Summary

A group's white water rafting adventure turns perilous when their guide is swept away, leaving them stranded on a rock, ultimately requiring rescue from another guide.

Abstract

In "Stranded and Swept Away — Part 2," a continuation of a harrowing tale, a group of rafters finds themselves in a precarious situation when their raft becomes stuck on a rock in the middle of a river. The guide, unable to free the raft using the painter line, is swept away by the river's current, leaving the group in shock. As they wait for the guide's return, they realize the danger of attempting to free themselves due to the risk of puncturing the raft on the debris below. When a new guide arrives, he devises a plan to push the raft over the waterfall sideways, a risky maneuver that successfully frees them. The group, now with a newfound respect for the river's power, paddles to safety, grateful for their survival and looking forward to solid ground and a cold beer.

Opinions

The group was initially dissatisfied with the guide's performance, which was amplified by the language barrier.
The guide's decision to quit and leave the group stranded was met with disbelief and frustration.
The group's opinion of the original guide likely worsened after learning he had abandoned them to quit his job.
The new guide's approach to rescuing the group was met with apprehension but ultimately proved effective.
The group's collective relief and changed perspective on the dangers of white water rafting were evident after their ordeal.
The author seems to convey a sense of irony and humor about the situation, despite the underlying tension and danger.

Stranded and Swept Away — Part 2

Flint & Steel Two-Part Writing Challenge

(Read Part 1.)

Our raft was stranded on the large rock dividing the river. Looking over the side, we could see the detritus that had accumulated between the branching waterfalls. A pile of shattered rocks was mounded high with branches and broken boards, many with rusty nails sticking out of them.

Our guide began cursing in Portuguese. I don’t speak Portuguese, so I had no idea what he was saying. But the vehemence and volume made it clear that he was not happy with our performance so far.

We weren’t terribly happy with his performance, either.

Swept away

He wound down, took a deep breath, and switched to English. He was going to pull us off the rock. As soon as we got back into the river, everyone needed to paddle as hard as they could.

He repeated the instructions, louder, for the hard of hearing man. He confirmed that we would be paddling briefly, after which point the waterfall would have us, so it wouldn’t be too much for heart attack man.

Everyone was in agreement.

He climbed out of the raft, and splashed into the river. The water only came up to his thighs, but the force of the river kept trying to knock him over. He clung to the hand holds on the side of the raft as he carefully made his way to the front of the raft.

There was a string dangling from the front of the raft. It’s called a painter line, and is used for tying up the raft to a dock. Our guide was going to haul on that line, get the raft off the rock, and then try to jump back into the raft.

He stepped out in front of the raft, braced his legs, and pulled.

The painter line snapped. Our guide fell backwards, and was swept away.

On our own

We watched in horror as the guide disappeared over the waterfall, holding our breaths until he reappeared floating down river. He bobbed along in his life vest for a while, then started swimming toward the shore.

“Now what?” we asked each other.

Someone proposed that we rock the raft from side to side. That might get it dislodged from the boulder it was stuck upon.

We looked over the side again, at the splintered boards and rusty nails below us. There was no way to predict whether we would fall back into the water, or if we’d fall onto the rocky waste below.

If our raft hit those nails, it would sink. And we’d also likely be injured.

Heart attack man did not think he could swim. (Why? Why did he come on a white water rafting trip when he wouldn’t paddle and couldn’t swim?)

Our group reached consensus. It was too dangerous to try and rock ourselves loose. We’d wait.

We’d seen our guide climbing up the bank and disappearing into the woods. Surely he’d be back soon to rescue us.

What happened to our guide?

We waited. And waited. And waited some more. Where was our guide? Why was he not returning to save us?

After almost an hour, someone else floated downstream to us, dressed in the uniform of the river rafting company. It was not our guide.

Our guide, he informed us, instead of walking back upriver to rescue us, had walked downriver to where everyone else had already finished their trips. He’d only stopped long enough to quit. One of the other guides had to walk 2 miles upriver to come rescue us.

“What happened?” he wanted to know. Apparently, our former guide had told them we were stuck on top of the waterfall, but not how it had happened.

We explained about hard of hearing man, and heart attack man, and our guide’s refusal to put the strongest paddlers in the front because we were female.

A new plan

The new guide shook his head in disbelief.

We wondered if, now that the raft wasn’t going anywhere, we could switch seats. He considered that, but decided it wasn’t safe. The likelihood of someone going over the side was too great.

“I’m going to push you from behind, then dive into the raft,” he told us. “You won’t be able to steer, and you’ll be hitting the waterfall from the side. Just hang on, and try not to fall out.”

We piled our paddles in the center of the raft, so that we could use both hands to hold on.

“Ready?” he asked.

A weak chorus of assent answered him. We were ready and more than ready to get off this rock. We weren’t ready to go sideways down a waterfall. But that was the only way out of this mess.

Over the falls

He pushed. We rocked but didn’t move. He grunted and pushed harder.

The raft rocked, tipped, and was caught by the river. We shot forward. The guide was left behind.

It only took us a few seconds to go over the falls. I don’t remember much about them, other than clinging desperately to the safety straps, getting drenched in water head to toe, and at one point, spinning past the broken boards and rusty nails with only a few inches of clearance.

The new guide caught up to us in the calm water on the other side of the falls. He was able to lever himself into the raft easily, since it was half-submerged.

We retrieved our paddles, and the four women began paddling us downriver. Hard of hearing man and heart attack man bailed water out of the flooded raft.

Our new guide didn’t try to direct us. We no longer cared about white water rafting. We only cared about getting off of the river, and going somewhere dry.

When the riverside bar appeared, we cheered. We’d survived the river, the rapids, and the crazy Brazilian. And we were going to get beer.

It was more than 20 years before I risked a white water raft again, and even then it was in the supposed safety of a water park. Which involved terror, screaming, and my friend shrieking, “We’re too fat and we’re going to die!” But that’s another story for another day.