I'm not the kind of guy who does any
crazy thing just to say, I've done it; but I'm not the timid sort
either. If presented with the opportunity to do something out of the
ordinary, or beyond the boundaries of what I might consider my
comfort zone, I'll weigh the potential fun against the risk.
Historically, more often than not, I've landed on the fun side of the
debate. It hasn't killed me yet.
Just heading into the more serious rapids. |
I have been white-water rafting twice
in my life. The first time was in Alaska in 1996 during the press
launch of the original Ford Expedition. Even though Ford hosted much
better media events 20 years ago than it does today – don't even
get me started – the rafting wasn't part of the official program. A
couple of us found a rafting company close to the hotel where Ford
put us up and we flew in a day early, paid with our own money and
rafted.
The second time was somewhere in the
state of Washington. I've been to so many car events there, I can't
remember the year or even the car involved, but white-water rafting
was offered as one of several activities we could participate in as a
part of the event. I can safely say, though, that it was at least 10
to 12 years ago.
Just paddle, damn it! |
I'm putting my previous rafting experiences into
some sort of time frame because I was significantly younger for them.
I didn't insert age into my recent decision-making process. From my
perspective – unless I'm looking in a mirror or at photos – I'm
still vital. Maybe I should have been looking in the mirror
when I was contemplating this decision.
I arrived in Bend, Oregon on Monday
afternoon, drove the Outback on Tuesday and went rafting on
Wednesday.
Brasada Ranch. |
The outfitter was Bend's Sun Country
Tours. A driver loaded us into a van at Brasada Ranch, where we were
staying and hauled us the 20 or so miles into town. There, at the
main office, we signed away our lives and were issued splash pants
and tops. Our driver then drove us from town to the boat launch on
the Deschutes River another 20 miles away.
There our instructor/guide/babysitter
Ross fitted us with life jackets and provided a brief safety talk.
With that, we climbed aboard the raft, settled in and shoved off.
While regaling us with the history of the river and its lore,
Ross managed to work in some instruction on paddling, staying in the
boat and how to try to traverse the rapids if tossed out of the boat.
I would have preferred a Power Point presentation of the the last two
topics, but had to settle for Ross acting out the role of a castaway
while sitting on the side of the boat.
Ross on the left attempting to put our minds at ease as we scouted the more difficult rapids. |
These rafts, incidentally, cost about 7
grand each.
Only two of us participated in the
rafting, which was fine with me. Who the hell wants to be in a rubber
boat crashing through lava-rock-filled rapids listening to a gaggle
of auto journalists screaming like a bunch of prepubescent girls at a
Justin Bieber concert? Anyone, anyone? Certainly not me.
With the two of us and Ross, we had
about one and a half people who knew what they were doing. We
basically let the current carry us along as Ross made little course
corrections for the first half hour or so.
We eventually arrived at a small
collection of rapids, requiring us novices to finally leap into
action. We basically paddled when Ross yelled, “Paddle!” and
stopped when he yelled, “Stop!”
We made it successfully out the other
side. So far so good. My buddy Al and I congratulated one another on
our superior raftsmanship. We're not afraid of no stinking rapids!
Before rounding the next bend, Ross
eased us over to the shore where we dismounted our boat. We then
walked along the river for about 20 yards before getting close enough
to the next rapids to actually see them.
“Whadya think?” Ross ask us.
I immediately launched into my Jackie
Gleason impression, “Hum-in-ah, hum-in-ah, hum-in-ah...” I
sputtered. Speechless, Al looked as though he had just learned he had
been drafted.
I don't think you are supposed to see daylight under the boat. |
Ross went on to explain what we should
expect and that the rolling, boiling white water we could see was
only the first in a series of five sections of rapids.
“Dead men walking” was all I could
think as we shuffled back to the boat.
Ross maneuvered the boat toward the
center of the river before we added any significant forward motion.
About 20 feet from the first hint of white, Ross yelled, “Paddle
hard; paddle hard!” And we were off to the races.
The next thing I knew, I was flat on my
back on the bottom of the boat two sections back. Paddle still firmly
in hand, I struggled to get back to my position as Al continued to
paddle as though his life depended on it, and Ross coaxed me back
into position.
I regained my front-of-the-boat
position just in time for the next section of rapids. This time the
front end of the boat came crashing down nearly tossing over the
front of it. I was trying to remember what Ross said early in the
“what to do if tossed from the boat” part of the briefing, but my
attention was drawn to my life flashing before my eyes.
I suspect traveling through all the
sections of rapids took no more than two or three minutes, but it
felt like an hour. My mental TV screen showed a calendar with pages
flying off next to a window out of which I could see the seasons
changing.
Should have worn my cup.... |
Exiting the rapids, we returned to
drifting. Al and I probably looked as though we had just walked away from the Hindenburg explosion as we contemplated the brevity of life.
Ross filled my and Al's silence with
his thoughts. “You know,” he began, “I don't usually like to
take one of these boats out with less than four people. They are just
too light and you really get tossed around.”
WTF? This might have been good
information to have, oh, say, before we left.
It was a blast, and I'd probably do it
again if given the chance. But maybe it's more adventure than I
really need.
No helmut? I did this years and years ago in Tennessee. Even Virginia went along. I don't remember facing the kind of rapids you did (see the part about "years ang years ago") but I think we had helmuts on.
ReplyDeleteAll my experiences white-water rafting have been helmetless. I guess you can make a case for them, but I'd rather not wear one. Although, it would have kept the sun off my head!
ReplyDelete