Kayaking Down the Colorado River (P.1)

It was the Summer of 69', (yes, like the song) when my next door neighbor and I kayaked down the Colorado River, where we almost met our deaths from the white rapids, drowning amongst the rocks in the southern part of Wyoming.

I remember returning from this near-death experience to our living room in Denver, Colorado, the black and white TV blaring, my father with a pint of whisky by his side, watching the live images of our moon's landscape, and the famous words from Neil Armstrong, broadcasting around the world: “That's one small step for man and one giant leap for mankind.”

At this point, my skin had second-degree burns from the sun, and my feet so swollen that all I could do was undress and crawl into bed, falling more into unconsciousness than sleep. This adventure turned more into a miss-adventure because I later discovered the “adults.” of our contingency of three individuals, and one child had not pre-planned the ride downriver. The professional river traveler will explore ahead, estimating the risks. This was not done. We kayaked blind into unknown territory and nearly paid with our lives.

Our next-door neighbor, Big Jack, we called him, worked at the Denver Airport as an engine mechanic. The light in his garage could be seen late into the night while he built his fiberglass kayaks and various other unknown projects. On those hot afternoons, I'd sit on a wooden crate, watching him build his boats, discussing his many experiences on the river. It would be a few months later that he asked my mother's permission to take me on one of these boating excursions.

Big Jack exuded confidence and had the bearings of a man who knew about the world. A Korean War Vet, Jack, had that military-style and personality that demanded respect. Jack was a man who you could trust with your life. As I recall, my mother reluctantly allowed her 12 year-old son to join the expedition. The trip turned out a little differently than anyone, including Big Jack, anticipated.

I don't remember what brand of truck Jack owned, but it was big enough to stack two kayaks on the roof. We loaded all our provision, mine only a newly bought sleeping bag, a change of clothes, and the compulsory toothbrush. Big Jack said he would provide everything else, including bug repellent and camping equipment. I recall waving goodbye to my mother and two sisters as we pulled out of the driveway. Like most mothers, mine had a worried expression, and as many mothers will admit, worrying about their children is their “job.”

On the border of Colorado and Wyoming, at a desolate gas station, we met Big Jack's friends. One of the men looked older than Jack, and the other, a younger boy, no more than 20 years of age, who turned out to be his son. After the initial greetings, Jack and I led the way into Wyoming, to finally turn off the main drag and ending our day at a public campsite.

We launched our boats the next morning into relatively calm waters. This “calmness” on the river would soon change for the worse.