On Saturday morning, the ladies walked downtown to try to pick out an activity for the afternoon. We had ruled out rafting because the river was relatively calm (only 2 and 3 level rapids) and wouldn’t have been exciting enough. Laura and Lauren still wanted to do something on the river and decided that we should go whitewater kayaking. They came home and excitedly described the days activity to Peter (Lauren’s brother) and me.
Peter and I were not proponents of the idea. In fact, we simply did not want to do it. Peter didn’t want to go in the 35 degree water. I just don’t like kayaking. I had sea kayaked less than a year earlier, and the experience had been far from fun. I had a vivid memory of struggling for what seemed like hours and only paddling in circles while being scrunched into a boat that was made for a person half my size, and being sore for at least two days later. Put simply, boats like that are not made for 6’5”, 230 lbs. people Not quite the R&R I needed after our 50+ miles of hiking in the past few days.
Ultimately, the allure of the river won out (and the disappointed face of Laura when we said we didn’t want to go) and we set out for a few hours of kayaking on inflatable, orange duckies. I begrudgingly went along, and then was not nearly as excited after talking to our guide, Miles. Miles was a complete burn-out (no surprise for a rafting guide) from the Grand Canyon. That part was fine, but it was his first time to ever sit in a kayak. Ever.
My anxiety increased during the safety orientation when another guide told us the numerous ways we could get hurt, drown, and die. He told us that this was a “self-rescue trip, because there’s only one guide, and four of us. If we kept falling out, we might ‘annoy’ Miles.” After that , he told us “we were all right if we were cold or got water up our nose. We were not all right if we were about to pass out because we were bleeding and our shin-bone was sticking out.” (These are in quotes because that is exactly what he said, which we know because the Kassings filmed half the weekend).
After the rousing safety speech, Laura took me aside to pump me up and say the day was going to be fun, despite me not being thrilled about being trapped in a small boat for the next few hours.
We were all set-out to go. I was the last one to embark on our duckies and start kayaking. Before the trip even started, it seemed as if my pessimistic outlook was going to be spot-on. As I jumped from the bank into the duckie, my momentum swung the boat to its side, further and further and further. I valiantly struggled, but fell in as close to 100 on-lookers joined me in laughing at myself. At the water was indeed 35 degrees.
The trip was actually (much more) fun than I thought it would be. Despite no guidance from Miles (he wouldn’t really tell us which way to go and fell out of his duckie four times), we all survived our kayak down the river. I only had to hit the “self-rescue” button once.
And I apologize for this post being so self-centered. Laura was of course a natural in all things adventure so my description of her conquering the river and being better than even the guides would be much less entertaining than documenting my struggles.
Peter and I were not proponents of the idea. In fact, we simply did not want to do it. Peter didn’t want to go in the 35 degree water. I just don’t like kayaking. I had sea kayaked less than a year earlier, and the experience had been far from fun. I had a vivid memory of struggling for what seemed like hours and only paddling in circles while being scrunched into a boat that was made for a person half my size, and being sore for at least two days later. Put simply, boats like that are not made for 6’5”, 230 lbs. people Not quite the R&R I needed after our 50+ miles of hiking in the past few days.
Ultimately, the allure of the river won out (and the disappointed face of Laura when we said we didn’t want to go) and we set out for a few hours of kayaking on inflatable, orange duckies. I begrudgingly went along, and then was not nearly as excited after talking to our guide, Miles. Miles was a complete burn-out (no surprise for a rafting guide) from the Grand Canyon. That part was fine, but it was his first time to ever sit in a kayak. Ever.
My anxiety increased during the safety orientation when another guide told us the numerous ways we could get hurt, drown, and die. He told us that this was a “self-rescue trip, because there’s only one guide, and four of us. If we kept falling out, we might ‘annoy’ Miles.” After that , he told us “we were all right if we were cold or got water up our nose. We were not all right if we were about to pass out because we were bleeding and our shin-bone was sticking out.” (These are in quotes because that is exactly what he said, which we know because the Kassings filmed half the weekend).
After the rousing safety speech, Laura took me aside to pump me up and say the day was going to be fun, despite me not being thrilled about being trapped in a small boat for the next few hours.
We were all set-out to go. I was the last one to embark on our duckies and start kayaking. Before the trip even started, it seemed as if my pessimistic outlook was going to be spot-on. As I jumped from the bank into the duckie, my momentum swung the boat to its side, further and further and further. I valiantly struggled, but fell in as close to 100 on-lookers joined me in laughing at myself. At the water was indeed 35 degrees.
The trip was actually (much more) fun than I thought it would be. Despite no guidance from Miles (he wouldn’t really tell us which way to go and fell out of his duckie four times), we all survived our kayak down the river. I only had to hit the “self-rescue” button once.
And I apologize for this post being so self-centered. Laura was of course a natural in all things adventure so my description of her conquering the river and being better than even the guides would be much less entertaining than documenting my struggles.
Peter doing a backflip and Lauren about to cannonball!
We survived!
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