6 Mile Creek

THWUNK. The hammerhead handle swung into my helmut as Carla's small yet uncontrolled body folded onto mine. Within moments, my mind had moved from wildly thrilled to readied dismay. The only thing keeping our two already chilled bodies from being overwhelmed by the glacial churning was my size 7 left foot, gripping with all its might to the foot cup at the bottom of the raft. But the bottom of the raft now lay completely vertical against the rock wall and the rapids licked eagerly at my straining, horizontal back. Knowing then that we were about to flip, I began to relax my secure foot and to prepare my alarmed body for the shock of the violent river. All at once—and inexplicably—the raft righted itself. Carla rested at my feet instead of my head. No one lost. We all went high on a rush of relief and delight at the narrow canyon and our narrow escape. I looked towards Archie who held the oars. He was not laughing yet.