Diana's Blog: Quirky Words and Book Reviews

This blog doesn't involve a book. Not directly.
I set off on an all-grrl weekend of camping and white water rafting Friday afternoon, not sure what to expect. I hadn't been camping with just grrls since Girl Scouts. Actually, I've never camped as an adult. My ex-husband kindly says that my idea of camping is to not have a mint on my pillow.
There was no pillow. Just a self-inflatable pad to put under the dusty and frayed sleeping bag I'd borrowed from my son. It did not self-inflate. And it rained Saturday night. In the desert, in August, it rained. My book was stuffed in a bright orange tote bag near the edge of the tent. All the clothes nearby got soaked. Not the book.
But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
Friday, with the sun hours from setting, we struck the tent. Eyed it. It was more of a lean-to. We wiggled the tent, and hammered orange spikes into the tight brown earth, anchoring it a bit better.
Our guide, a 30-something (like the other grrls) firefighter. Danielle says she burns three-thousand calories a day -- we didn't doubt it, watching her efficiently pull tent poles and cooking gear from her rocket box atop her rig, balancing and stretching to pull the campsite together, suggesting how we could help. Topped it off by cooking a marinated fish, with couscous and a salad. And, cooked her dog turkey necks. I warmed up the BocaBurger I'd brought, and my salad had a Winco sticker on it. Oh, that's how you camp! I absorbed Danielle's movements. Camping changed since I was a kid -- a lot of prep for camping equipment has directions printed on it, and easy push-and-pull parts. Still, this was baby-camping for Danielle. She smiled. "Everyone starts somewhere."
I asked Danielle what the rafting experience would be like. "The risk is you could end up in the river, maybe get hurt, or we could dump the raft or we could just get wet in water fights with nearby rafts." I asked her where to put my diamond studs, leave them in or hide them in the car. "The risk is you could lose them either way." What about the car key, hide it on the vehicle or wear it on the raft? "The risk is you could lose them either way." Oy, I'm such a New Yorker. I opted to put my earrings in the glove box, and let Danielle hide my key on the car.
In the morning, we did that complicated shuttle move with her SUV and my Mustang convertible, top-down. Finally put in on the Deschutes, wearing our life jackets.
It was a packed river, so we back-paddled a few times to make space between rafts. Especially to make space between the raft with the guy wearing the pirate hat. Five of us grrls on the raft, only a couple of us with experience. I'd white water rafted a couple of times in my time -- with my then-husband and two little kids, and a guide -- everyone watching out for everyone else. Very protected. We stayed at a nearby hotel, and did the river with few risks.
This time, I chose to be on the left side in the front. And, I dug in, oblivious to the others. Finally Danielle said, "If you all watch each other, we might just quit going zig-zag down the river."
Oh.
It was about teamwork. Individual power, but it was trumped by teamwork.
Despite that, we hit some rapids and Mona spilled out. She had a look of shock on her face. We finally got her back in the boat. I asked Danielle about that. "It takes a lot of upper body strength, and you have to kick your legs to give you the boost to get back in." She dove in to swim for a few minutes. I thought about diving in, too, once she got back on the raft. I realized -- much like life -- I usually wait for something to push me, to dive in. So, I made a conscious decision. And I dove in. Woo. A bit cool. It was a warm day -- highs in the mid-70's. The water on the chilly side of refreshing. Barb and Monica pulled me back in.
These life lessons were beginning to sink in. I was enjoying this trip on a metaphorical level as well as the extreme pleasure of the ride. I mean, we basically knew what was a few dozen yards ahead, but we didn't really know how the rapids would treat us. And, it wasn't about thinking what might happen later. It was about the rapids lapping at the lip of the raft, teasing it to flip, and riding in rhythm with the river.
Mona fell in again. This time we coordinated her pull back in, and she was swiftly aboard.
Danielle consulted her map -- the biggest rapids were straight ahead. Level four, maybe five. I suddenly realized I would end up the water soon, and I argued that in my mind. I decided I would not end up in the water, and I dug my paddle in fiercely. The rocks were close on the left, and I tucked my outside leg up and closer to the raft. I leaned in toward the raft, willing my body weight to spill into the raft, if I lost balance.
Not sure what happened -- seemed like the raft went down and the rapids scooped me out, tossing me onto the slippery rocks. Monica later said "the look on your face -- you looked like a little girl!" Maybe I wondered "how could this happen?" But the thought slid away swiftly, replaced by self-orders to keep my feet out in front of me. It was a long ride to take on my butt, and that's how I did the run. On my butt. Those rapids scooped me, and tossed me, scraping me against the moss-covered, slick river rocks, and just as I felt centered, another wave would flip me. I saw the grrls behind me, sensed they would do what they could. Some men on the side of the river tossed a small rescue device my way, but it went too far in front of me to the right, and the water was pulling me to the left. A rescue attempt, I observed. It felt sooo amazing! Riding the rapids, not knowing if I would survive the dunkings, but deliriously happy that deep inside this was all-right, perfect, and, yes, I will make through this experience, just like I make it through every other experience life on land tosses my way. What a cool metaphor -- the thought reflected in my mind, dazzled, and was instantly replaced by the view of another raft. A bunch of kids yelling they would save me. They paddled close, and the slim, muscled arms of teen-age boys pulled me into their raft. Leaving two of their own on the tiny island that appeared at that moment. I looked back. The island was gone already, and the boys were swimming. We were at the end of the run. The grrls paddled up, pulled me back into our raft. They'd been trapped in an eddy. Moments later, all the kids were back in their raft. I had spilled down the entire rapids on my butt. My knees were bright red, my right elbow scraped and bruised, and I knew that my coccyx had connected -- hard -- with rocks more than a couple of times. I wasn't going to ask anyone to check for the big purple and black bruise I knew was there.
A fresh sense of courage filled my soul. The power of my soul matched the power of the river.
My own little story, and dozens like it on the river around me.
It wasn't till the next day when we hunted down the pictures taken by professional photographers at the three biggest rapids that I saw the truth.
Oh, the book -- I had an interview scheduled for Monday morning at 7am. 459 pages -- so I read for ten miles on my treadmill after we got home Sunday night, and finished reading The Reincarnationist in the tub, soaking my bruised butt while I was transported to a time of Vestal Virgins and to Rome today.
As I soaked in the hot water after I closed the book, I reflected on what I had seen in those photos -- the raw power in my triceps and biceps, and the fierce delight on my face. No book could give me that.

Live it! Be in the moment! Go for it! Seems like a new chapter in my life dedication to be Fearless.

No head-lessons on how to live in the moment can compare to that communion with the rapids.

Labels: books, camping, Deschutes, fearless, grrls, power, raft, rapids, river, The Reincarnationist., white water rafting