Chapter 11: Rafting the Rolling Thunder--Living without noticing you're living

 By Frosty Wooldridge

                   GO THROUGH OUR LIVES WITHOUT NOTICING OUR LIVES

                                “You are what your deep, driving desire is.

                                 As your desire is, so is your will.

                                 As your will is, so is your deed.

                                 As your deed is, so is your destiny.”

                                                                 Upanishad

            Gary pulled hard on the oars to get us out into the rapid and away from the rock cliffs that shot vertically out of the river.  He oared along while I wrote notes on the artwork in the canyon.  The river made a few curls left and right until it turned around a bend where the roar deafened the air around us. 

            “My God, those waves are HUGE!” I said.

            “Could get wet,” Gary said.

            “Hell, we could get more than wet,” I said.  “What’s the name of this rapid?”

            “Upset.”

            “No kidding,” I said and prepared myself by putting my notes in plastic and checked my camera to see it was waterproof.

            Gary stood up to survey the rapid.  We floated 50 yards from the tongue.  I stood up, too.  It was BIG.  The left side was lined with rock fangs and grizzly-like claws tearing from under the water.   Less than 100 feet into the rapid, the water smashed into a rock wall and tumbled savagely to the right.   Gary would have to pull hard right to miss the waves coming in that could flip us.

            Then came the quiet of the maw and the glassy tongue of the stillness of the approach and I sat on the bench with my hands clutched on the straps.  The first roller heaved ten feet skyward and there was only one way to get past it and that was over the top—where we were headed.

            Down, down and still further down the raft dropped as if headed into the deepest chambers of hell.  As soon as we could go no further the boat rolled upward on its way to the crest of the wave.  We smashed over the top with 20 gallons of water pouring into the raft.  The next roller was being side cut by the force of the water being pushed back off the rock cliffs about ten feet to our left.  We got sucked into the hole and I only looked on helplessly as the next waved showed the face of an angry ax murderer who had found his next victim.

            I was it.

            Gary was next, but he was furiously beginning to pull right because we faced the treachery of the rock wall only 50 feet in front of us.  When we hit the peak, the water smashed us again and threw me backward with my legs flying upward.  I got thrown left then nearly tossed violently right when the raft reacted to the wall of water.

            Gary reefed on the oars.  The ‘River Slug’ began to pull away as we neared the deadly cliffs.  The rollers diminished to six feet, then five, then four.

            “That was the best ride on the river so far,” I yelled.

            “Doesn’t compare to Lava Falls,” Gary said.

            “It doesn’t?” I murmured.

            “You’ll see,” he said.

            My God, what kind of death trap was Lava Falls?  From listening to the Hall brothers, it seemed that Lava was the mythical rapid that was the undoing of many a boatman, even the notorious river outlaw  ‘High Water Harry’ was terrified of Lava Falls according to Wocniss. 

            The rest of the group had watched the drama and once all of us were safely through the falls, they headed to Ledges Campground.  Like its name, it was a camp built on rock ledges that were made of layered rock projecting into the river.  We had to step up on the rocks to secure the boats.  Long lines from the boats tied to boulders above us.  In back of the camp, the cliffs soared upward into a great amphitheater 3,500 feet above our heads.

            After unpacking, I decided to swim across the river.

            “It’s about this time in the trip that people start doing strange things, “ Gary said of my swim.  “You have to wear a life preserver.”

            “Okay.”

            I put on the orange vest and a wet suit top.  I walked up river and dove in.  I pulled hard against the downward current.  I quickly made the other side—touched the wall—and swam back with plenty of time to reach Gary’s boat.

            “Piece of cake,” I said.

            Lasagna and vegetables along with garlic bread brought out the best of everyone that night.  Brenda, Sally and Cindy continued cooking fantastic meals every evening.  We men need women to spruce up our lives.  If I were by myself on this trip, I’d eat potato soup with lentils out of a can or cooked rice out of a box every night for a month.   My breakfast would be oatmeal and raisins.  I’d look like a grubby old gold miner in no time.  The more I get into the wilderness, the more I LOOK like wilderness.  The women want a hot shower each night and get it with the new solar heated plastic bags that cook in the sun all day.  But me?  Hell, I love freezing my ass off taking a bath in the frigid waters of the river. 

            I’ve been asked that many times, “Why would you jump into a freezing river instead of enjoying a hot shower?” 

            Most of us in the USA are so comfortable most of the time that we go through our lives without noticing our lives.   On an adventure, I love the sensations of life more than the comforts of life.   I can always have a hot shower at home.  Who needs one in the wilderness?  Why bring the comforts of home living into wilderness living?  We might as well bring air conditioning, flush toilet, microwave and a refrigerator on all our adventures.  NOT ME!  Give me some raw, unredeemed wilderness kick-ass living next the very heartbeat of Nature.

            After dinner, Cindy called for the Dish Fairies to do the dishes.  From that point on, Rick, Steve and I got a little caught up in being the ‘masculine’ side of a dish fairy.  One joke after another ensued until we were all laughing hysterically.

            That night, I headed for Gary’s boat to sleep.   I placed my air mattress on the back bench and rolled out my sleeping bag.  Gary was already curled into his bedroll and listening to music from headphones as he stared up to the heavens. 

            “Don’t mind me,” he said.  “I’m listening to my music.”

            That told me he wasn’t in the mood for talking.  We had done and seen so much that day that talking was not needed.

            I stuffed myself into my bag and laid back on the floatation pad for a pillow.  I peered into the ink black of space.  Stars looked like raindrops in the sky—touched by silver light.  Rolling my eyes left and right—black canyon walls enclosed the heavens as if I had lain down in the middle of an ancient city.  I felt the gentle rocking of the raft as the river curled and swirled past us. 

            As I looked up to the sky, a simple feeling of being totally relaxed warmed my body.  The night air remained still. My attention locked on the stars.  They were always there but couldn’t be seen except in the darkness of night. I found myself gazing across the universe with no thoughts coming out of my head. 

            A white-hot light sliced across the sky.

            “Meteor,” I muttered.

            Moments later, like the meteor, I too, vanished into the night.

            About 2 a.m., I awoke when Wocniss, who was sleeping on his boat next to Gary’s, started yelling, “Get out of here!” 

            Startled, I sat up.  A dozen mice had invaded Wocniss’ boat by scampering up his mooring lines.  They had sniffed and searched their way to some trail mix he had left out near his head.  One had jumped across his arm and ran over his sleeping bag.  Like a Hitchcock movie, they swarmed all over him.  From there, with Wocniss flailing and yelling, the mice abandoned ship.

            I lay back and looked up to the sky.   My eyes quickly closed and I was back in never, never land. 

            At least the mice didn’t have to do dishes!