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I wiggled into the elastic suit jumping up and down, pulling and stretching to fit the fabric over my woman hips. The crotch hung down low between my legs.
Starting back down at the ankle I urged the uncompromising material higher up on my calf and continued tugging and rolling it like pantyhose until it reached a more acceptable spot. Bending up I glimpsed my pink cheeks in the horizontal mirror, took a breath and waddled out of the bathroom. The first day of whitewater guide training had begun. Thirteen of us were accepted to train at Northern Outdoors. We lost one before we even started, which left eight guys and four girls. Typical numbers in the rafting industry.
We were summonsed to The Forks, the meeting place of the Kennebec and Dead rivers and the birthplace of whitewater rafting in Maine. For one week we would learn about the river and guiding a boat and though we weren’t guaranteed a job or even a passing grade we were guaranteed an incredible experience.
We came from different places and made our way there by various routes.
Gary and Nick were Vermonters, Leah and Reeve were outdoor adventure majors from a school in Arizona, Brent taught high school and his girlfriend was a guide at Northern, Marcus worked at Northern in the kitchen, Eric lived on Martha’s Vineyard and loved sea kayaking, Big Justin was a student of massage therapy, Breanna grew up in Bangor, Jasmine lived in Maine with her husband and pugs and the other Justin was a horticulture major at Orono. I was also a student in Maine.
The twelve of us gathered around two tables on that first uncertain night waiting for guidance. My eyes rested momentarily on each face wondering which of us would make it through, who would become a friend and if amongst us there was any chance of romance. We were all enclosed in our silent musings.
Greg Caruso, the man who hired us, entered and welcomed us. I was grateful for his presence. He was the familiar factor in the equation. It was a night of formal lecturing and introductions. Seasoned guides joined us. They went around the room and each professional guide spoke briefly and often comically about their history with Northern Outdoors.
Oh, the pressure of something funny to say. I was the last to speak and a bit anxious. I muscled it out and a few crackles of laughter drifted my way.
Whew! The first unofficial test was over. We were housed in cabin tents and assigned roommates. After the first evening I was glad to have somebody plugged in as confidante. Getting back to our tent Breanna and I bonded over our status of USM student and alum. She was chatty and familiar. I shared my anxieties of not making the cut. She encouraged me to not worry.
We turned in early and I laid in bed unable to sleep kept awake by the neurotic fear that the alarm would fail to ring, though I tested it earlier to ensure a 5:30 wake up.
Hardly any sleep and it was already time to start the day. This day I would guide a raft full of people for the first time down a river. It was an alarming prospect.
We met in the barn, and learned about equipment and supplies required for each trip. Initially we were unsure and took orders more than initiative. We must’ve looked like weebles bobbing around and easily getting redirected.
We all wanted to be busy and prove we were hard-working.
We were split up into two groups and my group was taken down the river by Shannon. She had spent five summers with Northern and she briefed us on the basics before asking for volunteers for the second run.
Gary was the first trainee who guided our boat. A tall graceful Vermonter, he was outwardly confident and made it look easy. Encouraged by his success I volunteered to guide next. My first trip down the river was a chaotic blur of splashing water, uncertain paddle strokes, and indecision. I had dipped my toe into the black hole of panic and it sucked me in like quicksand. Jim, my trainer ordered me to listen to him and I regained focus as he instructed me on the different paddle strokes.
After the catastrophe of my first run I felt as though I would never pass this class. There was so much information to absorb and I wasn’t soaking it up as quickly as my wetsuit was the river water. There was river geography: eddies, rapids, and holes; river history, raft maneuvering, and rescue techniques.
I knew I wanted to spend my summer there was determined to make it happen. We finished the day with three runs completed, and then went to class. We reviewed everything we’d learned that day and were assigned reading for the next day’s class. Ugggghhhh, this was not the fun part.
It was 10ish and class was over. The twelve of us shared a taxing day and chatted as we departed for our tents. We were spent headed for bed. Breanna complained about the bugs, and her foot bothered her. Her sleeping bag wasn’t warm enough and she couldn’t talk on her phone. She was doubtful whether she wanted this or not. The next day we went down the river at fish flow. Fish flow is the river level before water is released. Rapids are created by water rushing over obstructions like rocks in the river and because the dam (Harris Station) hadn’t released any water there weren’t rapids yet.
Running fish flow was productive because we learned the effect of shifting the weight in your boat which is useful when you’re raft is stuck up on a rock.
The water was so low that we could see all the rocks that formed the rapids.
We also watched the river transform from a calm body to a raucous whirl of flying water as the water was released.
Fish flow slowed us all down. It gave me time to consider the previous day’s mistakes and focus to improve upon that day. The earthquakes in my mind had ceased and my run was less turbulent. On the bus we scarfed down sandwiches with hardly a word and afterwards shared stories of our runs. We were still uncertain of each other and didn’t say a lot.
My roommate’s dissatisfaction grew. Her arms were sore, she hated climbing the stairs, and no amount of bug spray could ward off the flies. She departed for the nearest cell phone reception seeking counsel in her sister.
Grateful for her departure I took a nap. I hadn’t been tired from exertion in years. It was equally taxing and invigorating. It was the kind of tired that sends you dreaming moments after your body relaxes into the sheets.
Each morning I awoke around 5:24 a.m.-sunrise. After polling the others in my group I found many had the same dilemma. Up at 5:30 and couldn’t fall back asleep. The mornings were quiet and misty and we were the first ones in the lodge for breakfast. These mornings helped ease us into relationships.
We were halfway through at this point I had witnessed many others guiding styles and was aware that most in my class were knowledgeable and skilled prior to coming to Northern. I was neither and worried that I wouldn’t get it by the time the week was up.
By day four we knew the procedure for set up and began working in unison without instruction from our trainers. Two of the girls quit that day. Jasmine was the first to give and though she had wanted it to work she missed her husband and had difficulty with the physical demands. She retreated in tears. My roommate followed suit just a few minutes later and they stayed on the bus until they could get back to Northern. They were both gone when the rest of us returned.
That made Leah and I the only two girls left and though we hadn’t connected earlier we were driven to each other by necessity. That night we soaked in the hot tub and drank some beers. It was the first time I’d allowed myself to relax and enjoy the comforts of the lodge. I was continuously improving on the river and felt confident in my ability.
Each night we continued with class and Greg expected us to know more and more. I buckled down after briefly getting sidetracked by a cute boy and finally learned my river geography. I was determined to spend my summer there.
Though I’d initially intended on working part-time I knew if I made it through the class and was hired I’d pick up my life and move it up there. With two days left our clan interacted more and more. Rather than sit in silence we’d chat excitedly about our runs and we’d begun seeking common ground other than our interest in the river.
Each day we faced additional challenges. Guides started jumping out of the boats expecting us to employ the rescue techniques we’d read about. We’d received word of this through the grapevine and so were expecting it but when I noticed I was missing a passenger I was just as exacerbated as if I’d never expected it at all. After a bit of scrambling we rescued our swimmer only to have him fall out again on the next run. On the fifth day, we swam the biggest rapid in the river-Magic Falls.
We needed to know the feeling of being taken by the river. The experienced guides talked about swimming nonchalantly. I must’ve absorbed their attitude because I jumped out of the boat without any worries.
I was unprepared for the power of the river. As the waves crashed into my face I attempted to gulp air and instead unexpectedly drank of the river like it was one giant glass of water. I swam with much effort to escape the overwhelming waves and breathe freely again. When I reached the rescue boat I turned around and saw my boat-mates mildly backstroking unconcerned with the enveloping waves.
The rescue boat had already swam Magic-Hole and they waited for my reaction as I crawled on the floor panting. No words were needed to relay my experience. The understanding was evident in their faces.
Later we rehashed our swims and laughed. Some wanted to swim again. I thought they were crazy.
That night we waited in the Bingo hall to receive our evaluations. Greg announced with understated pride and excitement that we all passed the class. The announcement was so unexpected there wasn’t much reaction at all. I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly. I glanced around to see if others heard what I heard. Around the room smiling eyes silently congratulated each other. The next day we took the official written test for the state of Maine. We all passed and were hired. Though the adventure of training is over the adventure of licensed guide is only beginning. I can only imagine the surprises the river will offer up this summer.
Email nick [at] noumbrella [dot] com with your questions, comments and concerns.
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