december-2010

All photos: Queenstown Rafting
our paddles. Chief tells us we’d have to paddle
hard — but he asks our names and teases our
accents, gradually soothing our nerves.
We get our fi rst glimpse of the rapids,
churning like a washing machine. Then we hit
them. After the fi rst bump, and a drenching,
I glance behind me —a girl has already fallen
into the ravenous river. Chief fl ings his rope to
her, as she’s swept down the rapids ahead of
the boat. Once, twice, three times she misses
it, and then she’s out of sight. The raft then
begins to spin.
This is it — what I signed up for. We’re in the
thick of the rapids, and even though we could
be doing better, it’s exhilarating. Humans
against the awesome power of the ongoing
fl ow. The “Shark Fin” heaves into view, a great
triangular rock in the middle of the river,
fl anked by white water. Our revolving craft is
fl ung against the rock like a bath toy. We beach
on a narrow, fl at part of the Shark Fin. Beyond
are the rapids nicknamed “Jaws”.
We catch our breaths collectively as Chief
takes stock of the situation. “You, big fella,” he
says to me, grinning, “we’re going to get out
of the raft and bounce it off this rock.” Either
side of us, there are sheer, grey canyon walls
soaring 60m high. Upstream and downstream,
there is deafening, rushing spray. With
nowhere to go save onwards, I grin back.
Chief and I step knee-deep into the
maelstrom. Together we bounce the raft to
the edge of the rock. Chief’s confi dence is
infectious — it’s scary but I feel invincible, like
an action hero’s plucky sidekick... that is, until
I accidentally miss my footing.
I lock one hand on the rope running round
the raft’s edge. The raft is still foundered on
the rock. No one can pull me in against the
force of the water. Chief thwacks me with his
paddle: rafter’s shorthand for “Let go!”. This
will be OK. I release my grip, close my eyes,
and calmly offer myself to the river.
I would later fi nd some fantastic bruises,
courtesy of the submerged rocks of Jaws.
Next thing I know, I’m in the next stretch
of calm river, being dragged aboard a raft
— bedraggled but feeling deliciously alive —
alongside the girl we lost on the fi rst bump.
I’m not even cold any more. We transfer
back to our own raft, and with a new-found
respect for the Shotover, forge on to the next
rapid, “The Toilet”. In our clumsy attempts at
manoeuvring, we are fl ushed through it.
But we’re getting confi dent. We indulge in
water-fi ghts with the other raft crews. Chief
tells us the other rapids aren’t as bad as Jaws.
He’s right — or maybe we’re all just getting
better and better.
CLOCKWISE: An aerial view
of the Shotover River; a
bus ride will take rafters
to the helipad on Coronet
Peak; a guide gives the
rafters a demo of how to
paddle properly
THIS IS IT — WHAT
I SIGNED UP FOR.
WE’RE IN THE
THICK OF THE
RAPIDS, AND IT’S
EXHILARATING
DECEMBER 2010 51