The River

The River

 

The river dances around my ankles,

Turning my pale winter white feet red with its cold constant licks.

I feel the giant heaving of the rubber rafts as people tumble into it,

Each person more unsure of what they are about to embark on.

Pushing off into the river I say my goodbyes to the land,

And the release of worries associated with standing rooted in one spot.

Lurching through the water, trying to teach the essential skills and calm fears,

I wonder as always, why am I here? As we hit rock after rock, trying to get the paddle commands correct,

“Forward!” I yell at my crew, paddles go all different ways- none forward.

I wonder how are we going to get down this stretch of river?

Around the first bend with a few freezing splashes of ice water and high pitched squeals I begin to remember.

We begin to paddle somewhat together past the massive log pile that has accumulated around the feet of the old railroad bridge and under the new bridge.

 

Crashing through Ruby Ripple amid frothy white water, blue paddles and yellow personal floatation devices,  

I catch a glimmer of what’s to come of our journey through the canyon and all it will throw at us. 

The river mellows out a bit as we float from the right bank to the left bank of the river.

On the left bank of the river we spot the genetically modified high altitude bovines that can withstand the cold winter temperatures here in the Arkansas valley.

Six blue paddles beginning to dip simultaneously into the water, the swirling the gold flakes, making them twirl to their own dance.

Finally cohesiveness among the paddlers starts to set into a comfortable rhythm.

As I said yell “Forward!” the paddles dipped into the water, pulling our raft through the water.

 

I glance down river to the building blocks of granite, potassium feldspar and orthoclase as they slowly mold together to form the left canyon wall.

Our pod of blue, orange and green boats continues down the river with anticipation building with each paddle stroke.

The entrance to the canyon becomes visible to the lead paddler.

We enter under the bridge tapping, for good luck, our blue paddles to the abandon railroad tracks that will follow us through out the canyon.

A shiver runs downs my spine at the thought of cold water soaking the boat, panic stricken paddlers, and the possibility of people swimming through danger. 

 

The first rapid is a warm up for everyone as we get soaked through and through from the thundering wave that curls around the front of the boat threatening to steal the paddlers in the front.

The second one twists and turns us around forward, backward, please not sideways, Eddies grab with sticky fingers at the underside of our boat, pulling us towards the gurgling lines of calm and rough.

The third rapid comes after a delay, the river looks gone, with the horizon line become evident as we round the final corner. 

The remembrance of the sound of the rough, foaming, curling, thundering, and roaring waves that are about to greet us as we descend into the belly of the river strikes my memory of the waves that are about to greet us, making everyone thrust their feet deeper into the boat.

Bouncing around, paddle commands are lost to the shrieks of everyone, shrieks that come up from the belly, and are unleashed at the terror of the final four foot wave.

Collecting what little dignity is left on the boat, after hearing grown men scream like little girls,

I laugh a deep gut busting laugh along with the crew at the sheer terror that passed between us.

 

Continuing down the river, past the rocks that look like a bear, a smiling Indian, and a creeping turtle we round another corner to face yet another rapid. 

Waves start hitting the front of the raft, small and quick like a Chihuahua biting at your ankles. 

As the canyon walls begin to close in on our raft, the mass amount of water is compressed into a ten foot wide canyon.

The Chihuahua’s bite turns into a Labradors and before a paddle stroke can be let loose, a German shepherd attacks. 

The black side of the original blue, green, and orange raft begins to rise, blocking out the sun. 

Frantic screams, people moving to the high tube in the air, others sucked out into the German shepherds mouth.

Icy cold water hits with a stinging bite, all the air rushes out in one whoosh as the swimmers hit the water.

Hands reach from above, grabbing onto anything on the swimmer, pulling, sliding, kicking and finally flopping the swimmers on the bottom of the raft like fish in a bucket.

 

The icy water knocks the sense into me, fishing around for the rest of the yellow personal floatation devices, and blue paddles I suddenly get it.

I know why I am here. 

The river tests me and it tells me

I am here to replenish my parched soul. 

I am here for myself.