Lessons From A River Rat...

The Snake River in Wyoming represents a fading ideal in the United States. Egalitarian and non-commercial, anyone with a suitable floating device and a strong enough desire is able to go rafting down this stretch of water.

The Snake is not a pacific creek or brook. This is not a river of softly rounded, dirt banks and mud shoals as so often found in the waterways of the Midwest and out East. This is a body of water that has thrashed, beat, and carved its way through solid granite, an ancient liquid assault on the ultimate immovable object. The path of the river winds through sheer granite walls that still bear the scars of the river's gouging. The water itself is moody and insubordinate. Precisely the reason hard core river rats are drawn to it.

A commercial outfitter found in or around Yellowstone or Grand Teton National Park can show the tourists a fun raft ride down the Snake. I took one myself many years ago. We departed from the banks behind Jenny Lake Lodge, the current of the river gently tugging the nose of our little raft and pulling it downstream. We were treated to truly majestic panaramas of the Grand Tetons, and wildlife around every bend. We hit a small series of riffles and our little tourist group smiled and whooped in our life preservers. I let out a whoop too, a smile on my lips. The drama over, the trip at its end, we disembarked dry and happy.

My next trip down the Snake was a little different. As I think back now it was really a rescue mission. A friend at work had talked about his river running exploits. The pictures on the wall of his cubicle only served to whet my appetite; blurred explosions of color captured by the camera, I was struck by the milky blue of the water, the bright yellow sunlight, the white foam of the crashing water, and the bronzed skin of the rafters shiny from waves and spray. So when he offered to let me accompany him with his wife and another couple, I jumped at the opportunity.

My friend was not the actual captain of the raft that we would be riding down the river. I met the captain as we prepared to leave in the early dawn in Salt Lake City, loading the trucks in my friend's driveway. My first impression of the man was big, bald, and full of life. I immediately felt comfortable placing my life in his hands.

That comfort evaporated the next morning as we stood on the banks and I watched the crashing water roar up at us from the canyon below. There seemed to be no possible way that something as fragile as a rubber raft could survive the gauntlet of waves and rocks below. And yet, as we stood there watching the river, I began to see rafts coming into view, skillfully piloted through and around the granite obstacles that rose up out of the water. Popping like corks up through foaming waves. Full of grinning, furiously paddling rafters who were by all appearances enjoying themselves mightily.

Too late to back out now, I stepped into the raft with my 4 raft-mates and we shoved off to meet the river. I had spent the night before lying on my back in my tent, listening to the sounds of the wind as it rushed through the trees. My mind was still back in my house in Salt Lake City, where a toxic marriage and unhappiness had made a home. That I was alone without my wife on this trip should tell you enough.

Regardless of the fact I had made a bad choice in spouses, in careers, and in the direction of my life, I was firmly convinced that all that was required to set my life right was more force applied. More force applied to my angry and hurting wife, more force applied to those I worked with, most of all more force applied to myself. All these problems, creating such discomfort, such dis-ease, in so many people, were but nails that simply needed to be pounded with a bigger hammer that I would be weilding. And I truly saw my will as the hammer that would continue to grow and conquer as these problems continued to grow and refuse to submit to my will.

As we left the shore in the raft, the river gave no pretense of gentleness. We were rudely and powerfully yanked into the current, the dynamics of running a river set into motion before I had a chance to consider the process. There had been a brief pre-launch safety lecture from our captain but all that had manged to filter down through the many shouting voices in my head that morning were "stay in the boat." With that in mind I took a death grip on the rope that ran around the circumference of the raft. I looked downstream and noted with some hysteria that the rather large boulders seemed to be coming straight at us, and much faster than I was comfortable with. I turned to my friend and asked him what we were doing. He looked at me and smiled.

"We are trying to maintain the illusion of control."

Ah. "And those rocks?" I asked.

"We'll try to go around them." "If we get stuck up against them the raft can get sucked under and flip." "If you get pinned against the rock you'll most likely drown."

Ah. Splendid. Merely seeking a temporary escape from a troubled home life I had engaged on a suicide mission with a group of lunatics. And yet the lunatics were laughing, genuinely enjoying their pre-death moments and the companionship on that raft.

We skirted the boulders and I caught my breath just in time to feel us surf up the back of a large wave, created by a boulder submerged below us in the riverbed. As Edward Abbey pointed out, unlike oceans, the waves in rivers are stationary with the water running through them. One moment I was watching the sky and admiring the buckle on my Teva sandal that was above my head. The next moment I was throwing myself onto the rear of the raft in an instinctual attempt to keep the raft from filling over as we careemed down the face of the wave.

Before I could even regain my seat we slid over a great sucking whirlpool, I felt the front of the raft level out, the rear of the raft then sucked violently back into the hole, caught in the spinning vortex of confused water. Paniced I looked over at our captain who was smiling.

"Wanted to give it a second chance to eat us."

He had done this on purpose, I see now that he had intentionally steered us into the hole. And yet he wasn't worried. On the contrary, he seemed amused. I was glad I could provide amusement and yet I wasn't quite ready to be sucked down to my watery grave. We actually sat and talked as the water tried to pull the raft under. Our captain explained the conditions of the riverbed that sculpted and created suck holes and eddies. How calm navigation could allow you to break free of the suction and current every time.

On that day I took away many lessons on how to read a river, and how to run them in a raft. While I was never delusional enough to think I was now ready to grab a raft of my own and take off down the river, I ran more whitewater in future summers, everywhere from Canada to the 4 Corners in the Southwest. Always I enjoyed the rush of adrenaline and exhiliration of being alive, but without the panic and fear that the unknown held for me on that first run down the Snake River.

If someone new to river rafting asked me for a list of suggestions and rules for navigating a raging river, my advice would look something like this:

• Those who stay on the shore get left behind.
• Approaching the unknown with humility is a good survival skill.
• When you think nothing can go wrong, remember it's just the illusion of control.
• Rocks won't move for you. Move out of the way of the rocks. If you insist on battling a rock, you might very well die by that rock.
• Even when you're halfway down a suckhole, you can still break free.
• The only way to learn how to break free of a suckhole is to find yourself in one.
• With practice, suckholes that once used to scare you, will later amuse you.
• You can't avoid all the waves in a river, learn to ride them.
• Although scary at the time, later on what you'll remember about the waves is the exhiliration of surviving them.

And perhaps the most important lesson of all, you are not alone in the raft. So if you fall overboard, don't panic someone will come by to pick you up.