When the River Says You’re Done: My Final Rafting Trip

I wrote my last blog post on my break Tuesday, not knowing the two trips I made that day would be my last. As a vigilant follower and devoted reader of my mindless musings, you know I’ve been riding the struggle bus lately – transitioning from one job to another, throwing myself into new people and experiences that leave me tired and broken by day’s end.

I was determined to make it through the rest of the season. But Tu-Tu-Tuesday proved to be the end.

My last two trips were with families. The first was a family of four – two parents and two kids under six. We had a good time. I got stuck on rocks a few times, but we managed to get free without much trouble. The parents were great paddlers who listened and helped, and the kids called out how many strokes they thought we needed to keep up with the other boats. By the end, they were happy and I got a thirty-dollar tip.

The second trip was…different.

It was a family of five: parents, two boys around twelve and ten, and a girl about seven. If everyone doesn’t paddle together, the boat moves like an epileptic spider – no fun for anyone. I tried explaining this multiple times, but they just couldn’t sync up. They kept clashing paddles and getting frustrated. After getting stuck on rocks a few times, I suggested maybe just the parents paddle and the kids could follow.

That offended the mother, and our trip spiraled downhill fast.

The little girl refused to paddle and sat in the front screaming like a banshee every time she got wet or we got stuck. Her mom’s frustration morphed into sharp comments about my raft-guiding skills. I couldn’t really defend myself. She was right – I kept getting stuck – but they were awful paddlers, and guiding is nearly impossible without teamwork. Of course, I couldn’t say that out loud.

So I just kept paddling while she and her sons made fun of me, my tattoos, my voice – all while the girl screamed up front and the dad (who looked like Tom Hanks) quietly tried to get his wife to stop acting like a mean girl. I couldn’t blame her entirely. We were stuck a lot, and her kid was scared. It’s hard to see fear in your child’s eyes, especially on vacation.

You might think that was the moment I threw in my paddle. Nope. That moment came a few miles downriver, almost at the end, when we got pinned on a rock again. I moved the parents around to redistribute weight, but nothing worked. Out of desperation, I asked if anyone had ideas.

The mom snapped, “No, you’re the expert here. Do you even know what you’re doing?”

Well. No ma’am, obviously not, or we wouldn’t be stuck here again. She had a point, but it wasn’t the point.

Rule number one of rafting: never stand up in the river. But when boats get stuck, guides are taught to get out and push them free. It’s risky. You can step into hidden holes your foot slips into easily but doesn’t come out of. If you stand upstream, you could get sucked under and drown. So I got out downstream and stepped straight into a hole. My foot wedged tight as I held onto the boat, rocking back and forth stuck on the rock. I tried to pull my leg out but couldn’t. I looked around to signal the sweep boat for help, but my heart sank as it rounded the corner without even noticing me.

I was stuck and on my own.

I calmly told the parents I needed help getting back in the boat.

“Of course you need help,” the mom snapped.

“I’ll help,” the dad said immediately. He grabbed my shoulder straps and awkwardly pulled me up so I could free my leg. We finally spun off the rock and headed downriver. I tried to stay positive, and so did the dad, but the mom and kids kept up their flippant comments and nonstop screaming.

We were all relieved to see the end. The mom and kids bailed from the boat like it was on fire, while the dad helped me muscle it to shore. He gave me a sheepish look, apologized, and followed his family onto the bus.

It was a long, quiet ride back. The couple sat with their heads together. I couldn’t hear their words, but I could hear the mom hissing them out. She was pissed. Later I found out they complained and got a full refund. Honestly, I probably would have done the same in their shoes.

The boss man gave me a hug and said, “It happens,” then walked away.

It was 7:30 by then, and we still had to unload the boats. Two of us got into position to receive one from the top of the bus. The girl in front got her end, and my end was dropped right onto my head. I still had my helmet on, but I felt and heard my neck make a sickening crunch.

That, my friends, was the moment I knew I was done with rafting.

I’d been fighting the river since 1:30 that day. Pushing off rocks, J-stroking angry guests down the river through pouring rain and blistering sun, getting stuck, nearly drowning – I could live with all that. But having a boat dropped on my head and hearing that crunch…that snapped me into focus.

What if I’m seriously injured?

I panicked a little, grabbed my keys, and headed for my car. One of the girls saw I was upset and tried to talk me into staying. I told her I had an appointment Wednesday to get my arm looked at. It had been hurting for days, and now it hurt so bad I could barely use it. I told her I sucked at guiding and didn’t want to do it anymore. She kindly offered to help me improve if I ever changed my mind. How sweet is that?

I thanked her for calming me down and drove home. Took a hot shower, popped some nighttime pain meds, but couldn’t sleep. The pain in my head and arm throbbed with every breath.

The next day’s diagnosis: dislocated shoulder, torn ulnar collateral ligament, four ribs out of place, and a compressed spine.

It was gently suggested I find a less painful way to spend my time. I agreed. I’m a slow learner, but pain is a pretty good teacher.

I stopped by the outpost on my way home to let them know I wouldn’t be guiding anymore. I asked if there was anything else I could do to help, but they’d just hired a new office girl. They told me they were sorry I got hurt, and that was that.

We peaced out, and I left, ending my short-lived career as a whitewater raft guide.

So today I’m home, baking bread and gimping around the house licking my wounds – not in a whiny way, but because pain demands attention. I wish I could have made it through the season, but I can’t risk getting hurt to the point of not functioning. Or worse.

When my foot was stuck in that hole and the river pushed me over, I was scared. I’ve been down that river over forty times – crashing into rocks, flipping boats, tumbling down rapids – but being pinned like that was the sign I needed. I’m in over my head. It’s time to seek a new direction.

I didn’t make it through the season, but I’m proud I made it as far as I did. There’s a reason older women rarely do this kind of brutal work. Still, I met some awesome people (and a few assholes), made new friends, and gathered stories I’ll be telling my cats until the day I die.

As for what’s next? No plan. I’m just letting the universe show me the way.

What about you? What have you been up to lately? What lesson took you a long time to learn?