Maybe we should have paid more attention to the fact that the liability release we had to sign mentioned the word "death" seven times. (Rafting tip: Pay attention to the details.)
It was a week ago, on a camping trip with folks from Mrs. Brad's office, a friendly, enthusiastic bunch that was ready to have fun floating down Cache Creek in rafts.
At least I thought it would involve "floating." Mostly it involved seconds of terror preceded by minutes of dread.
I'll spare you the details, kind of. Put it this way: At the first set of serious rapids, Mrs. Brad was thrown out of the raft, got her foot temporarily caught in ropes attached to the raft and lost her beloved Giants cap. (Rafting tip: Don't wear treasured caps.) She was banged up, but managed to get back in the raft, barely, before we hit some more rapids.
The second major set of rapids, known as "the widowmaker," ejected me. I ricocheted for 150 yards, bouncing off rocks and gasping for air as I was dragged under. I, too, lost my Giants cap. (Rafting tip: See previous tip about caps.) And when I finally got to a spot with slower water, Mrs. Brad was nowhere to be found. She was stranded atop a rock upriver and had to be freed. Yikes.
We spent the next couple of hours cursing the rapids, trying to keep the raft straight, waiting for the finish and getting sunburned, since our sunblock washed off. (Rafting tip: Bring sunscreen and reapply during a break.) Finally, we neared the end . . . and were suddenly driven into the bank of the river by the current. We shot toward a tree and ducked to avoid being swept out by branches. The tree (I presume) then grabbed our raft and flipped us into the river, much like its predecessor in "The Wizard of Oz." We both came up gasping, with Mrs. Brad losing both her sunglasses and her oar. (Rafting tip: Don't wear sunglasses that you're not prepared to lose.)
We got back in and made it to the finish, with blistering sunburns, no caps and no sunglasses. Oh, and after we collected ourselves, we discovered that my insulin pump, a piece of medical equipment that costs thousands of dollars, was broken. (Rafting tip: Remove expensive items that can be water-damaged.)
Total cost: Two caps, sunglasses, insulin pump, sunburns, multiple bruises, a scratched face. (Rafting tip: Wear a hockey goalie mask.)
As we walked into camp, we looked like George Washington's army after Valley Forge. People were limping, holding ice packs on their hips, with bandages wrapped around their heads. (OK, maybe not the last one.) But as we shared experiences, we laughed.
A few people made it through undamaged, but others bounced off several rocks with their tailbones. Some people pulled their rafts out and caught rides back.
Talking about the woes made the frustration of the past few hours more laughable than lamentable. The fact that my insulin pump broke was a bit of a medical problem, but we survived it.
The people were great. But was the raft trip a disaster? No.
Like many miserable experiences, it is less daunting in the rear-view mirror. It became a source of funny stories. Because we survived, which created a sense of community (which, I presume, was the goal).
Will we do it again?
(Final rafting tip: Don't let the enjoyable memory make you forget the undesirable experience.)
Brad Stanhope is a former Daily Republic editor. Reach him at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.
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