The water is angry and swirling from the splash of the sky, the shoebills are out for a bath, the monkeys are minding the forest and Africans are whooping and squawking along the ruddy, muddy shores while 50-50’s edge grows ever closer. I scoop the waves with futility. . paddle left, paddle right, hold on, hold on and get down, I can’t hear his orders above the thunder! What’s he saying now? Strands of hair sticking to my cheeks, the warm comfort of tears just about to break loose, glancing at Michael for reassurance and realizing I am on my own, fearing I wouldn’t hold on tight enough, considering the the distance of the drop. . how rock formations could create such rapids . .wondering just how long I’ll stay underwater this time. Silverback was at least half an hour ago now, but the waves had thrashed me in a spin cycle for what felt like at least two minutes, but was probablyl more like 15 seconds. I was so scared. Out. Of. Breath. I am still so scared. “Be loose” Michael always tells me. Let your body roll with the water, with the boat, against an oar. Alarmed by the word “loose”, I check to make sure my helmet is still there. . .that my life jacket is snapped. . .that the rescue kayaks are still with us. But I am out of time. The falls are here. I try desperately to keep the taste of drama in my mouth so the fear won’t fill it up. I whisper my trio of mantras. . .that people did this every day, that everything would be okay, that somewhere. . .I can see it, there, between the waving seaweed of my own shores, is the rush of fear which I actually enjoy but I just. .can’t. . .quite. . .reach it. Then the boat goes horizontal and all I can see are the handles and my hands and my eyelids.
White water rafting.
In a thunderstorm.
Atop a Class Five Rapid
At the source of the Nile
In Uganda.
As Lawrence would say: Fuckin’ A, man. Fuckin’ A.
girl i love you, but no, i do not plan to **ever** try to top this!! (with or without the t-storm) class 5…?? i scream my bloody lungs out just looking at ‘em!