river to pick up anyone who had been jettisoned out of our boat or the kayaks.
Convinced that my brother and father were dead, I ran shouting at the other rafts trying to find out if they were still alive. Half way there, I was stopped by one of the other rafters.
“They’re okay, Lee. I just saw them pull your dad out of the water. He’s fine.”
“But my brother! My brother went UNDER our raft, and I never saw him pop up. Where is he?”
“I haven’t seen him yet, but I’m sure he’s fine. They said they’ve got everyone.”
I didn’t listen. I just ran to the line of rafts. I saw my dad. Totally soaked, but he was alive, and he seemed to be laughing at something someone was saying. I scanned, and I scanned. My heart constricted horribly as after the first pan I didn’t see my brother. I panned again. Finally, I saw my brother being dragged out of the water by a couple of the guides and a guest. He had apparently taken some extra man power since he was tall, somewhat muscular, and very wet. But he, too, was alive and seemed to be uninjured. Finally, I could breathe.
As soon as we made camp that afternoon, we set up a tent and passed around hot cocoa for all those who had been involved in our little “adventure.” We discussed it as a learning experience — which was good. We laughed and joked about faces people had made when going over, going under and being left behind. We talked about what we did wrong to end up in that situation anyway and we shared other stories about other adventures from different times. That was when we learned that all great river stories start with “No shit, there I was.” Something I will NEVER forget.