A Nonfish in Freezing Water
See me in the photo? Perhaps you need a hint? There’s the captain of the raft. She’s wearing the blue helmet, paddle in hand. And there’s Sprite, yellow helmet on the right. Smiling.
Me? I’m trapped beneath a red helmet, front left. Most of me is under water. I’m not smiling. I’m freezing.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, we were in Queenstown, New Zealand, home of outdoor adventure. And even on a honeymoon those warm comfy hotel rooms with stunning lake views can become so tedious.
We called “Scary White Water Rafters” to arrange an outdoor excursion for my 77th birthday.
When we arrived at the “Scary” office we were told that the river trip we planned to take was cancelled. But we could transfer to the “more challenging” river trip.
“Sure,” I said. Because that’s what a real man does, right?
I had been white water rafting years before, and assured Sprite that it would be perfectly safe and fun. She looked at me sideways as she read the brochure description: “Begin with an unforgettable bus trip into Skippers Canyon, famous for its exciting cliff edges.” Right. We both love exciting cliff edges. NOT. Then, “The adrenaline pumps as you paddle Aftershock, Squeeze, Toilet, Pinball, Jaws, and Oh Sh*t, to name a few.”
The most dangerous white water rapids are rated 5 and 6. These rapids were rated 4 and 5. “Oh Sh*t” is right. We left a perfectly pleasant hotel room at 7:30 am to risk both our comfort and our lives.
Yes, the cliff edges were exciting. For forty-five minutes our van careened down a gravel road with the driver gossiping all the way. I did not look out the window. I smiled at Sprite to reassure her while our guide read excerpts from the release we had to sign. Basically, if we froze, broke a leg, or died, “too bad and Happy Birthday!”
When we arrived at the Shotover River (Yup) we were led to dressing rooms where we discarded our warm, dry clothing for dripping wet suits, frigid rubber shoes, and rigid plastic helmets.
As we dragged our rafts into the surging water, Sally, our boatperson, plied us with instructions, spiced with scary stories about previous patrons who didn’t pay attention and ended up falling out of the raft and bouncing along the rocks.
I was handed a wooden paddle. I had planned to sit in the middle of the raft next to Sprite, to keep her safe, but Sally assigned another man and me a job. We were to be “the motor” and sit in front, where it’s more dangerous. The women sat behind us, Sally in the back. “I’m the steering,” she said.
My boots soon filled with water. When I broke my paddle on a rock Sally happily handed me a replacement. Drat! My legs cramped. In the middle of “Squeeze” my life jacket popped up around my neck and tried to strangle me.
And the photo? That was at the very end of our out-of-room experience, after we bumped through a dark river tunnel blasted by gold miners a hundred years before. Sally warned us, “At the end of this tunnel is “Oh Sh*t,” and when I say ‘DOWN’ go all the way down in the raft, FAST. You will be underwater, but hopefully you won’t fall out of the raft.”
An hour later, back in our hotel room, Sprite beat me to the hot shower. Later as we burrowed under our comforter we agreed that our white water rafting fling had been scary, but wonderful.
Next year on my birthday I think I’ll sign up for something more exciting, like wrestling a grizzly bear while sky diving.
Alan
Comments ( 6 )