Danger of the white water

Hurtling through the crashing waves of a Zambezi rapid, giant rocks encroaching left and right, as you paddle in a hopeless attempt to find "solid" water rather than foamy spray, it's worth remembering two things:

a) this is a holiday
b) you paid upwards of $80 for the experience - this is supposed to be fun!

To conjure the experience of whitewater rafting in your head, imagine sitting at the front of a rollercoaster car and seeing the track in front vanish.

There is no telling what path your inflatable raft will take through the swirling eddies and breaking waves of a grade five rapid. (Grade six is considered "unrunnable" for all crafts except one-man kayak canoes.)

Of course you get a pep talk before each - a brief set of guidelines for those on the left and right of the craft, on whether to paddle forward or backward, fast or double-quick speed.

But except for the guide at the back, you are all amateurs and you quickly realise eight plastic paddles can only command a limited influence against the might of this untamed waterway.

And so, inevitably, you end up plunged into the water where surging currents and whirlpools suck you down before, eventually, spitting you out.

Money in them there rapids

In Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, whitewater rafting is the second biggest tourist draw after the cascading 128m falls themselves.

The stretch of Zambezi river that runs immediately from the bottom of the falls is said to have the highest concentration of grade five rapids anywhere in the world.
Everywhere in the town, visitors are confronted with the hard-sell tactics of representatives working for the rafting companies. It takes real bravery to say no and, while on a holiday last year in Southern Africa, I reluctantly caved in.

And so, early one sunny November morning, I found myself perched on the side of an eight-man raft, paddle in hand, crash-helmet clamped to my head and with a lifejacket as tight as corset. No one is strapped in - that would be even more dangerous than hanging loose.
I had already signed the all-important indemnity certificate that absolved the organiser of liability in the event of an accident.

In my gung-ho haste I had not even checked my travel insurance to see if I was covered - most standard schemes do not include this sort of extreme sporting activity.

My fellow crew, a mix of Swedish, Irish and Dutch 20 and 30-somethings, were, like me, whitewater virgins. Our induction was swift but serious. Of course, what they do not tell you is that an average of two people die every year on this stretch of river, doing the exact same thing.

The river takes control

The first two or three rapids were reasonably fun, providing just the right mix of adrenaline surge and safety reassurance, which basically meant we all managed to stay in the boat.

But things got really hairy with the first grade five. Our plotted course went out the window as the forceful flow of the rapid took over.

Very suddenly the water came crashing in from all sides, buffeting the side of the raft and pitching it in a dozen different directions within a few seconds.

The guide urged us to keep paddling - "Left side hard forward, right side hard back" - but the raft might as well have been floating on several multi-directional jet-streams.

Taking the plunge

I looked behind me and saw the edge of the raft minus two team members. Then came a huge surge of water which flipped the craft over and I had a micro-second to fill my lungs with air before taking the plunge.

"If you fall in, don't panic" we had been warned, and I didn't ... not for the first 10 or 15 seconds at least. The currents had dragged me down and I waited in a semi-calm state to surface.

But as the urge to breathe intensified and still I failed to find oxygen I began to worry. Finally I surfaced, gulped a breath of air and was immediately sucked down again by the rapid which continued to carrying me through.

When I surfaced once more, I gasped for air but the panic had forced my windpipe to contract, making it difficult to fill my lungs. Thankfully I was clear of the rapid but water continued to flush around my head.

A white-knuckle ride too far

Utterly drained I swam to one of the support-team's kayaks and was finally hauled into another raft.
When our team was eventually reunited we were given an option of taking the next grade five rapid in one of two ways - easy or hard.

I plumped for the former but some of my team-mates had got a perverse kick out of their own near-death experiences and the latter won through.

Not surprisingly, it was pretty much a repeat performance. By lunchtime I was glad I had chosen the half-day option instead of the full-day. Whitewater rafting was a white-knuckle ride too far - give me a rollercoaster any day.

Source: BBC World News Danger of the white water (28/07/99)