Stranded and Swept Away — Part 1
Flint & Steel Two-Part Writing Challenge
Back in our twenties, my best friend and I took Tae Kwan Do lessons at our local gym. We also took aerobics classes, because we were single and the dating pool in our town was not deep.
When the gym sponsored a field trip to go white water rafting, we eagerly signed up. It would be fun. It would give us a chance to meet guys. And, capping the event in my friend’s estimation, the bus would pick us up afterwards at a bar, making it a perfect excuse to drink beer.
The bus left the gym early in the morning. Given that we were both night owls, this was difficult for us. So we were drowsing on the bus.
When the bus arrived at the river bank to meet our guides, the early birds flocked to the doors. We waited for them to clear out, then followed with the rest of the slowpokes.
That’s a bust
A handful of inflatable rafts were drawn up on the bank, each with their own guide. Most were 4-person rafts, but there was one 6-person raft.
The early birds were already clustered, 3 or 4 per group, around the 4-person rafts. My friend and I didn’t want to split up, so we went to the 6-person raft. We were the first ones to choose it.
At first, we thought a 6-person raft would give us more of a chance to meet people. And by “people”, I mean, young, single men who might be interested in us.
Nope. The first person to join us was our female aerobics instructor.
Then, three older people joined us, two men and a woman. I don’t mean “older” as in, they were in their 30s. Nope. They were at least 50, possibly 60.
Our plan to meet guys was a bust. But at least the white water rafting would still be fun.
Our guide is a male chauvinist
Our guide, a summer worker from Brazil, introduced himself. He explained the various parts of the raft, the safety rules, the steering commands, and an overview of the rapids we’d be rafting through. Then, he called for two strong people to be the paddlers in the front.
The aerobics instructor and I both volunteered. She was a powerhouse, petite but with like 1% body fat and the rest all toned muscle. I’d been a competitive swimmer and had the shoulders to prove it. When I’d taken a recent fitness test at work to test grip strength, I’d broken the machine.
We were definitely the two strongest people of the six there.
“No, not women,” the Brazilian said. “We need strength. We need men.”
The aerobics instructor and I rolled our eyes at each other. She tried to protest, but the Brazilian was insistent that women could not possibly be stronger than men.
The two old men were placed at the front of the raft. The Brazilian gave us the second strongest place, at the back of the raft. The man’s wife sat behind him, in front of the aerobics instructor. And my friend sat in front of me.
Because of our discussion, we were still sorting ourselves out on the bank while all of the other rafts launched themselves into the river.
The Brazilian pushed off our raft, and we took the final place in the line of rafts floating downstream.
The going gets rough
The river is not one solid set of rapids. There are slow places, where you can paddle lazily along, admiring the scenery. Then there are Class I rapids, which are basically places where the riverbed is uneven, causing the water to be a little choppy.
Class I rapids are not terribly exciting. It’s the river raft equivalent of hitting a pothole. The raft dips and bobs, but then you’re past it, and on to smooth waters.
The highlight of this trip was going to be a Class III rapids. We’d be navigating around boulders and over a waterfall. If a Class I rapids is like hitting a pothole, a Class III rapids is like going off-roading. Fun, but nothing to worry about if you follow directions and know what you’re doing.
Our trip was organized to go through a bunch of Class I rapids, allowing us to get the hang of working with each other, before we tackled the Class III. We watched the rafts before us hit the Class I rapids.
Bob and dip. Bob and dip. Bob and dip. Bob and dip.
It was our turn. Our guide called out to the men to paddle harder. One did not hear him, and continued paddling at his leisurely pace. The other started to paddle harder, then stopped and placed his paddle across his knees.
Our raft started to turn, and hit the Class I rapids broadside. We did not bob and dip. We dunked and bucked, the front of the raft going under water, the back lifting up and slamming down, nearly throwing my lightweight friend out of the raft.
We have a problem
Our Brazilian guide began screaming at the men in front. Why had they not followed his directions? Why had one man stopped paddling all together?
It turned out that the one man was hard of hearing. He hadn’t followed the directions because he hadn’t heard them. His wife promised to relay instructions to him.
The other man had joined the gym because he was recovering from a heart attack. As a result, whenever he felt his heart rate start to climb, he would stop and rest until it went back down. He’d joined the 6-person raft because he thought he could sit in the middle and not have to paddle much.
Perhaps they should have mentioned these things back when the Brazilian was insisting on how strong they were, by virtue of being male?
However, they hadn’t, and there was no way to reorganize our seating while on the river, so we had to make the best of things.
It quickly became obvious that “the best” was not very good. The Brazilian would call out an order. The man’s wife would repeat the order in his ear. He’d ask, “What?” She’d repeat it again. By that time, the Brazilian had called out a different order.
Meanwhile, the heart attack man didn’t want the stress of being the only one paddling. So, while the hard of hearing man was trying to figure out what he was supposed to do, the heart attack man would set down his paddle and start bailing water out of the raft to try and keep his feet dry.
The aerobics instructor and I had to repeatedly stop paddling, because we were only supposed to paddle when the person in front of us paddled, or the raft would go in circles. So our strength was no use, either.
The Class III rapids
We could see, ahead of us, the Class III rapids. A large rock split the river, with a waterfall coursing down either side of it.
The preferred route was the left-hand waterfall. The rafts ahead of us each lined up, faced the waterfall head-on, and plunged down. Gleeful shouts and cheers echoed back from their successful rides.
Finally, it was our turn. Our guide began shouting orders to line us up for the left-hand waterfall. The hard-of-hearing man’s wife relayed the orders. We began spinning away from the rapids.
One of the safety rules drilled into us at the beginning of the trip was that you always went over rapids head-on. Taking a rapids side-on was how you flipped your raft. In extreme cases, it was how you died.
“We’re not going to make it! Paddle for the right-hand route! Everyone paddle!” the Brazilian screamed.
We paddled. The aerobics instructor and I paddled for all we were worth, driving the raft across the river, but it was too little, too late. The raft swung sideways, and beached itself on the rock in the middle of the river.
Read Part 2:
