Queens of da Nile

I can say with full conviction that white water rafting on the Nile is a once in lifetime experience. I mean this quite literally, because never…ever..again in my life will I do something that completely freakin’ stupid!

I have flow in a T-38, twice in an F-16 and once on Fat Albert during an airshow. I have jumped from an airplane at 12,500 feet with 250 pounds of big country strapped to my back. I watched a man I consider my friend eject from an airplane 8/10ths of a second before his Viper hit the ground. I have been on a KC-135 at 8,000 as we took AAA fire. And I have never been this terrified in my entire life. Never!

Two weeks ago, when we knew we were coming to Uganda, Cindy says “Hey, wanna raft on the Nile?” Sounds like a good idea to me – when will I ever get a chance like that again? We have to come out for military to military training. But we will arrive Friday night and our mission won’t start until Sunday. The Global War on Terrorism is funding our airfare and lodging which means we only have to pay the $125 to raft. So I jump all over it and off we go. We take a bus up to Jinga to the headquarters of the Adrift Company. They’re the largest rafting company on the White Nile and have been in business for 12 years. They start their tours about two kilometers from the source of the Nile. The one day tour offers 31 kilometers of rapids, with a stop for lunch halfway through. On the bus, on our way to Jinga, one of the guides tells us a little about the river. He named off rapids (Buogo, Big Brother, The Dead Dutchman, the Bad Thing) and talked about class sizes. I’m not a subscribing member of the International Rapids Rating Association (if such a thing exists) so when you tell me we’ll hit Class II through Class V rapids, I have no frame of reference. This means nothing to me. But it sounds fun, so why not? And once at the site, they told us we had two options. We could be on the “mild” team or the “wild” team. Cindy and I didn’t hesitate when we said “Oh oh… we want WILD!”

Now, this decision would hit me with full force later in the day when I realized two things. First, I fancy myself as being adrenaline junky. But “fancy” is the key word. Because I’m not. Hindsight is always 20/20 and I almost always realize after the fact that some things sound much better in theory. Shooting rapids on the Nile is defiantly one of those things. My second realization was one borne of common sense – and borne just a little too late. I realized that if we’re starting at the top of the river, there is really only one way down. Mild or Wild – those are just terms to make people feel better about themselves. The river is what it is and while I’m not physics major, I do know that what goes up, must come down.

Our boat was an interesting mix of people. Our tour guide was a local Ugandan named Tutu. Tutu is a straight up crazy bastard with a face that resembled one of Michael Vicks’ pit bulls – full of scars, broken teeth and a deranged look in his eyes. We had U.S. Navy Lt. Anthony Seifert (a rescue swimmer who earned his keep), Cindy (all 5’ 3” and a half and 105 pounds soaking wet), an Egyptian in his mid-20s who works for Oracle and isn’t all too comfortable swimming, and a group of four Brits. Toby and Ben are in their early 20s and seemed to be in good shape. The two little pop tarts they brought with them left something to be desired. Emily wouldn’t have actually put forth effort to paddle if her life depended on it and Harriet was even tinier than Cindy and prone to histrionics even before we cleared the first Class II rapid. It took every ounce of self control I had not to bounce her skinny butt overboard in the first 30 minutes. She never used her oar to row – only to gesture wildly while emphasizing points and inadvertently smacking Cindy in the face on several occasions. Lastly was a 54 year old adventure seeker from Alaska named Kathy.

There were five teams plus a safety boat and maybe a dozen rescue swimmers in kayaks in our group. Our team was the first on the river and the first to complete the necessary drills required before the boats can head down. The goal was to complete 16 kilometers and five Class III or higher rapids before we hit the island for lunch. This seemed easy… what did I know? I had never seen a rapid, so again, it meant nothing to me! We started off slowly; a few Class II drops to get our blood pumping and to practice our skills. Then we hit the first real challenge of the day and I learned quickly that I was well out of my element. As we approached the first of the large rapids we would encounter, Harriet starts her horror film soundtrack – screaming, screeching and basically raising my blood pressure and anxiety level before I even know what was coming. We hit a Class IV rapid and we flipped. Now, here’s what flipping entails: there are 10 people in a 10 man raft. Cindy and I are on the left side and our boat flipped left over right. This means that everyone on the left side came over us and then raft ended up on our heads. You’re still getting tossed around in the rinse and spin cycle of the Nile Maytag as this happens, making breathing impossible. There is no way to tell which way is up and now a slight sense of panic has permeated my disorientation. I’m scared and feel like I’ve been under for several minutes when in all reality it couldn’t have been more than 15 seconds. I popped back up, got slapped by another large wave, tumbled again and then spit out toward one of the safety kayaks. He was able to grab me and take me back to the (relative) safety of our raft.

Cindy didn’t fare as well on the first toss (I say first because there were more to follow and they only got progressively worse). Cindy got tossed but managed to surface fairly close to the boat, and even closer to Kathy. Kathy, in a panic, grabbed Cindy for support and drug her under several times. Kathy had Cindy outweighed by a good 50 pounds and had an extra 6 inches or so on her reach, meaning there was no way Cindy was going to be able to fight back. As Kathy was trying to climb Cindy to reach safety, Cindy showed her might by kicking off and swimming away. But the experience left her a little shaken.

Back in the boat, we had a little time to relax as we drifted toward what would become my unintended attempt at suicide. Big Brother was to be our last large rapid before lunch. Tutu warned us that we “might” get tossed and even took us through several drills. He told us that no matter what happened, we needed to hold on to the boat. He stressed several times that this was a dangerous section of the river and that it was imperative we not let go. When we’re talking about matters of life or death, I tend to take instructions quite literally. Thinking that I would add an extra ounce of protection into my day, I placed my left hand in the grab rope on the side of the raft and twisted, almost like I was a bull rider getting ready to leave the chutes at the PBR finals. This was possibly the worst decision I have ever made. We hit the top of Big Brother and I realized it was a seven wave series of rapids that stretched for close to 400 yards. I had a moment of panic as we hit the top and it went downhill from there. Again I was on the left and again we capsized left over right. But this time, I was caught in the rope on with my left hand. This meant that when I hit the water, I had no way to break free. I was at the mercy of the river and our raft. And when our raft righted itself, I was trapped underneath with no way to break free.

Many people talk about “finding God,” as if he were lost and you needed to search for him. I can tell you where he’s NOT. He’s not under a raft 15 kilometers down the Nile. I know this because I called for him many, many times…. It sounded a little like this: “Oh God, oh God, please, sweet Jesus, Lord have mercy…” And I realized that even while panicked, I have the ability to negotiate. That sounds a little like this: “God, please get me out of here. If you let me surface, I promise to be a better person. I’ll stop making fun of people as much, I’ll try to be more patient with the stupid people I encounter, I’ll stop offering unsolicited fashion advice to the ill dressed… You name it God, I’m in…”

I finally twisted free of our raft and surfaced, only to be smacked with our boat once more. I went under and when I came back up, after getting spit out of the center of this cyclone, I was more than 100 yards from our raft and completely alone. I could see Anthony back in our righted raft and searching for me and then I was snagged once again by an angel in a kayak. Cindy was scanning the water frantically trying to see where I was and I was hanging on to Henry (the rescue swimmer) while vomiting the several liters of water I had inhaled thus far. I was shell shocked at this point and not sure I had any desire to get back into anyone’s boat. I was thrown into another team’s raft and their guide did his best to soothe my nerves and I sat wide eyed and speechless, giving thanks while hatching an escape plan.

I was sent back to my boat and we had a chance again to relax before lunch. At lunch I was trying to figure out why I didn’t choose the half-day rafting adventure, knowing that I would be done by now and not preparing to face another 17 kilometers of rapids. But I didn’t have long to dwell before we were strapping the helmets back on and heading out again. And I couldn’t figure out, exactly, how so many teams were still dry when our team spent more time in the water than in our raft. It seems that with enough money, you CAN pay your guide to keep your boat righted. Hmmmm…. I have no problem paying for good services. Why didn’t I think of that? But it was too late now – we were back in the boats and out again.

The first hour after lunch was nothing but flat pools and a lot of chances to jump from the boat, swim and relax. This gave me time to talk myself out of my marathon anxiety attack. And just when I thought it wasn’t so bad, Tutu starts taking about a waterfall and throwing out options. First, we have to navigate around a Class VI rapid called “The Dead Dutchman.” I’m sorry – dead? You don’t name a rapid “The Dead Dutchman” unless there was a Dutchman who went over it and is now DEAD. I wasn’t finding comfort in this statement but I didn’t have time to ponder because it was decision time. We could go AROUND the waterfall, or we could go OVER it. Wow. I don’t see that as being a choice. Why godf over? But we did pay good money for this adventure and I didn't want to be the spoil sport here. Cindy shot me a look, told me (and I quote) to “cowboy up, find my balls and put on my game face” and I knew we were going over. But we couldn’t just go. We had to sit AT THE TOP, tied to some reeds, and wait for the safety boat to catch up. Then we even got to watch one or two rafts go over ahead of us, providing ample time for my anxiety to reproduce faster rabbits in the spring. But I managed to talk myself through it – until we were cresting the waterfall and got stuck. Yes, the other boats went over nose first. But we were special. We got to hit the falls right side (still my side) first and hang there at the apex for an indeterminable amount of time before crashing over and hitting the bottom. Somehow, oddly enough, we stayed rightside up and I was pumped. For about 30 seconds. Then we sat at the bottom and watched the last of the boats come over. And on the very last raft, someone got tossed. And he got caught in the waterfall. (By the way - he was on the mild raft. Mild my ass!)

Now if you’ve never seen an object hit the bottom of a waterfall and get caught in the tumble, I have to tell you, it’s a breathtaking sight. But when it’s a person and they can’t flush free, it’s a different story. As the rescue boats were trying their damnedest to pull him out, I was desperately looking for ways to step off our boat and on to the safety of land. I figured that at this point, I could walk down to the final landing, meet the group there and still have a great story to tell. But there was no way for me to bail so instead I got to watch in horror as they freed the guy. They pulled him to safety in the amount of time it took me to work on a whole new panic attack and then we were off once again.

The final hurdle of the day was a rapid called “The Bad Thing.” A picture may be worth 1,000 words, but sometimes a name says it all. It really was a BAD THING. In order to get to the Bad Thing, we had to beach our raft and walk about 100 meters through the jungle to get around another Class VI rapid too strong to navigate by boat. Once on the other side, we were given our last option of the day. We were told we could split our team and take another boat. You could do the Bad Thing, with a 50/50 chance of flipping, or you could take the safety boat, float around it and be done for the day. Harriet was long gone by now, having opted some time ago for the safety boat. I was already in our boat when this option was presented, and feeling like I had nothing to prove, was quite ready to jump to the safety boat. But by now, a crowd had formed on the banks and in order to get to the safety boat, I would have had to step off our boat and walk through them. And I couldn’t do it. I realized I would rather swallow more Nile than swallow my pride and before I knew it, I heard the words “Screw it – let’s do it” coming out of my mouth and we were off one last time.

I knew before we were even at the top of the Bad Thing that we were going over one last time. There was no doubt in my mind that we were flipping. So I picked the left side of the boat and started talking myself through it. Sure enough, we went under the first wave, through the second and over the third – and we were airborne. As soon as I realized we were flying, I planted my feet on the side of the boat and kicked with all I had. I managed to clear the people on the right – by quite a bit – before hitting the water. And then it was game on. I grabbed my vest with both hands, shut my eyes and held on for dear life. I flipped and tumbled a few times, I inhaled more water than is recommended by the USDA, but I was okay. And never, ever so happy in my entire life.

We came to the end of our adventure - which includes beaching your raft, climbing some 500 meters up a cliff covered in wet mud while carrying your gear - and were done. For the 30 minutes after, the 90 minutes on the bus back to Kampala, the hour in the car back to the hotel and the two hours it took me to fall asleep, I still felt like I was on a boat. At night, sometimes as I drift off to sleep I feel like I'm falling. Last night, I felt like my bed was about to capsize. I may very well have PTSD from this adventure. And given the amount of water I swallowed, I'm pretty sure that there is a case of dysentery in my near future. Every drop of water I had had since yesterday evening still tastes like the river. I'm black and blue from toe to torso, I think I have whiplash and I'm pretty sure that the sunburn on the tops of my legs has reached an epic level. But I have a tee shirt, tons of photos and a great story to tell - a story that I'm sure will only get better with time.

On a final note, we were on the White Nile in Uganda. The portion of river that we were on will cease to exist after about 2010 as they are creating a new damn in the area and diverting the water. Knowing that I conquered a portion of water that will soon no longer be traversable by man gives me a slight feeling of pride and awe. But that still doesn't mean you could pay me to ever put myself through that again!

Lord only knows what Cindy will come up with next. And I can almost promise you that no matter what her next suggestion is, I'll say "Sure, let's do it" and then once find myself wondering what the hell I'm doing in whatever situation we find ourselves in!