LOCALadk Magazine

46 Summer 2015 LOCALadk Magazine LOCALadk namon. Behind her was another guide who brought a stack of handmade shot glasses. We toasted to river karma and recounted the series of events that had brought our two groups together once again. The rest of the OARS group joined us then in a birthday song for Mikey and we shared a cake that Nicole and Jackie, the Mom-to-be had secretly made that morn- ing. Our groups sat on opposite ends of camp, separated by Muav ledges and a long stretch of beach, but spent the evening feeding off of the energy of the other. They danced and played guitar. We pointed lazers at the wall across the river, bouncing and flashing the lights to the music. Our OARS friends cheered for more. Laughter echoed through the canyon. We all buzzed, feeling the magic of a moment spent with people whose names we'd never know. Chapter Eight: Lava Falls and the Afterglow A couple of days after Ledges, we faced Lava, the most anticipated rap- id of all. Lava's roar could be heard long before the rapid could be seen. We stopped to scout, hiking up high where two other groups were eye- ing their lines as well. Our boatmen believed in the dangers of paralysis by analysis and so quickly decided on a plan. The two groups who'd been there before us happily gave up their turns in order to watch our crew run. As we hiked the trail along the river back to our rafts, we met our friends from OARS, who passed on their well wishes. We untied, pushed off, lined up and then one by one, each boat moved through lava beautifully as ev- eryone watching above cheered. Five boats. Five solid lines. Home free. We pulled over at a beach just below, waiting for the groups behind us. As OARS came through, Ruth Ann yelled, "Thanks for showing us how it's done!" We had befriended two of their guides, Bob and Iowa, who were rowing the groover boat. They pulled over long enough for a sip of Old Crow and a handshake and then moved on with the rest of their group. It was the last time we'd see them. We only had a couple of days left on the river, while they were pushing on to Pearce Ferry and would have to make miles. Our final day on the river, we did not row. We held the oars, which felt like home, but did not muscle them as we'd done for the last 15 days. We let the current sweep us downriver at her own pace. With about a half a mile to go, we could see other trips on the Hualapai take out ramp and decided to beach on a sand bar for one last time. We tossed the football and swam in the river, noticing how much warmer it was 226 miles from where we'd started. Beyond the unforgettable hikes, beyond the sunrises, the laughter and the suffering - beyond all of it, the absolute best moments, for me, were the minutes of anticipation before running a rapid and then the immedi- ate afterglow. For those moments, 16 people were synchronized, aligned as a group - hovering on the same exact wavelength. After every rapid that we scouted and then ran, including Bedrock, we floated together. It wasn't planned. It wasn't requested. We just did it organically - inhaling the river high that we all inevitably felt, whether rowing or riding. It was in those moments that we found and recognized in each other the same hunger for adventure, the same desire to forfeit comfort for vivid, living, aching, bleeding experiences. We were the kind of people who, in the rush and crashing of whitewater felt like a better version of ourselves. So it made perfect sense that we connected to those who, full speed ahead, rushed the surging water beside us…

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