Lava Falls

 I stared down from the rock, looking at the foaming mess of white water in front of me.  We were nearing the end of our first river trip down the Grand Canyon (the same trip as the impromptu wedding ceremony), and had stopped to scout Lava Falls.  Lava Falls is one of the most notorious rapids on the Colorado.  It's massive.  The waves and holes are big enough to flip a fully loaded, 18-foot raft like it's a bathtub toy.  Lava is rated a nine on the rapid rating scale (the Colorado River has a scale of one to ten, one being flat water and ten being unrunnable).  It comes toward the end of the trip, after two days of mostly flat water that lulls boaters into a false sense of security.  Lava is long and requires maneuvers mid-rapid to avoid giant boulders and boat-crushing holes.  It's a beast.  

The group had pulled over above the rapid to scout it.  The rowers and kayakers were staring intently into the mess, nervously pointing out which lines they thought might work.  

"If you enter right of the big rock, then pull hard into the eddy behind the rock, you can miss the hole on river right."

"But what about the big rock in the middle?"

"Is there a run on river left?"

"The kayakers might be able to sneak over there."

"Whatever you do, don't hit that hole at the bottom.  Stay away from that hole.  You go in there, you aren't coming out."

As I listened to the chatter, I studied the river below us, relieved that I didn't have to row it.  I didn't see a line.  I didn't see a way through.  All I saw was a mess of foam, waves, rocks, and holes, with no clear path to safety.  

I glanced at Scott.  While the rest of the group talked and pointed anxiously, Scott stood quietly, eyes moving over the rapid like he was reading a book.  I watched him.  He looked, looked again, gave a tiny nod to himself, then turned and headed back to his boat.  I glanced at the rest of the group, then followed quickly behind Scott.  As we walked away, I heard the group go silent.  

Then I heard, "Is Scott ready to run it?"

"I guess so."

"What line is he taking?"

"I want to stay up here and watch."

As we moved down to our boat, the roar of the river drowned out the rest of the group discussion.

"Um," I said hesitantly, "You feel good about it?"

"Yep," was all Scott offered.

I didn't question him.  He was the best oarsman I had ever seen.  I had absolute trust in him to row us through the foaming chaos safely.

Scott jumped in his seat while I untied the throw rope.  "Ready?" I asked.

He gave a nod and a small smile.  I jumped in, shoved us away from shore, and took my seat behind him.

The constriction and blockage that form huge rapids like Lava Falls tend to back up the river above the rapids.  As we shoved away from shore, Scott rowed us through the calm water toward the horizon line.  I couldn't see the rapid because of the drop, but I could see water and waves angrily splashing and spitting, eager to flip us over and tear us up.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I gripped the safety straps on either side of me.  I wanted to ask Scott where he was going, what the line was, and what he was seeing that I couldn't see, but the raging scream of the river made conversation impossible.  The horizon line inched closer and closer.  The noise from the river sounded like a jet plane blasting in our faces.  

Just before we crossed the horizon, Scott started pushing hard on the oars, getting momentum to carry us through the first big hit.  And then, we dropped in.  The first wave rose above us like a two-story building, but Scott dug in, and we rode up and over.  He rowed hard to get into the eddy behind the rock, lined up for the next move, and started pushing.  Two giant lateral waves thrashed and tore at the boat as Scott expertly turned into them, facing them head-on.  He then turned the boat away from the laterals and started pushing hard again, as hard as he could, to get us away from the monster, groaning, crashing hole at the bottom.  The river wanted us to go into the hole.  The water raced toward it, urging us to go along.  Scott pushed, pushed, pushed.  We raced closer and closer, the hole beckoning with an evil snarl.  Scott took two more huge oar strokes, and it was enough.  We passed the hole safely.  He glanced over his shoulder and grinned.  

We were through.  We had made it.  I let out a loud "WOOOHOOOO!" as I grabbed his shoulders and wrapped him in a hug.  I could hear our group members high on the rock yelling and cheering, turned to see them pumping fists in the air in celebration.  

"Hell yeah, Love!" I called.  "That was perfect!  Nicely done!"

Scott smiled his boyish smile, shrugged his shoulders, and rowed into an eddy, waiting for the next boater to come through, ready to rescue anyone who might need it.