Respect the River

             My Scouting troop decided to kayak the Colorado River one year. My friend, Nate, and I were the third kayak of the group floating down the river. Neither Nate nor I had any experience kayaking, but my troop leader had wisely selected a section of the river that was relatively easy to maneuver and we picked up the basics quickly. For most of the adventure Nate sat inside the kayak like one is supposed to, whereas I sat on top of the kayak with my feet in the seat opening. It freaked me out to think that if the kayak turned over, I might have difficulty getting out.

The only part of the trip I even remember was the most dangerous: a hairpin turn against a cliff wall. There wasn’t any gradual curve to the water at all; the water on the north side of the hairpin ran straight into the rock wall, and the water on the south side flowed away from it. The first kayak neatly entered the south side before ever approaching the wall, effectively turning the kayak using the water instead of paddles. The second kayak was too far north to be able to use the south side’s current, and the two Scouts inside it were clearly headed for disaster as the kayak shot directly toward the unforgiving stone face of the cliff. At the last second the Scout in the front seat of the kayak jumped out of the opening onto the front of the kayak and stuck his arms out in front of him as a sort of bumper. There was a smacking sound as his hands met the cliff, and then he sort of just fell back into the water. I was certain that his arms were broken after the impact, but the kayak was saved. The Scout miraculously popped out of the water unscathed, climbed back in the kayak, and continued down the river.

Now it was Nate’s and my turn. We were so fascinated by the spectacle of the previous kayak that we hadn’t steered toward the south current. Paddling like mad we somehow managed to turn the boat diagonally and entered the opposite current. With our boat caught halfway between both currents and me sitting on top of the kayak, which threw off our weight and balance, it didn’t take much for the kayak to flip. The watercraft easily dumped me into the river, and when I surfaced Nate was nowhere to be seen. The kayak’s bottom was clearly visible, but Nate was obviously still buttoned into his kayak seat, because seconds passed without any sign of him. I swam as hard as I could and reached the kayak, attempting to turn it back over, but it was too unwieldy. I was about to dive under to help Nate out of the harrowing situation when his face finally appeared, gasping for air. I’m sure his heart was pounding just as hard as mine in that moment.

I may be wary of murky lake water, but I’m afraid of river water for completely different reasons. The shallowness of many rivers doesn’t allow giant water monsters to hide very well, but the lack of depth is precisely what makes the rivers frightening. Rocks and logs could be hiding mere inches under the roiling surface of a swiftly moving river and present a much more realistic menace than any 20-foot sea serpent. Dangerous currents also contribute to my overall fear of fast-flowing water. Rivers are full of unpredictable current systems, some of which can literally suck you down to the river bottom and hold you there. I’ve learned over the years that a river should be revered and respected, especially if I want to live to enjoy another tubing or rafting trip. Always take a life jacket and be physically prepared when taking on one of nature’s most merciless embodiments: the raging river.