Rafting Adventures....and a Child Guide

The dirty, old looking van with broken door handles didn’t worry me as much at the 12 year-old looking kid who stated without much enthusiasm he was going to be our guide for the day.




If I wasn’t a bit nervous about white water rafting before; I am now.

Our driver looked to be…oh about 17 years old. He had to be a teenager since in between sticking his head out the door in the steep, rough not-made-for-driving-on road to make sure the tires stated on the loose gravel and instead of over the edge (to which I thought I’ve had a good life and it was sad it was going to end this way) he would text. (Now I’m convinced my life is going to end in a dirty, beat up rusted out van.) As in, take out the cell phone and text and not have his eyes on the road all the while our “tour guide” slept. He must have been at least 13 because that is what teenagers do; sleep and nap for long periods and 12 years old would make him a child. None this is behavior was lead to my eagerness to raft.

My rafting mate for the next four hours was a mother-daughter team with whom I was camping with for the weekend. (Along with eight other women, camping in tee-pees.)

The other three rafters were Korean. A father and two nine year old children. The father spoke English although his listen skills were not keen. The child/teenager/river guide would command us (okay maybe command is a strong word for his soft spoken, non-authoritative voice) to paddle three strokes forward. I took these commands seriously. No way did I want to end up in the icy cold river in class four/five rapids. Our Korean man would paddle until someone told him to stop unless he was keeled over in the raft. Yes, he had a tendency to fall inwards often going over the least powerful rapid. The kids; well were kids. They did not do anything that assembled paddling. Nor did they understand our child/teenager guide since they did not speak English. This left three women and one child/teenage guide to steer, move and get the raft safety downstream.

It’s a wonder I lived. But I did. Next time I raft, it will be with a guide that is older than 12; and it will be on US Federal lands. And if a rusted out, beat up, broken handle van comes to pick me up I’ll know to walk away.