The last day of rafting, we were running one of the most difficult rapids (a Class 5+) and one of our raft-mates, Jenny, fell out. Jenny, a single mother in her 50s, had been hesitant to paddle Class 5 rapids and had almost decided to remain at camp; we’d convinced her to come. Much to our dismay, it was Jenny—of all people—who popped out of the raft on the most difficult and dangerous part of rapid. I saw Jenny’s panicked face in the water as we flew past her, paddling our hearts out to clear the rapids. We had planned to take the safest path through the rapids, but were forced to take an alternate course to avoid running Jenny over. Jenny was rescued by one of the guides in a cataraft, a vehicle that looks like two big yellow bananas linked together. I was afraid she’d be hysterical, but when we approached her, she had a big smile on her face. She’d followed Pedro’s instructions to curl up in a ball over the whirlpool part of the rapid (which could have sucked her under), and survived. I’d only known Jenny about five days, but I could tell she’d been transformed. She walked with a new air of confidence.
This type of experience recurred for several of my fellow campers during our trip. Faced with a Tyrolean traverse across the river over rough rapids, Heidi was nervous. Campers were fitted with a climbing harness attached to a pulley and required to pull themselves across a rope stretched over a roaring Class 6 rapid. In spite of her fear, and encouraged by the applause of her fellow campers, Heidi accomplished the feat.
Michele’s turn to be afraid came during a rock-climbing activity. There were various climbing options—from a rope ladder, to artificial hand-and-foot holds, to climbing using only what nature had to offer. To descend, we had to do a 320-foot two-stage rappel (unhooking on a small platform halfway down and re-hooking into a second rope). Michele was afraid of heights. She made it to the ground, and told me she’d “never looked down—not once!” then added, “I think I’d look down the next time.”
