By Amara Johnson
Left… right… left… right… The hairpin mountain road had my car sickness in full swing, but I was still as excited as a five-year-old on Christmas morning. Along with a handful of staff members, we were taking about 20 teenagers white water rafting! I would soon find out how different the Matanuska’s waters were from what I was familiar with, the Colorado River. Matanuska river was feed by a glacier, from which we planned to enter the river only a few miles from.
My first red flag came after we arrived at our intended entry point, already a few hours behind schedule. The individual who was supposed to be our guide was speaking about the route we would take. He explained that at the gas station, on the way up, he had asked for advice: “Stay left.” Those two words were what the leader had based his supposed plan on. My stomach jumped from Everest to the Mariana Trench. He had never actually run the river before!? Worse, he was basing the safety of over 20 people on passing advice he got from a random individual at a gas station! I would soon become accustomed to alarms firing in my head on this trip.
Chilly would be an understatement; that water redefined cold! Stepping in it resembled drinking water, from a glass more full of ice than water, while chewing mint gum. We had enough wet suits for most of the group and a few staff got dry suits, but the rest of us headed into the water with regular clothing the river would soon laugh at.
There were two rafts, one was for passengers and the other was for luggage, and a few blow-up kayaks. The passenger raft had about 20 people in it, which was too many. The raft rode so low I had water halfway up the leg which was inside the raft. My other leg was swung out over the river, as I straddled the outer tube of the raft. It was not long before I accepted the numbness which quickly possessed my leg because it was more pleasant than the alternative. The luggage raft was dangerously heavy. One man was rowing it, seated above his mountainous cargo, with massive oars. The luggage raft seemed to be playing a life-sized version of pinball.
Shortly, I understood the gas station advice; the right side of the river was often walled in by towering cliffs. With my previous experience in swift water rescue, I knew, without running the river first, staying as far away from the cliffs, with their many surprises, was one of the leader’s better decisions. However, the left side of the river was extremely shallow, and we had to get out and push many times. After one of these pushing sessions, a girl at the front of the raft was not able to get back inside quickly enough. She gripped the outer tube at the head of the raft with the rest of her body was underneath it. Two boys were right in front of her but made no action to help. I shouted across the raft from my place near the back for them to help her in. They grabbed her hands in a pitiful gesture but made no more effort. Again, I quickly shouted for them to stand up and give her the help I knew they were capable of or, so help me, I would crawl up there myself. This convinced the boys to help enough to get the girl back in the raft.
As the day moved on, we were not even close to making the progress the leader had intended for us, and rafting in the dark is out of the question. One boy, who was wrapped in an emergency blanket and laying on top of what luggage we had in the center of the passenger raft, battling with hypothermia. We had to find a place to stop soon.
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