Rod rowed a bit. After Rod's stint through a mild rapid Roger asked me if I wanted to row. My prior experience rowing was limited, and my left hand was weak. But it was a calm stretch, so I decided to give it a try. I took the oars, and Roger relaxed in the front.
Roger had the boat rigged so that he could row it standing as well as sitting. The rowing frame had solid floor under the oarsman's feet that made standing very comfortable, so I tried Roger's technique. After a bit I began to get the hang of it and enjoy myself. Presently I could hear the telltale distant roar of a rapid, and I looked a question at Roger. But it was a tiny rapid, and he was comfortable where he was sitting. "Keep it pointed downstream." I was a little nervous.
This was "MNA" rapid, Roger said, named for the Museum of Northern Arizona. MNA was so honored because they had managed to wrap a boat in what had previously been an insignificant unnamed rapid. We slipped right through the first part of the rapid, and Roger pointed out the wrap rock coming up. "Go to the right of it", he said. I started rowing right. The current seemed to be pulling us to the left. "You'll have to row a little harder", Roger said. He was sitting up. I rowed harder. The current still pulled us to the left. "You'll have to row a lot harder." There was a definite edge to his voice. We were getting very close to the rock. "Sit down and use your back!"
But it was too late -- the current and my ineptitude were taking us all the way to the left side of the rock. "Give me the oars!" I leapt to the bottom of the raft as he grabbed the oars and pulled. We scrapped narrowly around the left side of the rock.
Here the river was rushing between big rocks in a channel only a few inches wider than the raft. Roger had already pulled the oars inboard. Directly in front of us the water pillowed high up against another rock and split into two narrow channels. The left channel was a turbulent net of rocks and whitewater, and the right one, directly behind the wrap rock, was too narrow for the raft.
The raft ran up on the pillowing water, tilting almost vertical. "High side! High side! Shit!" We were just trying to hang on. Roger dove to the top edge of the raft. Teetering on edge, the raft careened through the narrow right channel, and suddenly we were back in the main flow, bobbing gently down the river.
[Songbird]