Tunnel Chute - Middle Fork, American River

Tunnel Chute - Middle Fork, American River

THE PRICE OF DISTRACTION

Vertical rock walls entomb us in uncontrollable descent as we are violently launched down the water chute. The angle of descent forces us to recline back almost parallel with the floor of our ten foot raft. Beyond an opportunity to point the boat down at the top of the chute and recover from the sudden stop at the bottom, we have no control. Fifty feet of accelerated anticipation shone in our eyes.

“Grab hold of the guide lines and hold on,” yells Andy from the back of the raft.

My mind distracted by commands and my eyes glued to the tormented water at the bottom of this powerful chute, I grab the line attached to the perimeter of the pontoons surrounding us. To the left, a thirty foot waterfall contributes to the foam producing churn at the bottom of the slide. We smack the bottom of the chute with tremendous force. The lack of weight in the front of the boat and the power of the vortex cause our raft to fold in the middle. The waterfall to our left catches the front-left end of our craft and sends us scrambling for the high end now sticking vertically out of the water. Violently, our raft is flipped by the force of the waterfall and the three of us are committed to the mercy of the cold, angry river. My body reacts automatically. Rolling up into a ball, keeping my arms and legs tucked in to prevent a snag, I wait for the river to release me....it doesn’t. I open my eyes and see black.

“Shit!” I’m under the boat.

Extending my arms and legs to push the boat away from me, I feel the strong but gentle pull of the current as it grabs my ankles and pulls me toward the floor of the river. Looking up I see the reflection of the sun on the surface, the green glow getting smaller...smaller.....smaller still. For a split second I’m mesmerized. I panic as my lungs begin screaming for oxygen. Instinctively I return to my ball position and feel the river relinquish its grasp. I push toward the surface, my face outstretched toward the surface lips puckered waiting for the first opportunity to take that life saving breath. Surfacing in the chaotic foam produced by the convergence of the water sources I gasp for air. Surprisingly the foam is rich with cool damp air. Drawing a deeeeep breath, my panic subsides.

Floating swiftly towards the tunnel blown through the canyon wall by pioneer gold prospectors I position myself for a safe ride by kicking away from the walls. The three of us pass through the darkness and, emerging on the other end, return safely to shore, wet, shivering-cold, and beaming with adrenaline. In retrospect I realize that I have learned this valuable lesson on previous runs down white water canyons; “When the water gets big, real big, and you’re up against a big hole before a large wave, DIG IN! The only way to pull through big water is to get mean, nasty and dog kickin mad. Reach out with your oar, scoop up a shovel full of river and pull yourself and your boat over the wave and out of the hole.” At some point during our descent, bracing ourselves for the inevitable impact with the angry pool of water below, we forgot this important rule of whitewater survival.

History had shown us success in our aggressive approach to conquering white water. Today we have learned the price of distraction.