Against my better judgment, I whip around to check Bryan’s position one last time.
He’s lost some ground, trailing maybe thirty yards behind us now, straining hard against the current.
“Oh my god!” someone screams up ahead, as a wall of water slams into the first raft. Miraculously, no one tumbles out.
“That’s it!” Macy yells. “Keep straight, anchor your feet, and stay left through the next wave! There’s a huge undertow at the bottom of Anvil, so keep yourselves in that fucking boat no matter what!”
The clamor of the falls rises to a fever pitch as our raft hits the first drop. I dig my paddle in deep, rowing hard as instructed, but we’re drifting toward the right wall of the canyon—exactly where Macy said not to go. Even with the five of us rowing like mad, the force of the river feels exponentially more powerful.
“All left, come on!” Macy screams. “Row, row, don’t stop!”
The second wave pops us into the air, and I get another glimpse of the first raft carving a path down the dangerous gorge. It’s still straight, still hugging the left canyon wall like Macy instructed. Moonlight bounces like a slow strobe across the glowing orange rubber and the dark figures crammed inside.
We surge over the next wave, and the next. The hits come so fast, so strong, walls of water crashing over us while Macy shouts directions, her voice ragged and cutting in and out. For a while, I don’t even have time to look back at Bryan.
All I can see is the first raft ahead, and the poor women crammed inside. They’re still hanging in there. Still rowing. Still managing to stay left.
“Next wave, go hard right!” Macy bellows.
The nose of our raft is nearly touching the bumper of the first raft now, close enough to make out more details in the moonlight. And when I blink away the water blurring my vision, I see the jagged edge of a submerged boulder spiking up through the churning current—waiting to catch the nose of their raft and send it hurtling directly into the opposite rocky wall.
My heart stutters in my chest.
The canyon walls are terrifyingly narrow here, maybe fifteen feet apart and slick with spray. The water rushing through the narrow slot is impossibly fast and wild. I brace for the worst, eyes glued to that first raft while I row like mad. It’s less than a boat’s width away from us as it careens forward.
The other women are doubled over with the effort of trying to pull the raft’s bow right, but a rolling wave catches the back of the boat and keeps them tracking left.
“No!” Allie cries, catching sight of the boulder ahead. “They’re gonna flip!”
“Right, row hard right!” Macy demands, but her voice is collapsing at the edges.
It’s clear, then, that the others aren’t going to make it to the opposite wall—not in time to skirt around the hidden line of boulders.
And even worse, only a few of those women are wearing life jackets. Most of the vests are in our boat.
I see the terrifying sequence play out in my mind, a horror film. The first raft will glance off the first jagged boulder and slam hard against the right wall. Then it’ll flip, hitting the front of our raft. The impact will shove our raft into the boulder, too.
Thenwe’llflip.
Every single one of us will be ejected into the churn, then funneled into the undertow at the bottom of Anvil. Even life jackets might not help us at that point.
I grit my teeth and keep rowing, clinging to hope as Macy screams, “You’re almost there!”
I cling to those words.Almost there.I have to believe we’ve still got a chance.
Butalmostisn’t good enough.
The first raft barely nicks one of the boulders. I watch helplessly as the boat shudders and gives a little buck, sending bodies tumbling against each other.
The women struggle to right themselves around the rim of the boat, pushing paddles into the whitewater—and somehow manage to scrape along the right wall of the canyon without slamming into it.
“Hell yes!” Deborah whoops beside me as we close in on the first raft’s bumper—only a few feet ahead of us now. We manage to avoid clipping the edge of that damn boulder altogether.
We’re almost there.
The exit to Anvil is directly ahead, down a final steep stretch of swift, rolling whitewater. The first boat is nearlyfree of the churn now, tantalizingly close to that final drop where the canyon widens and the river stretches open into stillness. One more wave, and we’ll be sailing smooth.
Something glints in the moonlight partway down the canyon wall. An old mining pulley? No, it’s way too close to the water for that.
