River Rafting for Dummies
Only a fool is not afraid. ~ Madeleine L’Engle, A Wrinkle in Time
The Upper Gauley is more than a rafting trip. For six weekends in the fall water is released from the Sommerville Dam, which is referred to as “Gauley Season”. Experienced rafters arrive in Fayetteville, West Virginia to “do the Gauley” because of non-stop consistent Class IV and Class V rapids that drop 335 feet in a 13 mile challenge. According to the website, planetware.com, “It will be the most adrenaline filled experience of a lifetime.”
Several months ago my daughter and her husband invited me to celebrate my retirement on a rafting adventure. I immediately said, “YES!” I had no idea what I was saying yes to, other than spending quality time with my kids. I just wanted to hang out with her and her friends.
As I packed for the trip, I decided to check out some YouTube videos.
The video scared the living crap out of me. I tried to think of various items to bring that would prepare me for the heart pounding ride down one of the top five best whitewater rafting destinations in the world. Nothing came to mind.
For the record, I have minimal paddling experience. My daughter was on the crew team at university. She and I kayaked the Na Pali Coast on Kauai fifteen years ago. This kayaking trip was listed by National Geographic as the number two adventure in America. It was her college graduation gift. After a crash course, no pun intended, on safety and paddling we traveled 20 miles of Kauai’s famous stunning coastal scenery. We entered sea caves, sea turtles swam beside us, and we worked through an afternoon head wind that tested our endurance. Memorable. Not death defying.
I paddled for both the Lahaina and Kihei outrigger canoe clubs. Timing is the key. Everyone must be in sync. That was a decade ago. And, I was a stand up paddler after I learned surfing was not my sport.
I’m not a skilled whitewater rafter by any stretch of the imagination.
Five of us signed on for the “adrenaline filled adventure of a lifetime”. My daughter, her husband, another couple, and me. We arrived at the commercial rafting location to check in and listen to a scary boot camp speech from a drill sergeant guide. “If you’re asking yourself what the hell am I doing here? You should think long and hard about the answer!”
I was asking myself that very question. My mind was blank.
Wearing Ray Bans in the early morning darkness, I could see I was the oldest person on the property by at least fifteen years.
Everyone put on helmets and PFD, personal flotation devices. The guides checked and double checked each participant for a perfect fit. I decided to wear a wet suit. That was the smartest decision I had made so far. The river was scary — and really cold.
As I boarded the bus, Drill Sergeant asked, “Did I scare the shit out of you?”
“You did your job,” I replied.
“It’s not too late to bail. You get on a raft there’s no turning back.”
“I’m good,” I lied.
As the noisy old school bus made its way along the winding West Virginia two lane, Drill Sergeant got fired up. “Y’all better be makin some new friends. Ya want someone to haul your ass back in the boat.”
I was anxious. I looked around the bus, 50 people were quiet and not in the mood to make friends. The helmet gave me a headache, and the PFD was so tight I couldn’t take a full breath. Would I be able to haul someone’s ass back on the boat? Would someone bother to haul my ass back on the boat?
The bus pulled into a huge parking lot filled with rafts and guides bustling about checking air pressure and unloading water coolers. There was a lot of yelling. Way too much toxic masculine energy.
We were joined by another young couple for a total of seven raft members. Our river guide was the only female on the trip. Stephanie. While her male colleagues overdosed on testosterone, she calmly gave her pep talk.
“When I say forward, you paddle. When I say stop, you don’t. Stay in the boat. It’s going to be great.” She gave a double thumbs up.
I took a deep breath in spite of my PFD. Even though she was young, and petite, and pretty, she had massive shoulders and upper arms. I wanted to believe her.
Stephanie assigned people their position in the raft, studied us for a moment, then she switched people around. She nodded a confident, “Yep.”
We launched the boat and were on the Gauley.
“We have time to practice before the first rapid. It’s called Insignificant. Your gonna see some waves, and some rocks. You’re gonna do great.”
And we did.
We passed through a steep drop, big waves, and a giant toilet bowl funnel. Our team looked at each other in disbelief. We stayed in the boat.
“Great job!” Stephanie coached from the back.
Next up was Pillow Rock. A huge pillow of water pushed the raft into a boulder the size of a two story house. “Touch the boulder with your paddle. Everyone.”
And, we did. Unbelievably, we stayed in the boat.
“If all my rafts were full of people like you guys, I’d sleep better at night!”
Lost Paddle Class V was one-fourth of a mile long. I don’t know what happened. We smashed into a boulder. Half the raft was wedged on the side of the rock. My part of the raft was being submerged by water.
“Not good.” Stephanie mumbled. “Stay in the boat!”
There was nothing to grab on to. The out of control raft behind hit me square in the back as I was sliding off the edge into the churning river. Am I paralyzed?
My daughter called, “Mom!” I looked at her, she reached for me. I lifted the end of my paddle toward her, she grabbed it and pulled me into the boat.
She had lost her paddle in Lost Paddle rapid.
I don’t remember how we managed to right the raft and traverse the whitewater, drop offs, and a gigantic wave that led to more rocks and a plunge. I do remember part of the time I paddled air.
“That was some crazy shit right there,” Stephanie said. “Maybe the craziest I’ve seen on the river. You all stopped paddling at once.”
However, we stayed in the boat. One-fourth mile Class V rapid with a two story drop would not be fun in a PFD.
Next up was Iron Ring. There were spectators standing on the boulders at this site. By the sound, they were not sober. They shouted, “Carnage, carnage, carnage!”
Stephanie gave instructions, “Forward two, right back two, left forward two, stop!”
I was so terrified I forgot if I sat on the right or left — or which way was forward. I closed my eyes as we rolled down an eight foot drop. When I opened my eyes, my daughter sat in the middle of the raft, her husband was on her lap. The guy in front leaned way over the edge and grabbed at an imaginary iron ring. He must have caught hold because he slipped back onboard.
No carnage on our raft.
“Now the waters going to get twirly and swirly. We’re set up for the drop. Stay in the boat. If not swim right. Remember rocks are bad.”
Right as in direction? Right as in correct? Both?
The final challenge was a 14 foot waterfall called Sweet’s Falls. This is where our guide, Stephanie, was catapulted from her spot in the back to the front of the raft. I saw her fly by and asked aloud, “Who’s that?”
Stephanie was able to scurry to the back and guide us to the finish line. And finally, to the take out.
We survived The Beast of the East. I was physically and emotionally drained. Yet filled with gratitude. High on adrenalin. Indestructible. An old lady on steroids.
What I really needed were a couple of muscle relaxers and a red wine chaser.
The bus ride back to the outfitter base was lively and loud. Pabst Blue Ribbon was served and worn by rafters who don’t know how to open a can without shaking it. There was no wine to be had, but this was no time to whine. I shared a Pabst with my daughter. It tasted how I imagined cold pee to taste.
I’m not the first writer, artist, poet, human to draw an analogy between a wild river and real life.
I’ve thought about my experience on the Gauley with my daughter. It was memorable and death defying.
She was born while I was stuck in a real life Class V rapid. I’ll call it The Pits.
I was a twenty-nine year-old mother of three small children. My marriage was in shambles, my sanity hung by a single thread, and my kids depended on me not to fall into the abyss. We lived in Pennsylvania, far from friends and family. No backup. I wanted to bail. Even if it meant going under.
My youngest child was a soft, round, cuddly, easy going infant. She grabbed my finger, held on tight and pulled me back in the boat.
Now, my daughter is an intelligent, generous, and thoughtful adult. She is also BADASS! When crazy shit happens, I want to be in her raft.
I’m not a fool. I was afraid. We did great!
