Down the Arkansas

I have always been a land mammal, enjoying firm ground under my feet, and being more comfortable high on the side of a cliff than in a body of water; but on this journey, I think I started to see the allure of the river a little more.

7/25/16

We arrived at River Runners and found a few wet tourists milling about smoking. Immediately, as we set out in search of our friends and river guide, Forest, the scenery changes; from a clean and organized rafting storefront, to a veritable shanty town from the sixties, populated by scruffy looking men with easy smiles.

The resident goons help us find Forest, a dreadlocked, unkempt looking fellow who later tells me that he hasn't showered in months! We quick hatch a plot to get the raft to the river and a shuttle to get back. "I suggest you start drinking", Forest says as he runs off to ready our vessel for the journey ahead.

530pm - Over the next half hour we explore the rafter's camp. Right behind the commercial business was a rough and rusted, open-air kitchen called the Hootch. Near the Hootch is a parking lot where almost all the guides live in their vans (even though the company doesn't technically allow it).

A couple characters invite us to tour an old school bus as they drink and smoke...Just as I start to forget that we aren't living in the 60s, Forest returns, "grab the beer and let's hit the river", he says as he throws a few helmets and life jackets at us!

730pm - We float through a class III rapid, Forest hollering paddling commands, and Morgan and I stroking out our early trip jitters. At this point, Forest has given us a fair amount of safety talk, mainly "STAY IN THE BOAT", and alerted us that he is not used to the boat being so light.

We hear the roar of an approaching rapid and Forest calls this one The Sledgehammer (class IV). As we near the lip, Forest hollers for us to keep paddling. The boat goes over the drop and smashes violently into a wall of water. My feet are wedged tight and my body is taut as I try to keep up with Forests commands, as well as keeping myself in the raft. And then all is quiet again, the rapid behind us, and just open floating in sight. We relax a little and Forest tells us about how dangerous this section is to fall out of the boat because of old metal and underwater caves...

This back and forth, danger and safety, intensity and relaxation; this dichotomy oscillates throughout our journey down the river. Forest even discusses the challenges of being a rafting guide and having to take paying customers, old or young, down the river and through danger, regardless of their level of competence.

As the light begins to fade, we round a bend and find some 30 people at a pullout having a party. Naturally, we pullover, stagger onto land, crack a few beers and join in the revelry. There is a birthday party in full swing and the place is decked out with lights, streamers, booze, grills, and sizzling brauts.

It turns out that everyone assembled is a raft guide and the organizer tells us how hard it is to get all these disorganized boaters in the same place and time. In the damp cool of coming night, the beer acts as a blanket, and we set off for the home stretch.

930pm - We float in darkness and I close my eyes, listening and feeling the river underneath me. We talk reverently about the power of flowing water, to cut out such a canyon, and the striking beauty of being carried by such limitless strength.

Forest confesses to the dark that this is his summer obsession, and that he likes being able to spend this time in his life fully immersed in the river culture, guiding and sharing his passion, and mostly, floating down that river, captain of his craft, serene, waiting for the next rapid to come around the bend and shake things up.