One Woman, Eight Dudes and a River
In mid-May, I and eight others embarked on a week long white water rafting trip in Idaho. Up to this point, I had only been on one other raft trip, and it was nowhere near whitewater. Definitely the newest to the sport, I also happened to be the youngest. Oh, and the other eight people were guys.
The trip was an early season one, and was therefore filled with early season hazards. Our group couldn’t use the regular put-in because the road was deeply snowed over, so we had to start 18 miles upstream, on a somewhat perilous tributary called Marsh Creek.
Before we took off on the morning of May 12, my boyfriend type person and trip leader, Joe, briefed us all about certain risks we might encounter, including strainers, which are downed trees and debris that form a kind of sinister river colander. If you get thrown into the water and end up in the path of a strainer, you’d better climb to the top of that pile as fast as you can so you don’t get pinned underneath the water and drown.
Reasonably, I thought, that first day saw me a little on edge. The water was fast and we whirled around a myriad of different obstacles — fallen trees, rocks, holes, and strainers in abundance — and I felt frozen on the boat, totally out of my element. Two times, we dragged the 2,000 lb rafts over river-width fallen logs. Marsh Creek made us feel like 18th century explorers braving first descents. But besides losing some air in one of the rafts, we made it through that day, and the rest of the week passed for me in a blur of new experiences and insecurities.
For instance, how does a woman go to the bathroom in a dry suit? That was for me alone to figure out, because there were 8 dudes peeing casually all around me, without a care in the world. How does one even put on a dry suit? It felt like being birthed through a tiny rubber tube, with a full head of hair to get pulled. Was I strong enough to secure the dry bags to a waterproof level of tightness? About halfway through the trip I figured out a way. And what about pooping in the river toilet (aka groover, because of the grooves it leaves on your backside)? With its peaceful river views and solid distance from camp, the groover became the least of my worries.
On the very last day, Joe and I were heading for Rubber rapid, about 8 miles from the final takeout. He stood up in the raft to check it out, thought it seemed like fun, and went straight for the middle of it. This wave was a glittering monster, and as we careened towards it with uncompromising speed, I snapped my eyes shut, wondering how our boat was going to get through this brick wall of water.
As the wave swept me off the raft and into the river, my other senses took over — the feeling of the ropes I was still holding onto with a death grip, my body being stretched out long and graceful by the water as it dragged me along, and the sudden lack of noise. I felt little emotion as I was under the water; I was just there, witnessing the power of the river and this experience that I’d never had before.
The raft had flipped, end over long end, and as my head popped up alongside it a few seconds later, I had absolutely no idea what to do next. Joe did, and it felt a little like he was saving my life as he yanked me on top of the flipped raft a few seconds later. With the help of a friend from the other raft, we used our combined weight to flip our craft over again, and I scrambled back into the front of it on the third try.
As we de-rigged the boats an hour later at the Cache Bar takeout, some of the guys asked me how the flip had been. They’d seen the raft get crunched in half and then go over, and they looked about as shaken as I had felt 60 minutes ago. I guessed that few of them, if put in my place, would have known much better than I what to do. Which suddenly made me feel better about the whole trip.
I may have been the youngest, newest, and only female, and I may have felt a bit isolated by all my insecurities, but getting dunked in the river was a strangely fortifying experience. And now that I can somewhat confidently put on a dry suit, I say bring it on, Middle Fork!
