The River Wild - part deux

By the time we reached camp I had a raging sunburn and a bee sting. Don't feel too bad for me though - one member of our group pulled in with a dislocated shoulder. But don't feel too bad for him either, he was fooling around on the boats while going down the rapids. Silly guy.

That night they gave us a big dinner. You had your choice of chicking or steak served with corn on the cob and a potato as big as your head wrapped in four feet of aluminum foil. Now, I don't know about you, but as I get older my eating habits have gotten healthier and more vegetarian. This was meat- and starchapalooza-land. Fortunately, I had a cooler filled with fruit and health food. That's right, while everyone else was chugging beer and chowing on meat I was nibbling on berries and guzzling water.

About that time I really started to notice something. I had expected the rafters to be outdoor enthusiasts and athletes, but when I looked around I noticed this: These people were large - really, really large. In fact, I'd say that out of the 500 rafter/campers I could count the svelte ones on my fingers and toes. Nope, not kidding.

Dinner was followed by more drinking and partying at camp. This meant lots of drunken strangers wandering around and helping themselves to our food. This lot was strangely lacking in social skills.

Later on, there was a raucous outdoor disco/dust fest. But it was past my bedtime. I'm religious about getting up early and that means going to bed early. I put in my earplugs and tried to nod off but they were useless, I heard everything. Even after the music ended I could hear the other campers snoring. I also heard some guy talking in his sleep all night: "Dave!" "C'mon Dave!" "Daaaave!"

Somehow I ended up getting some sleep and was ready to face the new day. We went down the same rapids as the day before and I was even more anxious because I knew what was coming. We let everyone go ahead of us so we wouldn't be caught in the traffic jam again. Only one raft was there, caught in the rocks. Naturally, we rammed right into them and capsized. I swim regularly so I plunged in head first, didn't suck in any air and then buoyed right back up.

What shocked me the most was seeing Jeff in the water as well. I expected him to be sitting in the boat so he could rescue me and instead he was bobbing right beside me. Well, heck. We were okay though. Someone caught our oars and raft and Jeff rescued my hat. My sunglasses were lost forever though. Fudge.

On our way down we saw two men whose raft had smashed against some rocks and popped. They clung to the rock helplessly and we could do nothing to assist them. Just before we reached the end another pair were thrown out of their raft. The girl was clinging to some rocks and was apparently having a panic attack. She could have floated to the shore easily but she was in full freak out mode. Her boyfriend was patiently trying to coax her off the rocks but she looked like she was going to be a while. We stopped and tried to help but there wasn't much we could do.

Jeff and I were caught on the rocks a few times on this trip down but we made it back successfully. But I had been so anxious this second time down that I knew I would never go white water rafting again. I think what it came down to was that the challenge was something I neither craved nor needed. I like being athletic and adventurous but white water rafting is not something you ever really get better at with practice. You can't master it. The only thing that determines whether you swim with the fishies is luck, pure and simple. And I like the allure of mastery and control.

But don't think that I didn't have a good time on this adventure. I laughed, I high-fived, and, most importantly, I yelled giddily at Jeff the whole drive back home: "LEFT! LEFT! LEFT! Okay, now it's a soft right! GO! GO! GO! YESSS!!!"