The River.

White-water rafting has always been something in the back of my mind. Call it an interest, call it a yearning, the idea of cold water, paddling, and the thrill of it has been something for which I have a known interest. Until this year, I had no means of participation. The last two or three years I have seen the opportunity yet for financial or other concerns, I just could not make the trip. This year was different, this year it all came together for the first time.

My drive to Colorado Springs was long if uneventful, minus a detour I coasted through and only happily if accidentally ended up completing correctly. My host and hostess, as well as the complex family explained as et. al., were gracious and beneficent. The days I had to rest and relax after the long drive were essential, and offered great strength and a good start to the craft of white-water rafting. Thank you much, if you happen to be reading this.

The first day of rafting started early, though I was awake and ready easily, as were all of our company. A fine breakfast, a few introductions, and a pleasant drive lead us to our outfitters for gearing up, changing, and a bus ride to our let-in point. Our group was too large to fit one boat, so some of us larger men were split off and the rest of our group along with a few people not in our core group were gathered for another raft. We went on two runs of the same area, with lunch and a bus ride back up to our original let-in point, between runs. The runs were fun, and for our two raft, the going was good. Still, one boat capsized and was re-congregated , two were lost from another raft and were re-joined to their crew, and a guide spilled out of yet another craft. In spite of the milder ride, there was much excitement. The water was high, high, fast, dangerous, if fun, even for this lighter venue.

After the day, the 12 of us on the trip (11 or 12?), retired to our mutual host’s and hostess’ abode for dining, cigars, and some drink. Stories were told, fibs might have passed, and much reveling and laughter and thought was passed around. No, not so much a juvenile party as a family gathering, and a joyous one. As time passed, parts of the group parted, and through time the group dwindled to 5 hearty souls for the next days sojourn to heavier waters and more serious concerns therein. As I slept that night, I came to dark foreboding. I did not see death, nor myself, in the premonition, so I said nothing. What was there to say and what would have been done about it? Foolishness, thought I, as I arose and rubbed the sandman’s leavings from my eyes to join the rest for morning's feast.

Though we seemed to have started a bit late, we arrived in time to easily dress and gear out. We stowed what was to be left and boarded the bus for our ride. Today had a more somber note, and I had a bit of that dark feeling remaining, not all of it having gone with the sands of sleep. We spoke as we rode to our place of rafting departure, but in more subdued tones. We all knew pride this day would be folly, even I of the immature nature. When we arrived at the put-in point, our guide went over the rules, survival techniques, and advisories as we had the previous day (though on the previous day I could not hear well due to my lateness in prepping, the crowding, and being around behind the speaker due to the crowding). This day I listened, and intently. Some things stuck with me, held me in their sway, and kept council in my thoughts then on. The water was high and particularly dangerous. This was already a serious run, now more so. If one were to get in the water, getting the feet downriver and head upriver, while lying flat until a better option presented itself or instructions were given was the way to go. If we were to go in the water, keeping our feet off the bottom of the river and out of places where feet might lodge was essential. How to use the paddle as a means of getting or helping another into the boat was discussed. I listened, and closely. Today, I was a bit afraid. There is no reason not to have fear when it is warranted, so long as it does not become overwhelming in itself. I was ready.

Our gear checked, PFDs fitted, and all set, we headed into the water. Instead of a flotilla, today we had only two raft, it was a tighter harder game, and the numbers showed it. The first part of the run was easy. Our guide practiced various paddling instructions, everything from 2 forward, 2 back, 2 left 2 back right, the reverse, left (lean), all left, and as well for right (meaning we either all lean one direction or even all pile into one side of the raft or the other). The breezy part of the ride ended soon enough. A few serious though separated rapids, a couple of 2 to 4 foot waterfalls, and then longer and longer stretches of white-water. I was wearing, but was still doing well enough, we all were.

Porta Vita! You had to be there, some of you were.

The rest comes as my memories exist. I have gathered these from others, myself, and over time, as all of them were not completely and immediately available to me, even a day after the ride. Here it goes.

As we were getting into a serious run after a series of serious but shorter runs, we were called on to paddle 2 forward, then again, 2 forward. The last two rowings made me nervous. I am still unsure if my paddle was merely hitting the river floor or rocks then being twisted by the rush of water, or if merely the rush of water was acting so harshly against my paddle that it was causing me imbalance. However, I knew that there was some kind of problem. The call came for two forward once again, and against my better judgment, I paddled as ordered to the best of my ability. This time, however, the paddle pulled and, trying to keep it, I came unbalanced. My feet were firmly installed in the raft’s stirrups though, and I was sure I would be able to sit up. How hard could that be? But either because of the way the raft was leaning with my weight out, or if the raft was in a spiraling swirl, I will never know which, I could simply not sit up. The physics of the thing was impossible as I was trying. Then a wave of water came over me, and I felt myself leaving the raft!

Fine, I knew it was happening, in time to think about it. I decided when It was completed, I would simply and quickly grab the strap around the raft. Right? No, the raft was gone! It was at least 3 feet out of my grasp and I was underwater in spite of the PDF. Waterboy attempted to send me the t-handle of his paddle, as we had been shown, but I could not see well and both of us seemed to be bobbing in the water at odd angles. Two down, there would be other chances. It was a matter, now, of getting enough air, and doing whatever I could to get up, or out, or onto something, anything. Swish, down the river I went. During this time, I remembered that right before this series of rapids, our guide had said if we fell, we were to try to get to the right as the left was a cliff. I also remember trying to get in the position recommended for safety. At times, when I tried to swirl into that position, my feet hit bottom, and on two or three occasions, my right foot nearly stuck! I have bruises on top of my foot and cuts on my shin which showed how close that was. I knew, as I never could have imagined, how absolutely fatal that would have been. It would have snapped my leg and drowned me like that. I can only assure you, when I felt my foot getting stuck, I kicked hard, fast, furious, and won my freedom and life.

On I went, like in the largest washing machine, lined with boulders, you can imagine. I was smashed against my back, my knee got a couple of really good hits, and though I did not realize it at the time, even my head did get hit hard. Still, I was trying. I finally did make it to that right side. There was slabs of rock, and I got my arms over onto them and sought anything to grab onto, cracks, crevices, deformations, ANYTHING. For 15 to 20 feet, I tried to gain hold. I was sucked down and past and back into the river. Somehow I ended up on the left side of the thing, and trying to right myself into good position, my feet dragged bottom again, and as I yanked my foot free again, I went under. This time, I could feel nothing. I went down and deep. I have heard I was down for 40 or more, they could not see me in the rafts. I surfaced again and again, tried to get to the right. The safety guy, in a kayak with rope handholds on the back of his craft told me to swim to him and grab on. Try as I might, it would not happen. I was so very tired by this time, and the river so potent. He started running into trouble, so he told me to swim back to the raft. I looked back, but could only see the trailing raft. I knew I could not get to that. I got into position and tried to get air and some energy back.

I was afraid. I was alone. But I had not given up. I did need to get energy back, and I was afraid even more so when I realized getting into the boat would be difficult being this tired. Yes, I was afraid. So many lost opportunities, missed chances, and false hopes. Dig, for whatever that even means, dig.

Then I felt it. Someone had grabbed hold of me from behind. He tried to pull me up, but he could not do it. He turned me around, pulled again, and this time I grabbed anything I thought would help and pulled with whatever I had left. The river did not want to let me go, and the struggle was incredible. Finally, spent, I was in the raft, in the back, with my head down in the base of the craft, my body main lying over a couple of the cross-member tubes. I was too exhausted to move, yet we were still in rapids! The water came over the sides and I was once again under water! I was too tired to do anything but look through the water and hope I would not drown right in the raft. After a short, last, series of rapids, we found calm water and pulled to the side, both rafts linking up and over to the shore.

They did an initial check. Then, by nature of medical experience, had me lay still for a good long time. I did fuss, and as I got energy, I forced myself to get my head out of that water pocket, just in case we lost our stop and went through rapids again. They did not understand, and I did not have the energy to explain, so I just did. I explained I have been through enough trauma that I knew what was wrong and that there was nothing seriously injured, just some bumps and bruises, with a few scrapes to add injury to injury. As it turned out, I was correct. After a 15-20 minute stop, some much needed air, and a bit of warming, much to the surprise of most of the party, I went back to a seat where I could help row out the last series of rapids, and then I did so.

One of our crew suggested that the only man he had seen go that far and long and survive had been medivaced, I assume due to broken parts. Another suggested it was something incredible that I lived. Our guide downplayed the thing, though later, when I finally asked if he thought I was coming out alive, he looked at me, looked down, looked back at me and said “No.”, then looked away and never looked my way again.

It seems not many take an unregulated half mile swim in class IV white-waters and come out whole and hale, especially not a 20 year gimp. Perhaps when God got me on the fishing line, he just decided I was not worth keeping, yet. I dunno, but I do know I changed. My libido has been that of a 19 year old (though I have remained chaste, barely). My drive for life, and my push toward success, have also been jacked up. I cannot say it will last. I do not know what it all means. But I am going to take it for all it is worth. I also know I plan to go back, I am good with it.

By the way, I did not lose my glasses or sunglasses. I did lose a shoe though. I bought a t-shirt which states "It's all funny until someone falls out, then it's hilarious". I plan to make a simple shrine with the remaining shoe and the t-shirt to remember a simple miracle and an incredible (hopefully) once in a lifetime ride.