On Rafting

I've had a pathological respect for rivers and the terms "white water" and "rapids" since spending a nearly-eternal few seconds completely disoriented while swirling around in an eddy after the raft flipped on a runoff-engorged IV+ rapid on the American River.  But I have never imagined the excitement, thrill, and sheer volume of what could be considered a mild riffle while being shot by a group of Thais.

All told, there were seventeen of us--three guides, two kids, one farang, and 11 locals--in 8 sit-on kayaks shooting 6 km of lazy rapids.  In a couple of places the reservoir-drainage river was squeezed into what could be called a minor riffle, with a few large boulders just shallow enough to disturb the otherwise calm surface.  And each cranked the gale of wheedling guffaws into screams at the existential peril.

As we were floating down a stretch of river as lazy as the third mint julep, a guide would splash past in an absurd display of effort.  Not long after, the gentle breeze of current would whisper through the air.  Rounding a bend, a guide or two would be stationed along the rapid, gesticulating with a degree of frenetic that put the Saturday afternoon parking lot attendants to shame.

Inevitably, despite the guides burning a month's worth of heartbeats in a few seconds of directions, one of the first boats down would get stuck.  If they somehow avoided flipping, the next boat would T-bone them with paddles held defiantly overhead while the third boat took the leisurely plummet into the fray.  And EVERYONE, client or guide, upstream or down, paddle held overhead or drifting with the current, would be screaming with hilarity.

The trip was six kilometers.  It took three hours.  And there was only one snackbreak, which didn't come until hour two and consisted of no fewer than three and up to six boiled eggs (I felt good about finishing three runoff-marinaded ovums, but I was put to shame by the big guy's 5 and the 3rd grader's 6), a quad-pack of seasoned seaweed, and a chocolate bar EACH.

Stateside, I had a single-person sit-in pond/lake kayak with a carbon-fiber paddle.  This was an industrial-grade two-person sit-on manufactured to endure generations of Thais paddling over and around rocks with no more instruction than "paddle on this side to go that way, that side to go this side, okay?"
Imagine upgrading from a CJ 5 to a fully-armored Humvee.
With an engine downgraded to a squirrel with just enough oomph to keep the emergency systems running.
And a Thai lady paddling hell-for-leather in any given direction at any given time.

Somehow, we were the only client boat to make it down without flipping.  (My ego--or is it my id?--wants to credit a pigheaded insistence on being either the second or the last boat down the riffle, but it could've been pretty well anything, especially as we were the lightest-weight boat on the water.)  Despite that, I don't think anyone had more fun.