Blind Rafting

Under the best of circumstances, swimming through whitewater can be disorientating.  Even though I’ve done so many times, every time I end up out of my kayak and in the water, it’s a little overwhelming. Currents pull and twirl my body, water rushes over my face, I float and spin and even sink for a little bit.

These thoughts are running through my head as I’m about to take 32 vets rafting on the Deschutes River in Central Oregon.  In town for a national conference of disabled veterans, this group is from the BVA.  That’s the Blind Veterans Association.  I’m about to take dozens of guys rafting, most for their first whitewater experience, and they can’t see.  Some of them fully lost sight in the last few months.

They lost their vision serving our country, fighting in Iraq, in Afghanistan, in Vietnam and other fields of battle.  And now I’m being trusted to share my love of whitewater with them, and keep them safe, alive and happy.  I hear their stories and see their sacrifices.  I feel the strongest connections with their wives and family members. My best friend, himself a whitewater kayaker, left for Iraq last week.  Man, do I want everything to go smoothly.

We had a dry run of sorts a few days ago on the Willamette River, a flat section of water in downtown Portland.  Things went well, or rather, not poorly in the ways that I expected.  We had a nice, long safety talk and tried our best to understand the new challenges we faced.  Simply getting folks, and their gear, down to the water was the most challenging aspect.

We even took a few guys out kayaking, some just legally blind, others fully.  Travis, who lost his remaining sight this winter, paddled with me.  He and I developed a great system:  I kept talking, he followed my voice and bumped my stern to know where I was.  Wakes from motorboats provided a thrill. I made bad jokes and he smiled.

Now, three days later, as a group of 30 guides, kayakers and safety rafters stand in the baking desert sun, we get ready for the river.  Rafts are pumped and lifejackets are fitted.  We make some basic plans to coordinate rescue.  The closest guide will be the only one to give directions.  We expect the incessant noise of whitewater to be a significant hindrance to our ability to communicate with any vet who ends up in the water.  A delicate dance of rescuers will take place as each member of the group does their best in situations we can’t predict.

We split up into 3 smaller groups, both to follow BLM regulations and to ease management on the rapid.  In my group, the first, we have 3 rafts, 3 kayakers and 2 catarafts running safety.  The last group has 3 talented kayakers piloting tandem whitewater kayaks, a blind vet in each bow.  I am somewhat relieved to have a limited level of responsibility in regards to that group.

We hit Wapinitia, a big class 3 wave train.  I grab a small eddy on the right side of the rapid, watching and waiting.  Nervous quick breaths.   Shouts of excitement and peals of laughter reach my ears as the rafts blow past me.  Everything goes smooth as butter.

(The group of tandem kayakers runs into its only problem here.  Mike Long and his vet, Simon, flip at the very top of the rapid, run most of it upside-down and take a swim. Mike, a fantastic instructor and former collegiate swimmer, pulls Simon to safety and saves the day.)

At Boxcar, another big class 3, again all rafts have great runs.  The class 1 and 2 rapids that follow allow the myself and the other kayakers a break.  We paddle up and chat, talk about where we are and how each of us came to this sport.  We break for lunch and all the guides can’t believe things are going as well as they are.

Back on the water, several miles later, we reach Oak Springs Rapid.  Here the Deschutes splits into a small channel, dives down, then runs over shallow, sharp volcanic rock.  It is the place we most worry about a swimming blind vet.  It’s also the place we find would be most difficult to rescue a swimmer.  Here the raft guides have the biggest responsibility and the hardest move of the day.  Its the crux rapid of the Deschutes.

I lead the kayakers, down and we grab our safety eddies, sprinkling ourselves throughout the drop.  I stay high, nearest where a person is likeliest to come out of a raft or, God forbid, a raft might flip.  The safety cats come down and grab positions on either side of the river.  Some folks hop out and grab ropes they’ll potentially  throw a swimmer.  I realize we never told the group how that would happen.  I hope the guides did.

The first rafts come down. Again, smooth lines abound.  One raft goes backwards but loses no one.  Another one taps the wall turns sideways, and loses a wife.  Ben, the guide and veteran himself, pulls her back in the raft within seconds.  I wait with the other kayakers and safety cats for the rest of the groups. No more swims, no more flips.  Even the tandem kayakers have smooth lines.

Below Oak Springs the river mellows out.  We relax.  I float down to Sandy Beach, our takeout, with a sense of wonder.  I surf waves and say thanks, again and again, to no one in particular.

This experience is over.  No one got hurt, everyone had fun.  Its the standard we expect and I’ve never been happier to have met it.

Thanks to Epicocity Project for the video.

[Photo: Erik Boomer, Flickr]