Dimples and Hydraulics- Riding the Rapids in PA

I am two with nature. -Woody Allen

It was 6 a.m. on a drizzly, overcast, unseasonably cool Saturday morning in August. I was meeting 14 co-workers in a lonely parking lot to go whitewater rafting down the Youghigheny River, with one of those groups that arrange outdoor adventure trips for city folks like us.

Not only was I not the outsdoorsy type myself, I was practically a card-carrying klutz. Just to add to the fun, I couldn’t swim, and was terrified of the water. Nonetheless, I willingly agreed to pay money to spend one very long weekend day riding the rapids with my work friends.

After a subdued van drive, we arrived at the river. The eerie morning silence was broken only by the powerful sound of rushing water, nature’s Muzak. The beauty of the river and the surrounding forest was obscured by the overcast sky, which made the normally vibrant colors of the water and the trees fade into shades of gray and muddy brown. It was surreal and ominous in a neurotic sort of way, like a nature scene from a Woody Allen film.

Our guide Kathy was one of those naturally petite women who combined perkiness with a no-nonsense toughness, a combination that lent itself well to being a head cheerleader, a drill sergeant or a whitewater rafting guide. “O.K., we will be riding four to a raft,” she shouted, “We will ride 16 separate rapids on our way down the river. Before we take each rapid I will explain what to expect and any special instructions. The trip should take about five hours. Any questions?”

I mentioned the fact that I could not swim, and that I once almost drowned at my local swimming pool. No problem! We’d be wearing life jackets, she told me. She carefully explained what to do in case I fell in, a possibility I dismissed as too gruesome to actually consider.

Keep my body straight. Point my feet downstream. Put my chin down. Cross my arms and hold the bottom of my life jacket tightly with both hands. Following these simple rules, I would ride the rapids like a human raft. It would be Fun, said Kathy.

The trip began. Kathy was in my raft, which I found reassuring. I was assigned the front left seat in the raft which made me the person with the least responsibility for keeping the raft going in the right direction. I just had to row, preferably in time with the others. Riding the first few rapids made one thing perfectly clear. I was definitely the weak link on my team. Keeping up with the rowing and staying in the raft became my goals.

Kathy turned serious when we came to the rapids that someone named “Dimples” in a fit of whimsy. Dimples was so named because there were two huge rocks on either side of the rapid. In order to navigate the rapid and live, we had to negotiate the turns through the rocks quite precisely. Once past the first rock, we had to change direction quickly in order to pass the rock safely. Our turn had to be sharp, but not too sharp, and clean, or there was a very real possibility that my co-worker and raftmate Jim could go crashing into the rock on his right, resulting in his death or serious injury.

I liked Jim. He was an extremely nice and gentle man who administrated early intervention programs for children with disabilities. I did not want him to die.

We readied ourselves to go through Dimples. I fought the urge to close my eyes. We entered the rapid, passed the rock on the right and masterfully made the quick turn around the rock on the left. Perfect! We had done Dimples. We were positively giddy. Dimples was our Everest. A new pride filled us.

We resumed our journey down the river. The afternoon was progressing nicely when the time came to navigate Double Hydraulics, the rapid made up of two adjacent whirlpools. Getting through the Hydraulics would be no sweat, Kathy assured us. We had done Dimples, and this one was nothing next to Dimples.

Into Double Hydraulics we went. Then it happened. With raging force the water rose above me and the whirlpool sucked me into the river. Although encompassed by a panic so great that it was positively suffocating, I tried to keep my head and follow Kathy’s earlier instructions.

Body straight. It was a whirlpool, my body wouldn’t stay straight. Feet downstream. There was no downstream – I was going in circles. Chin down. O.K. my chin was down in a natural attempt to get into a fetal position, but I didn’t see how this was helping me. Arms crossed. Hold bottom of the life jacket tightly with both hands. I was literally holding on for dear life, but to no avail.

The whirlpool was bigger than me. It was sucking me in and spitting me out, sucking me in and spitting me out. Although I took deep breaths of air each time I was spit out, I was swallowing a lot of water each time I was sucked back in. I prayed fervently, but in the power struggle between the whirlpool and me, the whirlpool clearly was winning.

My life flashed before my eyes. It didn’t take long. I was 23 at the time. My life had been short and rather pitiful. I had had no life, and now it was over. I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to die.

I wasn’t the only one who thought I was in trouble. In my moments of being spit out, I could see Kathy, until now the very picture of calm coolness, jumping up and down in the raft, frantically screaming, “OOH! OOH! GET HER! GET HER! OH MY GOD, GET HER!!”

Then I saw a hand. A big hand. An enormous hand. A hand bigger than life itself, well, certainly bigger than my life. It was reaching for me. Was I hallucinating? Was it God?

The hand grabbed me and pulled me back into the raft, and I could see that… it was Jim! “You had a really funny look on your face, and I thought I had better help you.” I was reminded it was always a good idea to have a guy named Jim with you if you were going to be rafting down a river.

Kathy asked me if I was O.K. Sure, I was fine. I was soaking wet, I had narrowly escaped an encounter with Death, and I was physically and psychologically chilled to the bone. But why complain?

Since then, I have made a point of staying out of large bodies of water. Many years later, however, I would have an ill-fated encounter with a horse. But that’s another blog.