I should have paid better attention at the rental desk. Armed with paddles and inflatable kayaks, my boyfriend Eric and I hurriedly signed our lives away as the store owner mumbled something about “scouting the rapids at Boxcar.” Slight prob: When you’re on the water, you often don’t realize a rapid is coming until it’s too late. So the next time you take a trip down what I now like to call "the deadly Deschutes," (hey, at least it's for a reason--there were record drownings the year we went!) take my advice:
DON’T go solo if you’re a whitewater novice. My whitewater excursions thus far had tallied a total of two—and both times, I was in a guided raft. But when Eric and I decided to raft the Deschutes on a hot July day, we thought it would be more fun to each get our own inflatable kayak than be packed in with strangers. Bad idea.
Lesson learned: There’s a huge difference between navigating the rapids in a big boat with an experienced guide versus your own tippy little vessel.
DO pay attention to rubberneckers. After getting into the river’s rhythm, we entered our first big rapid, Boxcar. I had just enough time to wonder “what is everyone looking at?” before realizing that the people gathered on the nearby rocks were there to witness rapids mayhem. I was about to be the main attraction, as I quickly overturned dramatically. Between the shock of the cold water and the panic of being dumped in whitewater for my first time, I was in short supply of breath—and common sense. In short, I freaked. I flailed my arms. I tried to grab rocks that whizzed by. “I! Really! Don’t! Like! This!” I announced to my spectators.
Lesson learned: When an audience has formed on the rocks, that’s your cue to scout things out before you hit the rapids.
DON’T become a yard sale. Since we hadn’t anticipated being dumped into the water, we cluelessly didn’t think to secure our belongings with a rope. After we lost my hat and Eric’s shoe, we battened down the hatches.
Lesson learned: Be prepared to offer up anything to the water gods that aren’t firmly attached to your person. And bring a knife while you’re at it in case you get caught in the rope.
DO stop while you’re ahead. After dumping three times, and getting relatively used to it (I even managed a couple “woo hoo!”s with paddle raised), we came upon our biggest rapid yet, Oak Springs. One minute Eric was paddling along in front of me, and the next I just saw the bottom of his boat before he disappeared altogether (turns out, there was about a 6-foot drop). Eric managed to sail over the rapids intact, but was now frantically trying to find me, hoping I hadn’t followed him. Instead, I had taken his disappearing act as a cue to pull to shore, and was safely talking to water rescue guys with ropes, as one fellow calmly explained that this rapid creates a hole that sucks people underneath the water. Oh, he also let me know that this was a special day, because rescue teams were upriver trying to recover the body of that girl who drowned last week. Alrighty then. After that, every small ripple looked like a hole existing only to pin me beneath the waves. It was time to hang up my paddle.
Lesson learned: Don’t talk to guys with ropes if you want to enter the water again.
