by David Boyle
“That was nice!” Hayden shouted, arms extended, bracing. “Where to next?”
Mark switched sides. “I’m workin’ on it.”
The river charged into a hollow in the canyon wall, mist filling the air where the river angled sharply to port. Hayden looked to the trailing canoes, both thankfully still upright. Mark was alternating between bracing and reverse, the river a mass of seething white amid the thunder when three enormous boulders came into view from behind the near wall. Hayden pumped to slow the boat, the river rushing past, the air throbbing, spray bursting from below the separate drops. “We’re not going to just run that, are we?”
“Not hardly!” Mark yelled, dismissing one slot after another. “See if you can find an eddy. There’s got to be one in here somewhere….”
The stone monoliths jutted like arthritic fingers from the river, the three looming ever larger while Mark and Hayden struggled to slow their descent. Boulders growled slowly past, some with strong enough backflows, none yet situated in water clear enough of obstructions to risk swinging the boat.
Dark water ribbons split and rejoined while they searched for pockets of relative calm. Mark leaned out, bracing, and switched tracks. A set of boulders split the river ahead, tongues of dark water fringed with bubbles swirling behind them. “Forty yards!” he shouted. “Second one on the left!”
Hayden looked ahead, his paddle chattering across the rocks. “Okay, got it!”
They shifted the canoe sideways. Twenty yards….
Ten.
Mark lifted his paddle an instant before the bow grazed the boulder, then reached behind and grabbed the eddy, his arms quivering under the strain as Hayden swung the stern around. The Discovery rotated into the backflow, Mark, then Hayden shifting to fast forward to cancel their momentum. The Discovery bobbed slowly forward and thumped to a stop behind their targeted boulder.
“That was close,” Mark panted, the air throbbing as he pinned the near-flooded Discovery with his paddle.
“Too close for my money,” Hayden said, the rocky triplet awaiting a scant thirty yards downriver. The Tripper bounced around the bend, Ron stroking to slow it, shouting at Tony, the canoe approaching way too fast.
“You got the boat?” Hayden shouted above the roar…
Mark nodded. “I think so.”
…and got to his feet. “Slow down! Slow down!” Hayden hollered, motioning to a wide-eyed Tony. “Keep that paddle in the water!” Tony shoved his paddle forward, the river growling around the shaft in response. “That’s the way! Keep it up, Tony!”
The Tripper sped past, clipping the Discovery’s stern as it punched into the eddy and started around, Tony stabbing at the backflow, frantic; Ron digging to complete the turn. But the Tripper was moving too fast and the heavily loaded canoe broadsided the next boulder down. The impact jolted Tony half out of the boat, his paddle vanishing overboard when he scrambled to grab hold of the gunnel.
Water curled hissing along the hull. “Get that spare out!” Ron yelled at his partner. “We need to back up! And whatever you do, do not lean upstream!!”
Mark and Hayden could only watch as Tony fumbled the spare paddle out from under the bungee cords. The Tripper was pinned just aft of the front seat, Ron locked and ready when Tony stabbed into the current. The stern started around, spray shearing along the hull and into Ron’s face. “Be ready, Delgado. You cannot miss this eddy!” Tony nodded, clearly terrified.
“Hurry, McClure!” Hayden shouted. “Charlie’s almost on top of us!”
The Tripper swung slowly around the boulder, Ron and Tony stroking to hold tight against it before the bow slipped into the eddy. “Grab that thing,” Ron said finally, breathing hard. “And once you’re settled… throw me the bailer.”
Charlie crested a wave, hanging on his paddle, then shifted to a brace and began his turn. The Rockfinder started around, the keel scraping something hard before the canoe spun end-for-end and banged against the Discovery. He plunked his paddle across the gunnels, beaming. “Man oh man! That was fantastic!”
“Looked good out there,” said Hayden, steadying the Grumman. “And I’m glad you enjoyed it, because there’s lots more to come.” He directed Charlie to the Tripper. “Your buddy’s shaken up, not that I blame him. But he needs to get more aggressive. The way they came flying in here? They’re lucky they didn’t end up swimming.”
“That wouldn’t ‘a been good.”
“Tell me about it.” As tricky as it was getting in, Hayden could see that getting out wasn’t going to be any easier. “How you doing in that thing?”
“Okay, I guess.” Charlie seemed not to notice the water in his boat. “Do have a coupla new dings here and there.” Mark was bailing, as was Ron. “Does look kinda bitchy for the next what…,” he said, craning. “Two hundred yards?” Charlie grabbed his bailer. “Which way from here?”
Hayden eyed the map pinned under the thwart. “Haven’t gotten that far.” Seconds passed, wrinkles soon bunching along his forehead.
Charlie leaned over. “What’s wrong?”
“However we managed it, we’re miles further than I thought.”
Mark emptied the bailer overboard. “What was that?”
“We’re way farther than I realized. Unless I got my canyons mixed up”—Hayden glanced about the rapid—“this here is Hell’s Gate!”
2
Hayden was on his feet, he and the others studying the river as it charged past the Three Goliaths. The nearest slot offered almost no room to maneuver, while the one farther over was choked with rocks. The routes beyond were fractured regardless, the river a broken mass of white for a hundred yards and more downriver. Encountering unrunnable rapids was not a new thing. Not having a way to portage around them was.
Ron stared past Tony to Hayden, both understanding that the other had no answer to their dilemma.
Hayden plopped on his seat, then checked with Mark and Charlie. “Any ideas?”
Mark pointed to a boulder opposite the chute. “How about we ferry across? If nothing else, it’ll give us a different perspective.”
Ten yards was all it was. Ten yards of very fast water where losing ground to the current likely meant not being able to get back to where they started. But what other choice was there? Even if by some miracle they were able to eddy hop their way upstream, there was no way out of the canyon for miles.
Charlie’s canoe blocked their exit, and one way or the other, he’d have to move it. “How about it? Want to give it a shot?”
“I don’t think so, Prentler. I’m sweep, remember? The guy trailing the parade.”
Hayden wasn’t surprised. “Guess it’s up to us, Bennett. And do me a favor and get that brain bucket on….”
Mark settled on his knees, stuffed his cowboy hat under the seat, then buckled his helmet on. “Whenever you’re ready, Bull.”
Charlie eased back along the eddy. “You’re clear,” he shouted, sculling to hold position.
They pushed back a foot, then powered clear of the eddy and into the onrushing current. The Discovery shuddered, Mark and Hayden pumping in frenzied unison, waves splashing over the gunnel as they ferried across the chute. Seconds passed, though not many before the canoe thumped the boulder, water again sloshing in the bilge as they settled the Discovery into the latest eddy.
Mark rolled his shoulders. “A little rough on the arms, maybe. But not too shabby.”
Hayden was already examining the drop, and while his view was different, his read was not. “Between me and you, I think we’re in trouble.”
“There’s always a way. Always. Yellow Bridge should have taught you that. There was no way down that one either. Except that there was.”
Hayden locked the boat with his paddle. “Have a look then. If there’s a route through that, I sure don’t see it.”
Mark stepped out onto a submerged rock before climbing the boulder, and with solid footing scrutinized the stretch of river they needed to run. There were cheater routes they c
ould possibly do, two along the far wall and another to the outside of the big boulder on the left, all of which ended in a maze of jumbled rock. The main routes were through the center. The chute left started with a four-foot drop, the flow exploding almost immediately in a field of boulders the size of Volkswagen Beetles. Slot right was narrower, waves curling on the right below the drop, the maze of white streaked with dark water tongues, splitting, joining up again, and finally merging ahead of a second drop where what looked to be a fifty yard long set of haystacks stood waiting before the rapid finally petered out.
Mark plied an invisible paddle, swaying right to left, then back again as he ran the available routes in his head. His wife’s Italian ancestry had long ago rubbed off on him, and he was now deep in conversation with the rapid, imagining the turns and the strokes they’d need to make. Most routes ended in upsets, and possibly wrecked boats, but one….
“We can do this,” Mark said finally. “Can’t make any mistakes… but it is doable.”
“You think so?”
“From here we target that little riffle. Then I think left, but I’ll know better when we get there, and after that….”
Hayden listened while the guy with the letters S F B hand-painted in bold red across his helmet laid out the route. In years past he’d thought Shit for Brains was merely an exaggeration. Now he wasn’t so certain. He was sure they were very good together in a canoe. And if Mark said a rapid was doable, it almost always was.
Mark finished up—hand signaling first to Charlie, then Ron, each in turn replying with an upturned thumb—then climbed down to the boat.
“Think any of that actually got through?”
“We’ll see,” Mark said, settling on his knees. “All we can hope is that they go to school on the start.”
“They’ll be watching,” Hayden assured him, checking the bungee cords stretched across the tarp.
Mark cinched his chin strap. “This is the part that gets me,” he said, snatching a look at the rapid. “You think how crazy what you’re about to do is, and know you’re going to do it anyway. Your heart’s banging. Your stomach’s all knotted up….” He zipped his life vest and latched the buckle. “You ever feel that way?”
“Uh huh,” Hayden said, locking his thighs under the thwart. “Mostly when you and me are in a boat together.” He wiggled his fingers to get the color back. “You settled yet?”
“I was right, wasn’t I?” Mark grabbed his paddle. “You’d have brought that tape player like I wanted, I got the perfect tune for this.”
Hayden got the boat moving. “A couple come to mind. What’s yours?”
Mark stabbed into the onrushing current. “Danger Zone, what else?”
The roar kept getting louder, Mark and Hayden working to steer clear of the rocks and at the same time trying to keep their speed down. Mark goosed the bow left, then right around a boulder. The river dropped away. He stretched up—“Holy shit!”—and went hard into reverse.
The river ahead exploded along the face of a slab-sided boulder, Hayden thrusting to slow down as the Discovery nosed over the drop.
“Left, then right!” Mark shouted, straining to maintain a lock on the tongue of fast water. Hayden drew the stern around, the entire river seemingly swallowing the Discovery as it plunged into the swirling water while his partner struggled to hit the next slot. The canoe kicked left, a translucent wall splintering across Mark’s shoulder as he reached into the backflow of a passing rock. “Go right!”
The canoe heeled over, water crashing in as the Discovery shuddered through the wave. “Perfect… now left!” Mark shouted, hanging on his paddle. Hayden ruddered, then switched to reverse, the Discovery suddenly buoyed less by water than air. Mark drew left, slowed… a cluster of boulders growled past… then switched sides, braking.
“Right or left?” Hayden shouted as a side channel joined the fray.
“I…. Ah hell, go left!” Mark switched again, bracing to counter when the bow jerked right, a back-curler splashing across his chest and along the tarp, Hayden braced on the opposite side. The Discovery shimmied upright, paddles nudging it into alignment with the current, bubbles swirling to the surface as they swooped toward the first of the standing waves.
Roaring, pulsating, every inch of it in motion, the river reared skyward into a wall of rushing water, a ball of sunshine glinting through its crest. Paddles went out, Mark on one side, Hayden the other, the two stretched out over the gunnels like flesh and blood outriggers. The bow carved into the wave, then Mark, icy water cascading over the gunnels as the canoe shuddered in seeming slow motion up the side of the translucent mountain. Mark blasted clear—“Yeah baby!” he shouted, his paddle bracing nothing but air—the wave still tumbling across the tarp when the canoe tipped forward and started down. Slowed on the down slope, powered forward going up, the Discovery teetered on the edge of disaster while Mark and Hayden worked feverishly to stay upright. Soft and cushy as a enormous breasts, the waves dropped quickly in size, the notion of an icy swim at length replaced by the exhilaration of once again experiencing one of Mother Nature’s gifts to paddlers.
The current slowed as they entered the field of scattered boulders. The din faded. And soon the last of the boulders slipped beneath the surface.
“Now that was fun!” Mark said, steering the thoroughly flooded canoe toward the shallows. “Like I keep telling ya… if it’s doable in an open boat, you and me…? Hell, we can do anything.” Mark leaned back and stuck his hand out.
Hayden gave his partner’s hand a slap. “Definitely one of our better runs. And good job picking the route.” He stroked the boat around, bubbly patches drifting past, a hiss floating across the water. “Does have me wondering.”
Mark reached for the bailer. “You thinking Bull, or Tony?”
“Both actually.”
Charlie strapped on his helmet. “...and if I don't... fuck, we'll just hafta figure somethin' out. Don't rush me is all I'm askin'. However this goes, gimme a coupla minutes before you head down.”
“Will do,” Tony shouted. “And good luck.”
He glanced over his shoulder—“You too”—then drove out of the eddy, the canoe swinging smartly around before he downshifted into reverse. He’d gone to school on the route Mark and Hayden had taken, but with one paddle and a keeled canoe, Charlie wasn’t keen about using it. The river burped and exploded along the drop, his focus locked on one boil in particular. He couldn’t see the boulder itself, but he knew by the way the water was acting that it had to hold one heck of an eddy. Big enough to hold me?
The canyon walls throbbed with the power of the rapids, the Rockfinder still gaining speed when it nosed over the drop. The canoe carved into the curl, and two yards later jerked on its side. A low brace snapped the thing upright, water crashing across the tarp as he pumped the stern around and powered into the eddy he'd suspected was there. The backflow grabbed hold, the river thundering past barely feet away as the canoe banged into the backside of a hulk of black granite.
Charlie wiggled his shoulders, admiring the curious formation of monoliths while the canoe bobbed in its bubbly pocket of calm. He took a deep breath. Okay, that worked. Where to next?
“What was it you said about no other routes?” Mark said, still at work bailing his end of the boat.
Charlie vanished behind a wall of white. “To hear him bitch about that keel,” Hayden said, “I would never in a million years have thought he’d try running like that.” Charlie turned sharply and slipped behind yet another boulder, then sat there, smack in the middle of the rapids. Bailing possibly. Or enjoying the view. “Why didn’t we run it like that?”
“We’re longer than he is. Heavier too. And the way he’s got those tarps set? Hell, he’s the next thing to paddling a closed boat.
“Maybe we could have gone that way. Then again, we could still be picking up the pieces.”
“I guess,” Hayden demurred. “I take it the binoculars are buried.” Mark twisted around with a l
ook. “Would have been nice to watch is all.”
Charlie made his turn.
“Solid as hell with his peel-outs, that’s for sure,” Mark said, watching Bull maneuver through a section of rapids before catching another eddy. “That was a nice move.”
“He’s still got the standers. Your end empty yet?”
Mark scraped the water from around the knee pads bonded to the hull. “Almost.”
“Just don’t take all day. Charlie might not need our help, but the more I see how tricky this thing really is, the more convinced I am that Ron and Tony will.”
Having kept track of his progress to make sure Charlie didn’t run into any problems, Mark and Hayden were marveling at how well he’d done through the standers when Charlie, on exiting the rapid, reached up and twirled his paddle. They’d nicked more than a few rockagators on the way over, and neither was surprised when the Rockfinder jolted to a stop, its captain nearly ejected from his boat.
“Celebrating a bit early?” Mark said when Charlie paddled to within earshot.
“It’s always the sleepers that getcha.” Charlie peeled off his helmet. “What was that trip leader’s name? Trimble? ‘Never let your guard down’. Shows to go how right he was.” He reached for the bailer, his boat still with a good three inches of freeboard. “Loved the run, but I am glad it’s over. Be frickin’ near impossible with not all that much less water.”
“That you even tried eddying had me going, especially the top part,” Hayden said. “Guess now I know better. I’m not kidding, Bull, you made that run look easy.”
“Heads up, guys.” Mark was staring. “Here they come.” The Tripper was little more than a curvy red slash in the froth, the bow plunging from behind a boulder. “They look too far left to you?”
“You fuckin’ betcha.” Tony was paddling, but not nearly fast enough for Charlie. “Paddle damn it! Paddle!”
