"All forward! Harder!! Hard - "

The next few moments were a kaleidoscopic whirl of angrily frothing water and thrashing limbs. Five of the eight original paddlers suddenly found themselves underneath the flipped paddle boat, including myself and Una. Frigid waves crashed over our heads, making it hard to make anything out, and making a sudden executive decision (i.e., sheer panic), I pushed my way out of the air pocket. More bubbles, and I kicked and kicked through the swirling froth.

It was very dark, until I had the amazing epiphany that it was very dark underwater because I had sunglasses strapped to my face, and shouldn't I be at the surface already? I kept kicking blindly, and eventually felt the gentle pull of the lifejacket tugging me upwards. As I rose for an interminable amount of time, strange thoughts flitted through my mind; the Colorado didn't taste too bad for a brown river. Boy, I was pretty deep back there. Hey, these Tevas feel like flippers. Darn, I'm running out of air.

When I broke the surface, I took several deep shuddering breaths, imagining that I sounded much like a wounded water buffalo. I got oriented pretty quickly (50 degree water will do that for you) and swam towards the nearest oar boat. Once I'd changed into a dry shirt, the river guide had a perverse sense of humor and took us back to the scene of the crime, circling the hole while I posed in mock horror. That's him, officer. That's the one that did it.

Welcome to the Grand Canyon.