The River Wild

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The River Wild – 90’s flick with Meryl Streep as the white water rafting expert heroine, Kevin Bacon as the city boy villain. Whether the film ever served as inspiration for anyone to take up rafting is doubtful, but the movie does come to mind. Urban dude exposed to the forces of nature, risking life and limbs (almost anyway) going down the rapids for the first time – that’s me.

Getting on board the bus taking us to the starting point, I take a quick look around to get familiar with the company of the day. Or rather, to see who else is up for getting wet, and possibly drown. There’s the Boston family of three, two young German girls, and three local teenagers. In addition to this there are two guides, the kayaker, and the bus driver. The guides do their best to build up the excitement and go through some important information. “Hopefully we won’t have any swimmers today, but things happen”. And of course the obligatory waiver where we agree to drown at our own risk.

The guides divide us up into two boats. The Americans and the Germans in one raft, me and the kids in the other. We’re given a brief practical training on how to paddle, how to move about and sit in the raft, and what to do in the event of falling overboard. Kind of like the security information just before a flight, but with a significantly higher chance of something happening that will make you happy you paid attention.

The kayaker – or pathfinder if you will – sets off, checking the river for dangerous paths before the rafts reach them. Shortly after we’re on our way. Initially the ride is smooth, like canoeing on a lake. Our guide – Fidel or Fidal or something – gives us instructions; “left side paddle forward, right side paddle back, all forward, all back”. Tells me that “as you can see, it’s you and I and some kids, so you’ll be my strong paddler today”. A confidence booster or not, paddling is the verb of the day. Very soon the first rapids appear, and the speed increases, along with the thrill and the adrenaline.

For a bystander it might not seem to go very fast of be very dangerous. In fact, maybe it’s not. The guides to this every day, take every opportunity to show off, and they seem to want to go faster when us novices would feel the instinct to slow down. When you’re heading downstream and a large rock emerges out of the water you can’t help thinking that “if we hit this rock we’ll tip over, guaranteed”. But, as we realize that the rocks serve as speed bumps rather than water mines, our confidence increases, and we start paddling like crazy.

The difference between staying onboard and falling overboard is to keep your feet securely fastened. Logical if you think about it, laws of physics. If you’ve got nothing fastening you to the raft, it doesn’t take much to throw you overboard. Easily forgotten though in the heat of the action. The boy next to me – Carlito – gets a bit overconfident, and forgets to secure his front foot. A slight thump of a wave or a rock, and Carlito finds himself swimming. First rule if you fall overboard; forget about the raft, go feet first downstream until the water is still, and signal whether you’re ok or not. Carlito does none of the above. Not panicking, but forgetting the instructions, he aims for the raft. I help him back up. He’s a brave little chico, but I can’t help detecting a hint of fear in his eyes.

After a short pineapple and watermelon lunch, we set off for the second part of the trip. This piece is a bit calmer and slower, and we’re able to enjoy the nature along the shores. The guide points out a large balsa tree. We’re on Rio Balsa. I connect the dots.

The chatty guide tells me that “the paddle is my tool, the river is my office”. He asks me what I do for a living. A bit embarrassed I mumble “I work with computers all day”. “I could never do that” he declares. I believe him. And can’t help wondering why I’m doing it myself.

After about two hours on the river we reach the finish line, having survived the gauntlet of Rio Balsa. Soaked to the bone, a hurting back, sore muscles from paddling, but happy as can be. No longer a white water virgin (actually it’s brown, but who would sign up for “brown water rafting?”). I’m thinking that upcoming holidays might be near the river wild. Getting back to the movie...a round of the Kevin Bacon game, anyone?

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