Rapid Love
Kate Lancaster

It was day two of the most epic journey of my life. As I stood on that cliff, looking down upon a seething rapid called House Rock, I began to wonder what had ever made me think I could endure seventeen days on an eighteen-foot raft with fifteen other people paddling through the Grand Canyon. My new husband, Ted, had convinced me that this was going to be the ideal adventure honeymoon. The thought now crossed my mind that this rapid might just be the start of all the rough water we were going to face in our marriage.

The trip began on a discomfiting note. Our outfitter informed us that we had too much beer and not enough rafts. Since leaving the beer behind was out of the question, and since all the experienced river rats were either positioned in kayaks or already piloting rafts, there was only one solution: Ted, a relative river virgin, would have to captain a fourth raft.

Surprisingly, except for an embarrassing moment when Ted set out with the raft facing backward, the first day was great, and I actually started having fun. I did notice that I was the only one who would ride with Ted, but I tried to put any nervous suspicions out of my mind.

On the second day, we encountered House Rock, which is conspicuously named for the house-sized boulder that forms it. The water plunges over the rock, then folds back on itself, creating a dangerous washing-machine-like vortex that river experts call a hole, and from which little escapes unscathed. To miss the hole, the oarsman must deftly guide the raft through a small channel that runs river-right and navigate a sharp right-angle turn through the rapid. There is very little room for error. As we watched the other members of our party safely negotiate the rapid, I asked Ted, “So, what do you think? Are you nervous?” There was no reply. “Ted, are you scared?” I repeated. Still no reply. Then, unless we wanted to stay stranded on that cliff forever, we had no choice. We had to go through House Rock ourselves.

As I sat at the front of the raft facing the rapid, I began to doubt my sanity. How had I allowed myself to be talked into this outrageous situation? I even began to question why I had married anyone crazy enough to guide a raft this small through a rapid this big, especially considering he had no experience. It was the noise that woke me from my fearful reverie—the unmistakable thunder of the whitewater ahead. The raft moved quickly toward the tongue of the rapid, gaining momentum with each stroke of Ted’s
oars. I kept my eyes forward, afraid to turn around lest I see Ted panicking. Suddenly, the world exploded. There it was: the frothing mass of rapid, the black face of the canyon wall, the seemingly un-navigable corner, and the gaping, spewing hole that could gulp down small rafts and spit them out like popped balloons. All I could do was hang on for dear life, close my eyes and scream. It felt like it would never end: the noise, the spray, the cold, the waves, my stomach churning, and my body whipping to and fro. Then, as quickly as we entered the rapid, we were out. We’d made it! We both rose to our feet and let out a whoop of victory, sharing a moment of sheer elation and pride, and nearly capsizing the raft in the process.

Later that evening, after the adrenalin rush had subsided and we lay in our tent, Ted asked me why I’d gone with him when no one else would. I said that there was no way I would stand by and watch him go into that hole alone and if he was going to die on that river, I was damn well going to die with him. I realized then that House Rock had changed me. I now knew with certainty that I had the strength to face any rough water we might encounter in our marriage. I knew that I really meant my marriage vows, and I knew that Ted’s courage and my conviction would be the raft to carry us through the rapids of our life.