The air buzzed with energy, my boat sliced through the first hole. The second one was bigger, it grabbed the back of my boat – a quick left brace and I was stable. My line was perfect. I was focused and totally in the zone. But then something grabbed my attention, someone was shaking my shoulder, I tried to ignore it, but the roar of the water started to fade and I heard my mother’s voice, “wake up sweetie, come on, we’re here.” In my half asleep stupor it took me awhile to figure out where “here” was. A few moments before “here” had been in the midst of a rapid. “Here” is always somewhere and right now, “here” was Flagstaff Arizona.

I’ve been rafting for as long as I can remember and grew up on western rivers. I first tried kayaking at summer camp three years ago and fell instantly in love. I wasn’t scared. Not like the other kids, I felt connected to the boat and I didn’t mind being upside down underwater. I knew that the river would never intentionally hurt you as long as you understand its power and respect it. One thing I was also able to grasp early on was that you have to work with the river. When you’re kayaking you can’t fight it. If you try to you will lose. End of story.

So fast forward through years of becoming obsessed with kayaking and spending every possible minute on the water; it led me here. To Flagstaff. While I probably would have been here without kayaking the next moth would have been a lot different, someone else would be maneuvering the rapids with me in their 18 foot squishy raft. Instead I was here, praying my 9 foot Dagger Blast had arrived safely.

We picked up our gear from the carousal and after several agonizing hours we arrived at the Cieba headquarters. It was there and as gorgeous as ever. Cieba also had rafts, coolers, dry boxes, and food prepped for us. The next few days were a whirlwind of last minute double checking, planning and rendezvous with good friends. We soon found ourselves driving across the desert to the put in. we came across Navajo Bridge and I caught my first glimpse of the Colorado. The van navigated the tight turns down to the dusty boat ramp and as it lurched to a stop I threw open the door and raced to the water. I kicked off my shoes and stuck a tentative toe in. It was cold. Way cold. Around 45 degrees cold. Of course, that was to be expected, a mile upstream it had flowed out from Glen Canyon Dam and the bottom of Lake Powell. A few other kids wandered down to check out the water and we played until it was time to rig the boats.

After working for hours in the scorching heat we finally finished just in time for dinner. We all piled in the van a drove up to the lodge for dinner. Lodge is a generous term; it was a convenience store with a restaurant attached and a motel around back. We gathered in the restaurant and pushed together tables to fit all 16 of us. Our food came and we joked about our last meal in society. Eventually conversation turned to the framed picture of a 30 foot “pig” boat flipping in Pierce Ferry Rapid. Granted their faces were hilarious but it did serve as a reminder of the strength and volume of the river. It ate a 30 foot raft for breakfast. I weighed 100lbs and was in a nine foot kayak.

I wasn’t too worried, I liked paddling big water, in fact, I have always preferred high volume over technical. You just punch stuff. Avoid the real gnarly parts and you will pretty much get washed out no matter what. But the Grand Canyon was the North American queen of high volume white water. It was my dream river. Simple lines. Big fun stuff. And two main rules: avoid the hole in Crystal (you’d have to really try to be able hit it in a kayak), and avoid the ledge hole in Lava. I was going to be in heaven. Any small inklings of fear were quickly squashed, I would be paddling with great kayakers and we had a bunch of experienced rafters, most importantly; my dad. I was going to be fine and have an awesome trip.
After a night of tossing and turning in the unbelievably hot tent we rose and packed up camp. After a mandatory meeting with the ranger who essentially reminded us not to be stupid we were ready to go. I put on my gear, carried my boat down to the water’s edge, got in, popped on my skirt, picked up my paddle, and scooted in.

The first day was pretty uneventful a few riffles but nothing major. We found nice sand dune to camp on and set up the kitchen, it had been a long day and everyone was hungry. I lugged my dry bag up the hill a bit until I found a mostly flat area that would be big enough to lay out my sleeping bag; I had given up on tents after the first night. Later, as we sat around eating dinner we all kept an eye on the water level as it inched its way into our kitchen.

In the Grand Canyon the water level fluctuates wildly based on the power needs in Phoenix. At this point apparently Phoenix wanted some more AC. We watched and ate and began to discuss if it was time to move to higher ground. Finally, as our feet began to get wet and our chairs sunk into the sand we gave up and moved the kitchen to higher ground. That night I ended up deciding to sleep on the boat where it was cooler. In the morning we woke to find that half of our camp was gone. The left side of the dune had simply sloughed off in the night. Luckily, no one had been sleeping there.

That day we had our first real rapid. As far as the technical aspects of the rapid go it was pretty simple. When I read the description in the river map it seemed really easy and straight forward. When we ran it there was nothing to special. It was big but I had expected that. The unsettling part was that it was small compared to rapids we would soon be encountering.

The next few days were a blur of rapids, swimming, hiking and sleeping under the stars. On day seven we got to Phantom Ranch, we hiked up to lodge to mail our postcard with a stamp proclaiming they were “mailed by mule from the bottom of the Grand Canyon”. After enjoying the breeze of a fan and sub 100 degree temperatures we set off. We made our way to Horn Creek rapid, the first of the “big five” rapids in the canyon. These five rapids were not only had huge waves and holes, they also had some technical maneuvers. For a raft some of these moves could be challenging. In a kayak the lines were still basic. Horn Creek consisted of two rocks or “horns” at the top of the rapid, then short glassy slope that feeds into a giant hole. Then there are a few more decent sized waves and boogie water. The line is to thread the horns and paddle hard.

We got to the rapid mid afternoon and pulled off to river right to scout. The hole looked big but from shore it was hard to accurately judge the scale. The kayakers convened and discussed lines, but there really wasn’t much to discuss. One girl opted to walk it, the rest of decided that a more experience adult boater, Bruce, my dad’s best friend, would go first, then me, followed by a few other then finally, my brother would sweep. The rafts would go before us and be waiting at the bottom. We opted to wait a bit and watch the first few rafts go through. We watched the oarsmen fight and pull and strain to hit the hole head on they slipped in then the front rose up to a perilous angle before the raft was spit out. Thankfully, there were no flips. As the last raft approached we went to get in our boats.

I triple checked my skirt and drain plug and finally pulled out into the current. I followed the lead boat at an upstream ferry until we were in the middle of the river then we turned and started downstream. I was about 60 feet behind Bruce when he hit the main hole. It was huge, he totally disappeared in it and my stomach dropped. “Paddle hard,” I told myself, “boat straight and paddle hard, you can do this.” my boat picked up speed as I passed the horns and I dropped into the hole. I gulped a last bit of air as I slid in and I paddled furiously as I was engulfed.

Something was wrong. I didn’t immediately pop up on the other side. I felt myself pulled backwards. Bracing was no good because at this point I was probably upside down. Then I felt myself getting window-shaded. Every other turn or so I got a bit of air but otherwise I was under water pretty continuously. I was having a hard time holding my paddle. I was thinking surprisingly rationally. Would it spit me out soon? If it came down to it would a wet exit do me any good? I was helpless. I tried to roll but to no avail.

Finally, I made a decision. I released my paddle; I was now powerless. I ducked forward to release my skirt when I was suddenly jerked sideways, rather, my boat was pushed and I was dragged with it. The force rolled me half way up. My brain working at lightning speed and I tried to orient myself as I gasped and sucked in a bit of air. Back under water knew I was out of the hole. The boater following me had t-bones me and pushed me out. I would be fine now. I didn’t want to wet exit, which would be a pain and rather embarrassing. I tried a hand role. As I came up I hit a wave sideways and went back under. My lungs throbbed and pleaded for air. I tried again. And again. Finally I decided to call it. I had no air, no paddle, and was totally disoriented. I reached forward pulled my skirt and popped up.

I coughed and sputtered and swam to the nearest raft. They looked terrified. I climbed on the they rowed to shore where Bruce and my brother met me with my boat and paddle. I drained my boat and tried to keep my breathing steady. Everyone looked concerned. I hopped back in my boat and scooted into the water. My brother paddled up to make sure I was ok. “You were under for a long time.” I glanced to my parent’s worried faces. “You did good” he told me. Next was Bruce. “You’re ok.” He said. That was a bad swim, but I’m proud of you, heck, even I would have come out of my boat a lot sooner” I nodded and confirmed my ok-ness as I held back tears. I could not cry. I absolutely could not cry. Everyone was watching me. Searching to see if I was damaged.

I had managed to stay calm while under water. Everything had slowed down and I had actually had a sequence of coherent, rational thoughts. But once above water, once I saw how everyone else looked at me, I realized that it had been bad. I realized that really bad things could have been. But the next rapid was coming soon. Unkar rapid was right around the bend. I pulled myself together and as the others looked on, concerned, I followed by brother through. There were more holes in Unkar but they were smaller, it’s not a particularly noteworthy rapid. I punched three holes before hitting the wave train. The last one started to suck me back but I fought hard and made it out.

We had another small rapid before getting to camp. I led it and paddled ahead of the group until we arrived. At camp we de-rigged boats and set up the kitchen as we normally did but every time I looked up someone was watching me. Finally the sun set and I went to bed. I lay there for a while until everyone else was probably asleep. Then I began to think about what had happened. I lay there and replayed to moments leading up to my swim. I thought about my line, I may have been a bit far right but I doubted it mattered. The simple fact was that I was small and the river was big.

The swim hadn’t seemed that bad. I had walked away unscathed. But I couldn’t un-see the look on my dad’s face. The look I got from everyone. While I was underwater and thinking rationally they had seen something else. Or rather, they hadn’t been able to see me for a while. There concern is what ultimately concerned me. The fact that they thought something had gone terribly wrong; it was unnerving. I lay there and thought the same things over and over; it didn’t feel scary, but apparently it looked scary. And that made me scared. I finally fell asleep with my parents’ concerned faces staring through my dreams.

The next day was uneventful with no major rapids. I just kept telling myself I wasn’t scared but my heart sped up and I put on my nose plugs before every rapid just the same. The day after that we ran Upset; another one of the big five. It was pretty much a small rapid with continuous waves and one enormous hole right in the middle. We scouted and the rafters discussed a straight forward run far right, kayakers on the other hand, had an alternate run on the left. The left hand line avoided the hole but you had to negotiate several waves that were not much smaller. We opted to go left and went in the same order we had for Horn Creek.

I got into my boat. I reassured everyone that I was ok. I triple checked my nose plugs and my skirt. Then I checked them, again then I tentatively followed Bruce into the rapid. My heart pounded. My stomach dropped. I saw that look; I couldn’t stop seeing that look. I hit the first wave at an angle but I managed to brace and stay upright. I was stressed and it was hindering my skills. I took a deep breath and started to hum. I hummed a tune that had been in my head the past few days. It was upbeat and I felt better. By the time I was through the rapid I had a big grin on my face. “That was fun” I said to myself. “That was really fun.”

Things had gone wrong at Horn Creek. They had gone badly but I was fine. The only thing that messed with me was everyone else. I know my limits and I know what I love. I love kayaking. It scary but it’s good that it’s scary. There is real and present danger and without fear carelessness can lead to disaster. A few days after Upset I ran Lava Falls. Lava is the biggest rapid on the river. The center to left is a giant ledge hole that will recirculate you from now until eternity. But it’s easy to run left. On the left there are two v-waves followed by a big hole then a rock, so after the hole you pull left and enter a wave train. We took a long time to scout and evaluate and stare at our line.

Finally, we made our way to our boats. I got in my kayak and took several deep breaths. I adjusted my gear and cinched my life jacket. I looked to my brother. He nodded. “You got this.” I put on my nose plugs and looked at Bruce. “You ready?” I nodded. Following him really wasn’t going to do anything. After he entered I would lose sight of him. I would be on my own. I started to hum.

I hit the first v-wave and braced like crazy. I hit the second and despite my best efforts I flipped. I automatically tried to roll. I hit my first role just in time to hit the hole and flip again. I panicked. I started to release my paddle, to pull my skirt. But I took a metaphorical deep breath. “You got this.” I counted to three. I was calmer. And then I rolled up. I may have been damaged. But I could still roll up.