I spent my Fourth of July white water rafting in Costa Rica instead of being patriotic. Today’s epic adventure featured me, 30km of the Rio Pacuare, and some Class III-IV rapids.
I’ve rowed and kayaked before, so I figured, what’s the worst that can happen? I decided that my best position on the raft was to sit up front and call cadence because, fuck it, lead the way. That’s how I roll.
The first few “easy” rapids were fun – a few class II and III rapids that made for some exciting “oh shit!” moments. Then came the first Class IV. I figured that my job would be to focus and keep paddling until I heard the guide yell stop. Despite being about 10 feet behind me, I couldn’t hear him for shit. So I paddled and down we went – a steep little dropoff and we all got soaked, but we emerged victorious. So we did the paddle “high-five” thing, and I thought, fuck, that was rather simple.
The next Class IV rapid would be my downfall. We took the ready position, hunkered down and ready to paddle our asses off. First came the drop and I heard our guide scream to paddle hard, so I dug in with my paddle and kept crankin’ away like I was some paddling rockstar as opposed to a barely coordinated guy. With the waves, there were strokes where I didn’t catch any water, but I kept paddling like a damn paddling savant. And then came the wave. The next thing I know, I’m leaning backwards, trying to use my foot that was kept under a strap on the boat and crunch my stomach despite my beer gut in order to keep from falling out. I failed, and I was in the drink.
I was about 6 inches under the water, struggling for air. Despite that, I was pretty calm. I saw two of my fellow boatmates reach for me with their paddles for extension, yet all I could think about was handing my paddle back to someone on the boat so we didn’t lose one so I wouldn’t have gotten charged for one. I didn’t float as well as I should have – the sandals, baggy shorts and shirt kept me under water and less buoyant. But I was fine even though I was gasping for air. See, being waterboarded actually helps prepare you for the outdoors. Take that, ACLU!
Eventually, my fellow boatmates pulled my fat ass back onto the boat, and I regained my composure and more importantly, my breath. I was shaken, and my pride took a beating. I shouldn’t have fallen in, and yes, I know, shit happens. I secretly wanted another boat from our tour group to suffer the same fate so I wouldn’t be known as “that fat guy who fell out on our rafting trip.” Ego, I tell you.
We did a few more Class II and easy Class III rapids. Every time I felt something, I took one hand off the paddle, and grabbed the “oh shit” strap on the boat. That screwed up the boat’s orientation, and we’d yaw as a result. I felt bad, but got over it. After all, they didn’t get tossed.
We prepped ourselves for the next series of Class III rapids, and I was anxious to get back going since I felt like crap, and needed a self-esteem boost. Naturally, when you want something, you don’t get it. We hit a fucking rock. Not a tiny rock, mind you, but a god damned Rock of Motherfucking Gibraltar that came out of nowhere. With the current and waves, our boat was pinned sideways against this rock, and I found myself along with my boatmates standing on the side of the boat, leaning against the rock. I don’t know where this rock came from. Our guide didn’t know where this rock came from. So here we are, chillin’ while being pinned against this rock figuring out what to do with ourselves. After a few minutes, the rescue guides said our best bet would be to jump off, get fished out of the drink, and then free the raft. Since I was already drenched and had no pride left after my previous falling out, I figured, fuck, and crossed my arms, closed my eyes, and jumped in. I bobbed along like a pudgy moron and grabbed the back of a kayak and crawled ashore, feeling like a total dick. I know that shit happens, but it felt like at that point, I could fuck up a wet dream – no pun intended.
It took the guides and kayakers a good 20 minutes to free our stuck raft, and in a way, I felt that hey, we got it stuck really good, so this was a freak occurrence. After we got the boat free, we got back on the SS Bad Luck and took a few more rapids before lunch. Lunch itself was quite nice – sandwiches, juice, tea and Costa Rican food. And there were feral pigs too, which made it that much funnier. I wasn’t hungry – I was dehydrated and in need of a beer or six along with some Advil and a hug.
We made it back safe and sound after some floating and relaxing and general fucking around. There were several more Class II and III rapids, and we negotiated those with ease. Our boat’s mood got progressively better, and I felt better despite being achy and sunburnt in weird spots. Eventually, we got back, got cleaned up, and had some beer and talked with my fellow boatmates. All of them were moving on, but I was heading back to San Jose and in less than 12 hours, en route back home. Still, not too bad for a 3 day weekend from work, even if my legs and ass were sore.