We came around the bend in the river, and the sound of breaking water echoed from up ahead. The clouds in the sky were grey and thickening as the morning turned to afternoon. For some reason, every time I had a Westwater trip, the sky was always cloudy. Rain was always just a twitch of the barometer away from pounding us into submission. The moisture in the air taunted us, as if to say, “Don’t get wet, because if you do, you’re going to freeze!”
After about four miles, the river began to quicken ever so slightly. As the Little Dolores River trickled into the Colorado, the 
metamorphic black walls began to envelope us. High up on the rock face, a family of bald eagles was perched watching our descent. They looked down upon us as if we were doomed. For me, it was my second Westwater of the season. I was still a greenhorn on this stretch of river–I was on a training trip. I had been on just a handful of Westwaters prior to this, but I knew that it was no joke…not at the level it was at. They call it the “terrible teens” or the “mean teens.” The flow of the river is at the point where you as a runner are going to know its power. It was flowing just above 13,000 cubic feet per second.
The first rapid is usually a breeze. It’s a primer for the rest of the trip, and sort of lets you know how much energy you’re really going to need for a successful run. Our guide missed the line twice and practically wiped himself out trying to cross the eddy fence to get back into the main current. This is when it occurred to me, “We could be in trouble here.” There were four of us in the boat. Myself, the guide (my trainer), and two young men from India. These guys had no idea what they were getting themselves into.
It was May 1, 2009. I was just glad to have the opportunity to get more whitewater under my belt. There was one other boat on our trip. It was a paddle boat with a more experienced guide and a group of ex-marines from Philadelphia as paddlers. On our boat, we were stuck with a half-drunk burnout who barely knew where he was let alone how to run class IV rapids. He had done it before successfully, but I think his luck was running out.
We made it through Marble Canyon, Staircase, and Little Hummer rapids with no incident. We watched the paddle boat ahead of us make their approach on Funnel Falls from the left. They pointed their bow to the right wall of the narrow, million-year old canyon and disappeared as they swooped past the massive pour-overs on either side of them. It was an equally eery and amazing sight. My heart began to flutter, adrenaline rushed, eyes widened, knuckles whitened as my grip on the chicken line tightened. This was going to be one heck of a rodeo!
At the moment the guide began to make his approach on Funnel, I knew something was going seriously awry. We were squaring up directly on the left pour-over. We were going directly over the falls! We dropped into the recirculating hole and for a moment, I thought we were taking a shortcut back to India. Our guide screamed, “Everybody hang on!” as the boat jerked and stuttered in the torrent…we were about to get tossed.
Things get serene when you’re under thousands of gallons of churning, torrential water. I was the last one to fall out of the boat. I had my eyes closed and everything seemed to slow down. My thoughts became crystal clear. I remembered what I was told to do if the boat ends up on top of me. I raised my hands up and felt around for the oar-frame. I walked (with my hands) to the edge of the boat, going in the same direction until I found the rope on the perimeter. I grabbed it and bobbed up out of the water.
Everything was much more chaotic as soon as I found air again. The sound of water crashing around me was deafening. The canyon walls seemed twice as high as they were when I was inside the boat. The water, at 50 degrees, was instantly working against my body. It was hard to breathe, it was hard to think, and I…I couldn’t see anybody else from my boat. I looked around as I was saying a prayer inside my mind and heart. My eyes continued to fill with ice-cold water. My stomach was filled with cold water too. The boat, at the will of the river, was drifting and spinning in circles. One of the Indian guys popped up out of the water, gasping for air. His eyes were wide and the whites of them revealed his paranormal brush with death from the depths of the Colorado River. I yelled, half-unsure, “Don’t worry! Hang on, everything is going to be alright!”
The boat turned just in time to reveal that we were about to get sucked through Surprise Rapid. I hung on with all the strength my numb fingers would allow. Time is of no plausible, palpable, perceivable context when you’re in a situation like this. Everything went silent again. My ears were filled with water. It’s almost serendipitous. After a while, the subconscious begins to come to terms with what its experiencing and it tries to tell the body to give up. The ego steps in and slaps subconscious in the face. “Hang on you idiot! You’re not dead yet!”
As we came up out of Surprise, I knew Son of Surprise was seconds away. I turned around and saw the guide and the other Indian passenger. Both seemed to be in their own worlds. I grabbed the guide as he was swept toward the boat. I yelled his name and gave him a shove. He finally seemed to snap out of his daze and grabbed the chicken line. The boat was turning again and was pushing me toward river-left, into a giant boulder. I prepared to duck under the boat in order to avoid a collision. I was literally between a rock and a hard, rubbery place.
I was trying to use the guide as leverage to get up onto the upside-down boat, but my legs were useless. Just then, we met Son of Surprise. When we came up out of it, I looked back to check on the 2nd Indian guy. He wasn’t there. The black walls of granitic gneiss and Vishnu schist were frowning on us. The alien-planet-like fluting seemed to contort itself into devilish countenances that scowled at we human invaders. What was happening?!
I was delirious, all I could do was hang on. I thought to myself, “Okay, how many rapids are left? Where is the other boat? Why are they so far ahead of us?” Then I remembered, Skull was next! Some seasoned river guides will talk to you about the fear. Not every guide is humble enough to admit it, but every guide who has pushed the limits of river running knows what the fear is. All it takes is swimming that rapid that convinces you that you’re going to die by drowning…and, if your survivors are lucky, you’re body will make it to the take-out for a proper burial.
They say that when you’re drowning, that you begin to experience euphoria. Some speculate that it’s the crossing of the soul into the afterlife. Others say it’s simply the chemical reaction in the brain that’s caused by lack of oxygen in the blood. One guy drowned in Little Niagara on Cataract Canyon, and when they finally got his body out of the hole, an autopsy revealed dozens of compression fractures in his spine. His skeletal structure was basically turned to shards of broken bone. Skull rapid is no joke either. People die on Westwater every year.
I was finally pulled out of the river by one of the ex-marines from Philadelphia, as our boat drifted near the paddlers. My body was limp. I was hoisted onto one of the thwarts in the middle of the boat. I laid there for a moment and realized that there wasn’t much going through my head at that point. As I remembered where I was, I sat up and, with the other passengers on the paddle boat, watched the three men still in the river manage to climb onto the upside-down raft. Seconds after they made it atop the boat, it got sucked through Skull Rapid and miraculously had a clean run.
That day was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. What have I learned? Don’t ever take the river for granted…and don’t ever let that river guide row another boat that I’m in.
True story.
The onion is the allegorical example best applied. As layers are peeled back, the core is better revealed, better realized. It may take some tears, it will definitely take determination, and what you find on the inside probably won’t look much at all like what you started with on the outside.
, the turkey vulture and the golden eagle…the list is endless. Torrential adrenaline rushes in whitewater and serene scenery in calm water opened my mind like no batch of acid ever could have. I saw nature for everything it was worth. As each day on the river went by, I knew less and less what this world, this life and my place in it was all about. What was most important, was that I was beginning to feel alive. When you spend any length of time under water wondering if you’re going to be able to come back out, it’s like a rebirth. The river takes you under and coddles you. It shows you that the world around you as a whole is exponentially greater than the sum of all your parts. A niche was found…my niche. This writer of experiences realized that the world is out there to be explored, for every element of wonder there is. This is God’s world and we’re living in it! This adventure is our homage to His creation. This life is His homage to our integrity. The river rolls on down to take-out beyond take-out. Every run, a rebirth. Every breath, another reason to live. This is where we prove our integrity.
Whitney Afterdark 