My husband’s office and the neighboring law office has put together an outing to go river rafting on the Tieton River in Yakima County, Washington. It’s September, and the fall weather is beautiful. It is also when the floodgates of Rimrock Lake are opened. As a result, the generally calm river transforms into a fast and furious rollercoaster, boasting Class 3 and Class 4 (out of 5) rapids. Of course, nobody mentioned this to me ahead of time. Nobody told me the Tieton River, in September, is the Fall Classic of all whitewater rivers in Washington State.
So here I am in our family station wagon, with my husband and our teenaged son and daughter, heading down the road to our rafting headquarters. I shake my head, feeling regret that I didn’t investigate what this rafting trip would entail. I am imagining all sorts of possible issues: What if they don’t have a wetsuit that fits me? What if I can’t get safely on the raft? What if I drop my paddle? My dread of the experience builds the closer we get. Why did I agree to do this in the first place?
We pull into the parking lot. People are walking around, smiling and laughing. They actually look like they are having fun. I’m noticing that not everybody is young and thin and beautiful. This is a very good thing. We are greeted by people from the rafting company and sign in. We are put in groups of matching sizes and weights to balance the rafts; my husband is with me, but our children are assigned to a different raft. Then we are escorted to our appropriate dressing areas to gear up.
I look at the wetsuits hanging on the rack. I feel eyes on me, judging my size, then I am handed a huge rubbery suit and told to suit up. I have never put a wetsuit on in my life. Carefully pulling it over my swimsuit (and over my not so trim and firm body) is mortifying and difficult. Finally, with everything tucked into the rubbery suit, I reach over my shoulder and pull the zipper cord up my back to the base of my neck.
Next, I sit down and bend over to pull on my waterproof booties. Over and over, I say to myself, “Please don’t split! Please don’t split! I don’t want to spill out of this getup!” I feel like a whale out of water. At the counter, I try on several helmets until I find the size that fits. I walk out the door and I’m filled with a feeling of dread. I am handed a life jacket and put it on with an attendant helping adjust the straps, so everything is secure. Slowly, with my group, I creep with much trepidation down the ramp to the waiting rafts.
Our raft is not what I had envisioned. There are no seats. Rather, I wedge my right foot under a strap on the floor and lean with my left hip over the curve of the side of the inflated river raft. I’m handed a paddle to help guide the craft along our journey. I have a smile plastered on my face. “Oh, boy,” I mumble. I grimace at my husband directly across from me.
“This is going to be fun!” he says.
“Yeah, right,” I mutter under my breath.
Our helmsperson is a perky, young, enthusiastic woman. She recites the general rules and safety precautions. She demonstrates the different ways of paddling. She emphasizes how important it is to follow her instructions, to keep the raft heading in the direction we want to go. We want to avoid rocks and overhanging branches as we go down the middle of the rapids when we encounter them. “And remember,” she says, “if you fall in, lay on your back and point your feet downriver.”
I roll my eyes and suck a deep breath, “Please God, help me out here.”
And with that, we push off away from the dock.
We paddle out away from the staging area to midriver. The current is relatively quiet, and I think, Okay. I can do this. The day is beautiful, the sky is clear, and the sun is shining brightly. I hold my paddle and adjust my angle as the helmsperson hollers out the cadence. I watch the rafts around us. Everybody works at keeping a safe distance from each other.
I am thinking, when will the action begin? when the helmsperson hollers, “Rapids ahead!” and my breath catches. I see water rushing through the rocks up in front of us, and the foaming action and frothing has other rafters hollering with boisterous enthusiasm.
The so-called “rollercoaster effect” is about to begin for my raft.
I dig my foot tighter under the strap that is my anchor. Everyone else is doing that too. Over the edge we are digging our paddles into the water and trying to keep the raft from flipping or hitting the rocks directly. The raft slams up and down as we maneuver between the first set of rocks, and then the water settles down. I suck in my breath. Everyone around me is laughing and shouting about wanting to do it again.
I’m just trying to keep from peeing in my wetsuit.
Another mile goes by, and the water is getting rougher. We are heading into another section of even faster rapids. I am cautiously energized by my adrenalin rush but terrified at the same moment. My eyes are wide open. My white-knuckled hands clench the paddle.
This section of rapids has our raft pitching and rocking and bouncing. Waves are splashing up the sides and over the top of the front with a ferociousness that has all of us screaming. The rollercoaster effect of the raft on the river is in full swing. Waves are splashing up the sides of the raft, getting bigger, and hitting with more and more force. The slamming and bouncing intensify.
Out of nowhere, a wave comes up my side of the raft and hits me with full force. My foot comes loose. I fall backwards, screaming. I’m in the river! I’ve lost my paddle! I don’t want to open my eyes. If my contacts wash out, I won’t be able to see. I splash and try to swim, but the water just carries me like a twig. When I finally do open my eyes, I see the raft on the other side of the river. I’m being washed away. I totally forget about lying on my back and floating feet first down the river. I get pushed by the current to the river’s edge and try to reach for a scrubby bush, but I can’t hang on. I realize the horror of what it means to be swept away by the water.
I’m pulled beneath the water and my life flashes before me. I don’t want to die today!
I hear voices calling me. Are they angels? I squeeze my eyes tight and then open them. Someone is holding out a paddle for me to grab. I reach out and someone grabs a strap of my life jacket and then others are reaching out for me, dragging my exhausted, aching body back on the raft.
I lay in the center of the raft, and I don’t move. My mind is racing. I’m okay, I think. I’m still alive. Nothing is broken and I am not dead. I just need to lay there for a few minutes and catch my breath. Breathe. In out, in out. I sit up. My paddle is next to me. Somehow it was retrieved and made it back onto the raft. I thank everybody for saving me. I’m trying not to cry. No time for sentiment. My husband looks at me and says, “I was paddling and when I looked over to see how you were doing, you were gone! My heart skipped a beat—then I saw you floating out in the river.”
The helmsperson yells, “Prepare for the waterfall coming up in front of us! Hang on!”
I grab my paddle, struggle to my spot, and jam my foot under that cursed foot strap. Over the falls we go. The good news is that this time it is only a six-foot drop. I am grateful I didn’t go over the waterfall while struggling out in the river on my own.
The water settles down and I see the stopping point for this adventure up ahead, off to the side of the river. We paddle over to the unloading area. I climb off the raft and I am beyond thrilled to have my feet on solid ground again. My son comes running toward me, “Momma, did you hear? Somebody fell off one of the rafts! I didn’t see them but….” He abruptly stops talking. I guess the look on my face speaks volumes. “It was YOU! Are you okay? What was it like?”
All I can say is “Stop, I’ll tell you about it on the way home. Right now, I just want to get out of this wetsuit and pull myself together.” I trudge to the changing station and peel out of that wretched wetsuit and booties. I admit to myself that the suit did do a great job protecting me in the water. However, I don’t feel sad about turning in my gear and climbing back into my comfortable car.
I am certain that at some point in my life I will be happy I had this adventure. It will make a good story. But right now, I’m just grateful to be heading home, exhausted, but in one piece.
Author: Evelyn Panfili
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