The Float of a Lifetime

The spring has come, and the summer is upon us...

The conditions for rafting are as prime as they get, with the spring runoff swelling the banks on either side of the Kicking Horse River. Through the tall and slender Douglas-fir trees on the way to the launch site — as we weave down a dirt road in a classic American yellow school bus — you can see the water glistening from the heat of the hot sun. The rays from the sun are reflecting off the backwater — and off the pillows and eddies — and they strike your eyes with such a powerful intensity that you must divert your gaze. Still, the dazzling and frothy turquoise waters burn into your cornea so that the image is retained, forevermore.

You close your eyes for another moment... and listen to the sound of the roaring rapids rising through the canyon as you continue along the dirt road.

An instructor standing at the front of the bus mentions that during the construction of the Canadian Pacific Railway the mountainsides near Golden, BC, were dynamited, and large boulders fell into the river from above, and into the water below. The consequence of water rushing over and around these boulders is thus what classifies these rapids; level four is a category denoting particularly large waves that require technical maneuvering. And such was our fate...

In an open clearing, where the bus has now come to a stop, a score of rafting boats — initially tied down to the roof rack with ratchet straps — are released. These are then collected and scattered around a cluster of Douglas-fir trees, nearer the water's edge. Each raft is assigned to an Oarsman, and there happened to be half a dozen Oarsmen busy inspecting the rafts before the launch.

The Oarsmen that are leading the participants are entertaining, and you listen attentively to what is being said.

You peer through the thicket of trees for the water, for you can clearly hear the rapids now — it's the sound of a thundering rush.

You’ve been on calmer waters before. You’ve floated down a number of rivers double-fisting beers. In fact, you’ve floated with an entire cooler of beer tied to the back of the raft, whilst you soaked up the sun rays. The river, an ultimate symbol of freedom, is answering to no one, like Huckleberry and Jim...

But now, it's a little different…

You’ve got your life jacket on, and someone has handed you a helmet instead. You put it on, and sure enough, it fits. The life jacket is buckled over top of your rain jacket — though there’s not a cloud in sight! Your waders, and your shoes, are not your own either, they are borrowed — they'd been given to you when you signed the waiver form, releasing the company from all liability.

You feel like a battle is about to begin...

When you signed up, back at the visitor center, you didn't think all this gear was necessary. But now, with the cold water rushing down the nearby cascade, bringing with it a mist, which penetrates through the cluster of slender trees ahead and touches your skin, you're grateful for all the protection. The mist feels like you've opened up a freezer door and stuck your head inside.

The groups have been arranged, and some are now waiting to disembark from the bank, into the violent torrent. You're assigned a raft, and together with the help of eight other participants, it's your turn to carry it over to the bank. YOU volunteered to row from the prow of the vessel, because you’ve seen the others in your group, and you're one of the strongest. The girls are in the rear, next to the Oarsman: who's seated above everyone on a plank — he's got the giant oars swung astride him in the oarlocks.

At this point, you're hoping that you don't have to rescue anyone that goes overboard. And you even wish for more brute strength to come aboard... just in case it's needed.

But it's too late for wishful thinking...

You get in the water first — there is no way to avoid it because you’re steering from the front. You feel the cold water seep into your shoes, immediately, and then it penetrates your bones (as though there's no skin barrier, at all). You're feeling quite... naked. But you wait until everyone is inside, and the Oarsman is seated; and then, you pull yourself into the boat last.

Someone kicks the boat away from the bank...

And then the Oarsman tells you to wave to the cameraman (up ahead) so that he can capture photos of your departure.

From here the Oarsman proceeds to give his instructions. He assures the participants that safety is paramount and that an enjoyable experience is quite possible, with no casualties. He goes on to say that the raft is currently floating on class 2 rapids, but that it will be moving into a class 3 or 4, within the next 5 minutes or so.

You can see the rapids are already beginning to increase in intensity...

His instructions are simple: if you go over the gunwale, make use of your life jacket and float down with your feet forward; someone will eventually grab you and pull you back in.

"But, do avoid falling in at all costs," he says...

Someone asks, "Why?"

“You’re welcome to test the water for warmth. Go on, get in,” he snickers.

“Rowing prowess should be performed in three states: easy, medium and hard,” he goes on to say. “Should it be necessary for me to shout, hard — well then, you best be ready to paddle with everything you've got.”

I swallow. The burden of rowing prowess will most heavily fall on me...

The water begins to chop more and more, and up ahead all you can see is a mist.

“Here we go...” he says.

It's only been five minutes and your forearms are on fire! It's the best darn forearm workout you've ever had in your life. Somewhere between a level 3 and 4, there was a level 10. The Oarsman from the aft is screaming through the roaring sounds of thunder and mist: “HARD … HARDEEERRR … C’MON … O’ My... MY OAR... It’s bloody broken — It's been broken, RIGHT OFF!”

You look back and he’s not kidding. He's got this unmistakable look on his face… and he's searching (frantically) from side to side, attempting to locate the broken half, in the frothing water.

And you paid money to do this...

Your eyes widen and you get back to work, paddling like mad.

“I’ll NEED YOU GUYS, RIGHT NOW, TO PADDLE HARDER... RIGHT NOW. OKAY? PADDLE — HARDERRRRRR.”

Those were his next instructions...

No sh!t...

But your forearms had already tanked BEFORE the oar broke...

And that’s about all you remember...

Until you see the banks of the canyon widen, and the water finally calms down. You're also extremely grateful for the sun, which is still keeping you warm.

But, you're exhausted.

A sudden and unexpected dip in the surf almost tosses your mate overboard, so you throw your oar out to brace him, but he catches the rope before going over.

"That was close," he says. "I grabbed the rope just in time" — and then laughs.

There's a hole up ahead with swirling water in a sort of funnel, but you think nothing of it because you're counting on the experience of the Oarsman now, and he's not yelling; he hasn't skipped a beat... yet.

So we all go over this hole, leisurely, and the vessel is swallowed up (like a pebble would be in the giant expanse of the ocean). You were hot before, from rowing. But now you're frozen, and gasping frantically for air.

As you struggle to paddle and free the raft from the death trap, it feels like an eternity goes by. Remarkably, the raft surfaces. And the Oarsman shouts to look up and wave at the camera.

That's me at the front. True story.

“GOOD JOB GUYS," he says, with another snicker.