Takin’ Life To The Limits
by Karen Harrell
July 1998
It was July 12th, a glorious day, and I was packing for my newest
adventure. Today I was going
white water rafting on the Deschutes River in Oregon. It was just going
to be a little overnighter,
yet the apprehension I felt was almost nauseating. The songs of the
musical, The Man of La
Mancha, would not leave my head as I continued to fill my L.L. Bean
backpack with a change
of clothes, some sweats, and other essentials I felt I would need. My
camera and my journal
topped the pack and I walked out of the apartment. I was ready for
anything...or was I?
The trip was about four hours and when we arrived at the river bank, I
was amused at myself for
the earlier queasiness. This river looked harmless enough. I had
rafted the Ocoee in North
Carolina as a teenager , and it was definitely worse than this. We
readied ourselves for the first
leg of the adventure. We would load up and raft about ten miles, pull
out, and camp for the night.
The first leg offered nothing to write home about. The group in the
raft had a great deal of fun
bonding and challenging other rafts we met as we drifted lazily down the
river. Evening came
quickly and soon it was time to set up a campsite before the best ones
were taken.
The place we chose had a heady smell of sage. I stood and felt the
remnants of the sun burn it’s
image on my chapped face and inhaled the fragrance. We set up our tents
and began supper
preparation. there would be no campfire tonight...just a Coleman stove
and lantern. This was a
high risk fire area. the supper detail fixed burritos, avocado dip, and
tostidos for our meal. We
all were ravenous and ate as if this were to be our last supper. Little
did we know that it could
possibly be. After supper the clean up detail went to the river’s edge
and washed the dishes and
packed them away for the next day. We then gathered around the stove,
pulled out our guitars,
and began to sing. We sang everything from the Eagles to old girl scout
songs and finally our
guide told us that if we were going to get an early start we needed to
call it a night. I was glad.
The calluses on my fingers from playing were beginning to throb. We all
went to our assigned
tents.
I lay down and felt the old feelings of claustrophobia close in as we
lay there safe within the
confines of the tent. I had to get out. It was a beautiful night. I
would sleep under the stars. So
I quickly and quietly withdrew into the aromatic outdoors. I lay there
under the stars, smelled the
sage, and sang softly to myself. Diane and Cecilia joined me shortly.
The star show was so
awesome, and I felt the weight of tiredness tugging at my eyes. I fell
into a sound sleep. but sleep
would not last long. We were pelted into awakeness by the feel of razor
sharp rain drops. A
storm had moved into the canyon. We all headed for the van. The three
of us slept in the van for
the remainder of the night and when the morning light finally reared her
head I felt like hell!
The pinks and grays of dawn came peeping, July 13th was going to be
another beautiful day. You
could see no traces of the night storm. Look our Deschutes here I
come!!! After a quiet
breakfast of hot tea and granola, we closed out camp and headed for the
rafts. Our bright yellow
raft sat on the shoreline ready and waiting on us. It seemed to be
laughing at us, begging us to
come out and play again. We named her the Yellow Submarine. Looking
back now I can see
where that would be a poor choice of words. The crew was an ageless
one. all of us had long
since seen thirty something. Steve, Diane, Ruth, Cecilia, Clark (the
guide), Tia Maria, and I
made up this motley crew. The start was fun. We were all natural
competitors so we left ahead
of the rest. We straddled the yellow raft and away we went. Our first
little class two rapid was
met with Tia Maria being tossed into the drink. the guide scooped her
up, and she was back in
the boat safe and sound before any of us knew she had gone. The Box-Car
rapids were a class
three and the challenge was loads of fun. We all managed to stay dry
here. the morning part of
the trip had been delightful. We stopped for a lunch of fruit and more
granola and continued on.
On to the quest ...our goal. Our motto had become, All for one and one
for all. Let’s Take it
over the edge. Let’s Take it to the limit. The wind was up, and we
lost control of our tiny
craft. We were catapulted from the raft, and the experience into the
bowels of hell began.
The last thing I remember was seeing Steve fly through the air and then
everything went black for
me. I struggled to the surface only to find myself trapped under the
raft as it was being sucked
down into a maelstrom. Something was holding me down! I emerged in an
air pocket of the raft
to find a rope around my throat choking the life out of me. I fought
with it and finally broke free
right before I was sucked down into the maelstrom again. My life as I
knew it was passing before
my eyes and I felt myself crying...but I didn’t know if I was really
crying or just imagining it. I
was somewhere between here and unconsciousness. I was filled with
sadness at never having the
chance to see Kat, my daughter, grown. I was terrified and gagging when
suddenly I felt a rock
under my feet. I pushed hard against it, and propelled myself against
the raft, broke the suction of
the maelstrom, and left my would-be grave. I was literally thrown
through the air. The people on
he bank said if it hadn’t been so frightening it would have been
amusing. I looked like a bronco
buster that had just been thrown off of a wild horse. I landed in he
middle of the raging
Deschutes on a slick rock. I dug my fingers in and held on for dear
life. I tasted blood but didn’t
know where it was coming from. My head hurt, and my left eye was
blurred. A kayaker floated
out to me and told em to let go and float to him. I thought to myself,
IS HE CRAZY?: I wasn’t
letting go of Nothing! did he not know where I had just come from? He
realized that I was in
shock...so he kept talking gently to me until I let go and he caught me.
Putting the wet remnant
of a person in he kayak he took me to shore where the rest of the
frightened group waited. I was
dizzy and nauseated. I couldn’t stand and as soon as I was helped from
the kayak...passed out.
Patty came over, revived me, and checked me out. I was pretty banged
up, had a concussion, and
was in shock. I had to be gotten out and fast. the guides radioed for
a rescue unit and waited
with me. Everyone wrapped their arms around me to ward off the shock.
I remember nothing
except that I was cold. The helicopter arrived and I was air lifted to
the Dalles and treated for a
concussion, cuts, bruises, and shock. the rest of the team finished the
course and picked me up at
the emergency room. We headed back to Walla Walla. The group had been
instructed not to let
me see a mirror...just yet. It was a good thing. When I finally did
see a mirror I would terrify
myself and little children! Quasi Moto and the Gargoyles had nothing
on me. I bathed in a warm
tub...wearily put on my jammies...and settled down for sleep. The
sedative I had been given
earlier kicked in and I floated to sleep. Minutes after I closed my
eyes the water came back and I
was drowning again. I awoke with a loud scream. the rest of the night
everytime I closed my
eyes the scream would be repeated. My suitemates took turns sitting
with me all night. I would
have these nightmares for years to come. The next day I could hardly
move. I was black and blue
all over. I had been fortunate. I lost a tooth, a pair of Ray-Bans,
and a good deal of blood, but
was still alive. It took about three weeks for me to return to my
active self. It took a long time to
get over the nightmare and my fear of rapids.
Someday I want to return to the Deschutes and this time...this time I
will be the victor.
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