Injury

Whitewater rafting on the Nantahala is not particularly dangerous. Every trip NOC runs carries a med kit, but these kits are rarely opened. Helmets are only worn by the Boy Scouts, because the organization requires it. Generally speaking, the bus ride up to the put-in is far more dangerous than the raft trip down. Still, as I learned last week, injuries do happen.

Not all the rapids on the Nantahala are particularly exciting, so guides do various maneuvers to spice things up. For example, there is a relatively mild rapid called Spin Cycle. Most guides spin their rafts through the length of the rapid, and this has given rise to the nickname Seven Spins. The goal is to complete seven full rotations of the raft from the first wave through the end of the rapid, which is marked by a large rock. Sometimes, my competitive nature overpowers my instincts for self-preservation, and my rafts float dangerously close to that rock.

Last week I finally hit the rock. Hard. So hard, and with so much angle, that the boat spun off it at high speed, and I was nearly flung out of the boat. In fact, it may have been better if I was flung out of the boat. As it was, my right ankle was tucked in the raft so tightly that I wound up staying in the boat and spraining it instead of swimming.

At the moment of impact, the pain was so sharp that it nearly brought tears to my eyes, but my guests were clueless. The trip continued normally, albeit with me dragging my right leg in the cold water beside the raft. Back on shore, I tried limping around for a few minutes before I couldn’t take the pain anymore. Another guide hauled me into the guide lounge in a gear cart, cracked open a med kit to tape up my ankle, and I filled out an accident/injury report.

My ankle is feeling much better now, but my ego is still slightly bruised from being momentarily crippled by the Nantahala. Regardless, I learned my lesson and have not hit that rock again. Now I am willing to settle for six spins.

Stupid Questions

In celebration of the start of the new school year, I aim to debunk the oft-repeated myth that there is no such thing as a stupid question. The teachers who perpetuate such falsehoods have clearly never been raft guides. These are just a small sampling of the questions guests have asked me in the last few months.

Are there alligators in the river?

Are there sharks in the river?

Is this saltwater or freshwater?

Are we going in a circle?

When do deer turn into elk?

As one of my guests said, these questions only make sense if you’re dumb.

Wild Women

The shoulder season began when the guests and some of the guides started going back to school. Since then, the gender ratio of guides, never exactly equal, has become increasingly skewed towards men. Turns out, few women make their year-round careers outdoors. In any case, since few of us remain, we have really banded together. It’s nice to have a couple friends to gossip with and discuss matters incomprehensible to young adult males, like how to persevere through misery-inducing cramps when your job involves both hard physical labor and perpetual cheerfulness.

One night, a female friend and I were lounging around my shed, enjoying a girl-bonding session, when a male friend of ours wandered up and knocked on the door. “You can come in,” said my female friend, “But it’s pretty girly in here.”

He came in. “It’s not girly in here,” he said, glancing at my boat. “There’s a kayak.”

While his comment wasn’t intended to be offensive, it is indicative of an interesting phenomenon. Female participation in predominantly male activities, like whitewater boating, doesn’t dissociate the activity from the male gender. Rather, the sport retains its male associations while the women who participate in it are dissociated from their own gender.

Kayaking isn’t girly. My friend and I aren’t really girls.

Small wonder more women aren’t employed outdoors. It’s such a welcoming environment.