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Colorado High!
Two guys look for excitement on the vast adventure playground that is Colorado
BY TYLER DEWAAL
“FORWARD TWO!…LEFT FORWARD, RIGHT BACK!…NOW FORWARD ONE!...GOOD!...ALL FORWARD!...ALRIGHT….…NICE PADDLING!”
My heart was pumping and the adrenaline was in overdrive. Once again, Paul, our rafting guide, had decided that we needed to experience the “thrill” of going down a rapid while executing a 360. Naturally, his enthusiastic paddling commands made it seem as though this specific path was the only way down the rapid. Wait a second, I thought to myself once the rush had subsided and I was drifting back to earth, I was never told we would be doing acrobatic maneuvers down Clear Creek when I signed my waiver form [though it quite easily could have been in the miniscule legalese at the bottom of the form!], I was simply told that I should listen to my river guide and he’d try and keep us in the boat!
But there was no time for debate.
“OK, CORKSCREW IS JUST AROUND THE CORNER…IT’S THE LAST RAPID OF THE DAY, AND IT’S A CLASS 4…”
Corkscrew? Who comes up with these names for rapids? Obviously some marketing firm or some deranged raft-junkie who enjoys seeing his patrons’ eyes widen with half-glee, half-terror upon hearing the words “Purgatory” and “Hell’s Corner” used to describe their upcoming route...
“ALL FORWARD…OK…FORWARD TWO…HERE WE GO…YAH!!!
* * *
When he walked into the shop, I barely recognized him. In fact, I had to do a double take.
“Joe! What is going on! Man, it’s been a while.”
“Hey, good to see you--it’s been what, three years?”
“Nice hair, hardly recognized you.” His shaggy, Lennon-esque, earlobe-length mane contrasted sharply with the mental image I had had of the clean-cut Joey, my buddy of eight years and now co-worker, though on opposite side of the country, for Adventure Journey. The sunglasses and scraggly facial hair further disguised him. But he was still Joey, laid back, smiling, with his fingers rhythmically tapping out a drumbeat on the side of his pants.
Though I hadn’t seen Joe for the last three years, we had done some crazy trips together in years gone by. There was the two-week long overland Tibet/India trip (amazing!); there was the time we spent a week kicking around Addis Ababa, hanging with the locals, and even meeting Ethiopia’s national hero, considered by many to be the greatest distance-runner of all time, Haile Gebrselassie (broke 17 world records, won 2 Olympic Golds); and for about 1 month in the summer of 2003, we drove/ran/walked across California and Nevada, living in the back of a truck. Most people don’t wake up and decide to run across the West, but then again, Joe and I are slightly deranged.
So when an opportunity came up to spend a weekend rafting and biking in Winter Park, Colorado, it only seemed right that the magazine request Joe, one of its graphic designers and photo editors living in Utah, come along.
“All right gentlemen," Paul instructed, "let’s pow-wow back here in ten minutes, get changed, and we’ll get going.”
That was our cue. Change clothes, sign life away, put on not-so-flattering wetsuit, head for 9 different class three and class four rapids. Check.
We didn’t get off to the greatest start by locking Joe’s keys in his car with our spare clothes. It’s probably because we were both a bit nervous, given that neither of us were experienced rafters, though Joey had rafted the White Nile some years ago. Luckily, some Polish van-driver saw what had happened, pulled a metal hanger from his van (don’t ask me), and then drove off (why stay? Wearing just swimsuits, we must have looked like the car-thieving type).
A few minutes and a successful car break-in later, Joe and I got outfitted and were briefed by Paul on some basic techniques. The rafting outfit is literally ON the river, Clear Creek, so we grabbed the 10 ½ ft. raft, walked down the riverbank, loaded up, and headed out. The prospect existed of being tossed about on the rapids combined with the possibility of being ejected from the raft (which Paul, of course, did NOT rule out), though Joe and I were able to excitedly take in our beautiful surroundings as we flowed down the first section of moving water.
The cool mountain H2O (which had only been in its liquid form for less than 24 hours) flowed briskly, so we didn’t actually have to paddle in order to move down the river. The four of us (another guide, Rizzo, the resident geologist, came along, making four) practiced some paddle strokes to make sure we could remember the commands and were paddling together, which makes a big difference in whether you dictate to the rapid how you want to get through it, or whether you are at its mercy. Hitting a rapid with the boat at the wrong angle equals a nice little swim for everybody. Joe and I had front-row seats, and to be honest, I was a little nervous, but the first 15 minutes of the advanced section of the river are pretty calm, so we were able to get the feel of the raft and each other.
This wasn’t my first whitewater excursion. About eight years prior, I spent one week in Nepal on the Seti Kola (Nepalese for River) on a 60-kilometer whitewater kayaking trip, replete with dry bags, Eskimo rolls, and class 3/3+ rapids for 5 days straight; but let me say, the two types of whitewater adventure (kayak vs. raft) are totally different. There is really no cross-over, other than maybe muscle groups involved.
“OK, let me give you guys a rundown of the rapids we are gonna’ be hittin’ this afternoon,” Paul continued. This was his sixth year as a river guide, and he knew his stuff. Rizzo was on his second year of guiding and getting some more tips from Paul.
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