Chapter 11

Rich’s head snapped over to me, saw my impersonation of a young girl with no boobs wearing a bikini, and then scowled. “That’s not funny, you asshole!” He whispered harshly. Katie lost it as did I, and I saw a smirky grin come from Rich a half-a-minute later.

Setting out on the relatively calm water, we were given an estimation of what to expect for the rest of the day. We’d have several hours of normal, three to four mile-an-hour current, and then we were gonna’ pass through the toughest part of the Canyon: Horn Creek, Granite, Hermit, Boucher, Crystal, and a couple of others, all rapids, all within a twelve-mile stretch.

“Before that,” said Jake, “we’re gonna’ have a taste of it with a stretch of deep drops, starting with Unkar Rapid, followed by Nevills, Hance, Sockdolager, and Grapevine. Those are over a 9-mile stretch, with the drops ranging from 16 feet to 30 feet. That’s a three-story building.” Jake let that sink in.

While the others were engaged in an excited conversation, Katie encouraged both Rich and me to move closer to her.

“I want to let both of you know that today could be much tougher than even what Jake was talking about. I’ve not been on the river in quite a while where there was this volume of water. Almost reminds me of--” she was cut off by Rich.

“‘83?”

Katie cocked her head. “How do you know about 1983?”

“I read now and then,” was Rich’s reply. “The Emerald Mile.”

The look on Katie’s face showed some newfound respect for Rich.

“I’m impressed. I wasn’t around then, of course, but I’ve heard numerous recounts of it through the years and been on rides similar but without that volume.” Katie looked over at me. “1983 saw the release of a tremendous amount of water from behind the Dam due to unprecedented snowfall melting upstream.

During that year, people died on the River, and there was an epic journey by three legends. You should read about it sometime.”

I nodded, fascinated.

“Anyway, my point is, more than ever, I’m gonna’ need both of you on top of your game. This could get dangerous in the blink of an eye, especially if some of the yahoos up front aren’t fully paying attention. Jake and I came close to calling in the chopper this morning and ending the trip. After today, we might wish we had done just that.”

Rich looked over at her, and with a serious, no-frills look, said “We’ll have your back, Katie.”

She looked at him, and then at me. I simply nodded.

“Okay then,” she resolved, “let’s do this.”

Before we started with that aforementioned first group, a few miles upstream we hit Tanner Rapid and its twenty-foot drop, which today was more like a twenty-five-foot drop, according to Katie.

You don’t appreciate what that means until you are sitting in an open-top vehicle, with no seat belts, holding on with your toes, and looking forward and either seeing a wall of water high above your craft or, like on a roller coaster, nothing at all, just open air.

The guy part of the young couple, his name was Matt, and hers was Maddie, cute, I know, lost his paddle during the passage, but luckily we were through enough that we didn’t miss his paddling. He was given one of the spares by Katie.

Jake and Katie often needed to communicate, so they both had earpieces and some type of walkie-talkie built into their life vests. They were on the horn to each other now, and while I couldn’t make out the exact conversation, I believe they were talking once again about an airlift.

She finished her clandestine conversation and then said quietly “This may suck.”

A few minutes later, we entered the Seventh Circle of Hell: Violence.

For the next twenty minutes, we got soaked, spun, nearly flipped, pounded, twisted, nearly flipped again, roared at, flung, and for lack of any further suitable adjectives, we got our collective asses kicked!

We survived. That’s about the best way to describe it. At one particularly harrowing point I looked over at Rich and he looked, for lack of a better word, serene. Didn’t understand that, but had zero time to think about it.

Both Jake and Katie were barking out orders as we passed through, and all of us were doing our best to comply. Our inquisitive and interrogative teen got tossed from her perch and just hung on for dear life.

I could see a somewhat panicked look about Katie, but I didn’t ask. At this point, there was no going back, so better to just be an ostrich.

The next nine or ten miles weren’t bad and allowed us to catch our breath and flex our muscles a bit to loosen them back up. Jamie wasn’t hurt, just a little banged up and Jake was there to help her back to her post.

And then we rounded the bend and saw it.

The Ninth Circle of Hell.