When they told me to arrive early to be fitted with a wetsuit for the kayak was the first red flag.
“A wet suit?” I asked. Why did I need a wetsuit for kayaking?
“It’s for the abrasions.”
“Abrasions?”
“In case you fall out … with all the rocks.”
“Oh.” Well that gave me something to think about.
“We plan for the worst and hope for the best.” He handed me a helmet. “You’ll need this too.”
What had I gotten myself into?
Whitewater kayaking for dummies
It was a perfect summer afternoon when I joined a whitewater rafters group with the Sawtooth Adventure Company in Stanley, Idaho. They were heading out to class III whitewater on the Salmon River and I was tagging along, the only lone participant, with a kayak. (Maybe this is where I should mention I’d never done this before?)
About 20 of us piled into an old school bus towing our boats in a trailer behind. The other adventurists were mostly families: Mom, dad, and 2.5 kids. They’d be riding the rapids together in shared rafts with guides. I’d be braving them alone in an inflatable kayak.
On the bus, we blasted Aerosmith on the radio while trailing along the cliff edge that bordered the Salmon River. As we made our way deeper into the Sawtooth Mountains, one of the guides told me the Salmon is also known as “The River of No Return.” So that was inspiring.
Sawtooth Valley
The Salmon River flows 425 miles through central Idaho, dropping more than 7,000 feet in the Sawtooth Valley. It is one of the largest rivers in the United States without a single dam. Louis and Clark determined it “too rough to be navigable” when they surveyed it. Perfect.
They lined us up near our boats at the river and gave instructions about what to do if we fell out. It sounded like a likely occurrence, especially if you were in a kayak.
My guide, Rainee, said once in the water, I should let my boat and oar go. Don’t even think about them. Yeah, but I’m in a river that wants to kill me?
I learned you need to fight like hell to ensure you go head-on into the rapids or, going sideways; you’re guaranteed to flip. When you do inevitably flip, you should not panic. Ha.
And, here’s the most important part. DO NOT TRY TO STAND UP IN THE RAPIDS. This seemed counter-productive to me. My first instinct would be to stand up and grab my boat quickly so that I could get back in.
“Do. Not. Try. To. Stand. Up. In. The. Rapids.” she said again.
But Why?
She explained that if I tried to stand, I would likely drown. Encouraging! She said the many, many rocks in the areas of rapids are the perfect place to get your foot stuck. You do not want your foot stuck in a rock while those rapids are blasting you in the face nonstop without pause.
That seemed sensible to me. So what in God’s name do I do?
“Just keep your feet up, let your life jacket do its work, and float through the rapids until the water calms.”
I looked at those sharp jutting rocks and rapids that lasted for long stretches and wondered again what had possessed me to book this trip. But, here I was, and I needed to deal with the consequences of my decisions. I put on my helmet, smiled, gave the thumbs up, and pushed away in my kayak.
Kayak Competence is Important
I’m a competent kayaker. On my family trips, we used to stand up on the kayaks and canoes and play games as we cruised down the river. Those rivers, though, were smooth and rapid-free. This river was decidedly not. There wouldn’t be any game playing unless you count “fight for your life” as a game.
The first rapid came about five minutes into the trip. It was barely enough time for me to adjust to the oversized inflatable kayak I was captioning. The only kayaks I’d ever used were hard plastic and much smaller. Of course, hard plastic bouncing off jagged rocks would not make for a very comfortable ride. Each rock hit would likely bounce you right out of the boat.
Suddenly, the water started to pick up pace, and looking ahead, I saw why: There was a gusher of blasting water as if it were coming out of a firehose at full force awaiting us. The water sprayed and gurgled as it blasted around the many rocks that attempted to block its path. How the rocks withstood the assault, I did not know.
Kayak Into the Rapids
Before I knew it, I was in the full force of the rapid. I was violently tossed side to side as I dug my paddle low and attempted to navigate around the biggest rocks. My kayak dipped low in the front going over a big rock and water blasted me in the face blinding me entirely for entire seconds.
I fought furiously, my legs gripping the side of the boat to hold my body inside. There wasn’t time to pray. I only thought, stay in the kayak, stay in the kayak, stay in the kayak. My body, understanding the punishment it would take if it did not, followed my commands impeccably. I had blisters on my thumbs almost immediately from clutching that paddle so hard.
It was like being on a roller coaster, except your life was actually on the line and the only thing keeping you from agony and great bodily harm was your own strength and skill.
For long moments I struggled to see and breathe through the water that assaulted me while trying to paddle my way through the tempest. I felt inadequate and certain that my muscles and mind would give out before it would end. And then it did end.
Victory is being in one piece
Just as quickly as I was pulled into the rapid, I was pushed out of it into relatively still, welcoming waters. I was still in my boat.
“Whooo! Who!” I shouted with relief and the other rafters laughed and cheered too. After, several of the guides told me that at least 40% of kayakers fall out on that first rapid. I’m glad they didn’t tell me before.
Our three-hour trek down the river continued much in the same way rapids, followed by still water, followed by rapids. It didn’t get any easier, but I did gain confidence once I knew I could manage it. I didn’t fall out even once. Praise be.
What my brothers taught me
By the end of our trip, nearly everyone had complimented my kayaking skill and ability to stay in the boat. I don’t know that I have a skill, and I’m not especially fit, but I do have a tenacity for survival that I credit to my brothers.
I grew up in a world of boys. My athletic and competitive brothers and cousins didn’t seem to think being a girl warranted any softer treatment. If anything, it meant I needed harsher lessons. They challenged me physically and mentally at every opportunity. In turn, I know my limit is likely five times further than I believe it is in any scenario. They taught me that.
If we were climbing a fence or a wall, they’d knock me off, swimming, they’d drown me, running, they’d trip me, climbing a tree they’d push me out. Lifting something? I’d be given the heavy side. Impossible job? Make Rene do it herself. Nothing was made easy because I was a girl. Everything was made harder.
My brother David, in particular, made it his special mission to challenge me within an inch of my life. We’d spend long hours in the pool where he’d hold my legs and make me paddle with my arms until I was exhausted. He’d periodically dunk me under and hold me there before making me paddle more. Cruel? Hell yes. Will I ever drown? Not likely.
Those lessons, the difficulties they made me face, built my endurance for difficulty. They taught me to fight hard, harder, and don’t stop until I succeed, or at the very least, survive.
Girl Power
I didn’t think of any of that while I was on the river, rapid after rapid coming for me, trying to flip me and drown me, batter me on the rocks. I didn’t think of it until after when one guide said, “I’ve seen guys not do half as well.” As if my being a woman should have been an impediment.
Near the end, we stopped to rest in a quiet part of the river where there was a big 20-foot high boulder. Many of the men and boys were climbing to the top and jumping into the water below, so I joined them just like I’ve always done.
Following my lead, several of the young girls and one Mom jumped too.
After, as we made our way to the end of our trip in the last slow miles of the river, I overheard one of the tween girls ask her Mom if maybe next time she could try the rapids in her own kayak. “We’ll see,” the Mom said, grinning in my direction.
Maybe I was a novelty to them, but I hope the next time they’re faced with something hard, maybe those girls push themselves a little further than they think they can go. And I hope you do too.
Read more stories about Idaho here.
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