"Who is this Greg dude, and why did he put this hole in my river?"
Hey! I'm an easy going kinda guy. I try to stay out of people's way. I give kayakers plenty of room, I don't hassle canoes, or ambush other rafts. I even avoid water fights. So why would Greg l put his hole right in the middle of my paddle path? Who does Greg think he is? Do I even know this guy? None of my Greg friends are paddlers. I don't know...
This afternoon's run started innocuous enough. All seemed right, I certainly didn't suspect anybody carrying a grudge. It's a bright sunny day in mid June and the glacier's melting fast. I haven't seen the river this high since last summer. Close to the 5 foot level. "This is going to be a ride," I said. Although I have to confess to mixing a bit of trepidation into the adrenaline mix. I'm taking three novices with me. Two of which are leaning toward the elderly side. Still, I've run this section a dozen times and never had any trouble before, and my 17.5' cataraft is more than up to the challenge. But am I? As I stare into the mouth of Greg's Hole I'm beginning to wonder.
Truth is, I'm little more than a novice myself. This is the only class IV river I've ever run, and all my basic training was watching from the back of someone else's boat. That, and I read a book on river running. It seemed easy enough from my living room. I have always assumed that since other rafters, looking no more talented than myself, have taken this same type of craft down class V rivers, that I was completely safe taking it down class IV sections, like Lion's Head Rapids. Until this moment I never suspected that they might know something I didn't. After all, I am a good reader. It seems like just moments ago we started into the big stuff behind us but now an eternity is slowly passing as we descend into the gaping void below. I've dropped into Greg's hole before, but I don't remember it taking so long to get to the bottom. And look at that monster wave just beyond it. Wow! This really is gonna be a ride. I have been taking increased care this trip because of the extreme water level. Normally, I would have just pushed through this section, paying attention only to the avoidance of rocks, but today I'm slowing my descent by rowing backwards to keep myself lined up for the next big set of waves. It seems that I'm just crawling over this edge, but as always, I'm in great form.
The bottom comes eventually and the boat submerges in the froth. As it does, what little momentum I gained on the plunge over the edge is now quickly lost in the reversing currents of the exhaust side of the hole. Oh hey! I remember reading about this. Holes are called reversals because the water runs backwards at the bottom. But what else did the book say about holes? For some reason the slow motion of events has just made the jump to light speed, and I can't recall what I'm supposed to do. No matter, the boat just resurfaced and is heading up that monster wave on the way out of here.
Hold on here, we've stopped. Yes! Yes! Now it comes back to me. The book said to approach large holes with speed to maintain the momentum needed to push through it. Fortunately there is not sufficient time to deride myself for my tardy memory. There will be plenty of opportunity for that later. I do what I have to do. I plant my oars firmly into the moving current at the edges of the hole and try to push us out. It seems to be working, we're climbing again. But no, the current reaches out, bites our rear end and hauls us back in, whereupon it sets to chewing on the tubes. Our stearn is now under the current we just descended and its sinking fast, but 6000 lb. of flotation doesn't go under that easy. The bow starts its climb to the sky, endeavoring to pull the stern with it. Warp speed drops off line again, and eternity is now slowly passing before our eyes as we sway back and forth in the battle between descending currents and the desperate struggle to float. I yell out, "I can't hold it much longer captain. She'll not stand the strain."
Just then the river makes one last push to suck us under. I think, "We still might make it," ...but now Diana slips from her spot on the front right and falls past me. It's over. Diana's a big girl and she's been doing an admirable job of holding the front end down, but as she surrenders her post, our hopes are dashed forever.
A half second later, the whole thing is on top of us, and I'm trying to find a way to the surface. Now, before I go on, there are several things you should know about a freshly rolled cataraft. It is very stable with all the heavy stuff on the bottom, and all that valuable hardware digs in and quickly grabs the deeper currents. Suddenly we leap from the hole, cresting that monster wave with ease. I come up near the back of the boat and pull myself in. Joe has done the same and we quickly grab
