Kayaking Down the Colorado River (P.3 of 3)

 

I awoke the next morning to the crashing sounds of the river. My fellow travelers were still sleeping. So not to wake anybody, I stealthy found my way to the river's edge, scooping my hand in the cold stream and drinking several mouthfuls. After so many years, I still can taste its freshness and bite to the tongue – it was delicious. The rest of the camp emerged, and we cooked breakfast of slimy eggs and oatmeal.

“Please no oatmeal for me, thanks, I'll stick to the eggs and burnt toast.” I said.

“Suit yourself, but it's going to be a big day.” Big Jack replied.

The sky was overcast and looked like it would rain at any moment. After loading our supplies into our respective kayaks, we launched onto the river. For the entire morning, we only hit a few rough patches of white water. Big Jack sat behind me, barking out orders on which side of the boat I should paddle on. We were doing well, traversing around rocks and rushing water that appeared too dangerous to run through without running into trouble. Then it started to rain, and it came down hard.

Big Jack yelled, “We need to go to shore before the storm gets any worse!”

Right as we turned around a long bend, we were faced with a scene of pure white water. There was no escaping the rushing torrents and rocks without slamming into them. Up ahead, I saw the older man's kayak turn over and watched him grab onto a rock as his boat flipped like a wheel, topsy-turvy downstream. The younger man had disappeared with no sign of his craft. All I remember is Big Jack screaming:

“Paddle-like-hell-son!”

Close to the river's edge, our Kayak capsized

Our provisions, and everything else crashing downriver. I remember Big Jack grabbing my shirt collar and taking us both to the edge. We made it. Then the heaven's opened up, and cold rain pelted hard against our bodies. Every drop of rain that hit my body felt like a bee sting. We crawled under the closest tree. After around thirty minutes, the old man and his son showed and sat next to us under the tree.

“We shouldn't stay here, or we'll be hit by lightning.” the old man said.

“Any sign of the kayaks?” Jack asked.

“No Big Jack, the boats with all our provisions are long gone. We need to find help.” the younger man said.

The rain had stopped as quickly as it began. So we set out on foot downriver to find anybody that could aid us in our current plight. The sun reappeared in all its burning glory, and my hat and shoes had been in the Kayak. If you ever had to walk barefoot on a forest floor, you'll know it's excruciating.

We then decided to walk away from the river inland. After a two hour trek, we could see a homestead in the distance. Before even reaching the front door, a man dressed in an old plaid shirt and jeans, carrying a shotgun, announced,

“You people are on private property. I'd advise you to move on!”

After explaining our circumstances, the shotgun man sized me up, determining that we didn't present any threat. I remember him half smiling, possibly thinking: 'These damn city people, more trouble than they're worth.'

When we entered his home, who I assumed was the man's wife looked me up and down and said, “Take off those wet clothes, child, and get in the shower. I'll find you some dry ones. Go on...”

Getting into the shower, I remember it stinging so bad because of the fact my face had second-degree burns, not to mention cuts and bruises on my feet, crying in the shower. The clothes the lady gave me were way too big. But I recall being thankful and, most of all, grateful for being alive.

I don't remember traveling home; however, what I do remember is Big Jack and my father sitting in front of the TV watching history taking place, the major event in my lifetime.

Big Jack continued saying to my parents, “If it wasn't for your son, we'd be floating somewhere drowned in the Colorado River. Your son is the hero in this story.”

There was nothing heroic about the whole damn thing. But something truly immense changed for me as a human being. Coming in close contact with the giant owl on the river had opened my awareness beyond the bubble state of suburbia. The pain of walking barefoot through the brush of the Wyoming landscape revealed that I wasn't merely the “quiet child" who had waking nightmares three times a week. The moon landing represented an evolution for not only the human race but for me, personally.

From that July day in 1969...I had grown up.