 |
 |
|
|
|
January, 2007
Bloodied in Costa Rica
By Tom Gerencer
Costa Rica, December, 2006.
In 15 years of kayaking, I have never before said the phrase "Dear God, please get me off this f***ing river" with such consistency and vehemence.
First, there was the trip where Connor and Connor - 2 Irish guys who reminded me of Merry and Pippin from Lord of the Rings ("What about second breakfast? Elevenses? Lunch? Dinner? Supper?") lost their boats, swam some nasty class V big water, and had to spend the night in the jungle in a tent made of palm fronds and banana leaves, amongst the horse flies and the pit vipers.
On the way out, the rest of us had our own adventures - it was getting dark, for example, and one guy rolled on a strainer and got a branch pierced right through his forehead. I cleaned it out for him later by pouring Guaro (a Costa Rican whiskey) in one opening and out the other. I didn’t like him much, so this was a lot more fun than it should have been.
A few days later, on the Rio Toro, after successfully navigating most of the hard rapids, while looking up at the pretty waterfalls, I caught an edge, rolled upside down, and instantly got attacked by 5 teenagers with baseball bats. Or that’s what it felt like, anyway. Really what happened was that about fifteen rocks hit me on top of the head, on the arms, the back, and yes, in the face. I remember thinking, "Ow, this hurts," and, "When is this going to stop?"
I finally swam, which turned out to be a bad idea, as it allowed a couple more rocks to attempt having sex with my face, and when I came up, I was shooting straight at a wall.
I bounced off it, grabbed my paddle, grabbed my camera box, and realized that, instead of hurting, my entire face was just numb, and also I couldn’t see out of one eye. It occurred to me that my lack of pain was not necessarily a good thing, and so I looked up at my friend Alan, who was paddling alongside me, and I asked, "Is it bad?"
He just nodded, and then paddled off after my boat.
So I swam to shore, with my friend Shane shouting, in ever-increasing tones of urgency, "Swim harder! Swim harder!" like a character from Jaws, and then I climbed out on a rock.
"Alan said it was bad," I told Shane. He looked me over critically and said, "Well... it’s kind of hard to tell, because your face is just covered with blood. Rinse it off and I’ll take another look."
So that’s what we did.
"You’ve got two cuts and some big lumps on your forehead, then a big gash over one eye that’ll definitely need stitches, and... is your nose broken?"
"No," I said, and I grabbed it and wiggled it to show him. It made a sound like crushing eggshells, and I said, "I mean, yes."
I also had some pretty good road rash on my arm, a big cut on one elbow, some good lumps on my back, and a case of whiplash which is still with me three weeks later.
Alan rescued my boat, I got in, and I had a moment where I didn’t really want to hop back in the river.
"What do you want to do?" Shane said.
"Well it’s not like I have any options," I said. "What am I going to do? Stay here?"
We paddled for another hour in class III and IV rapids, with me trying to forget what it feels like to have hard, ancient things smacking into my back, my arms, and my face, and trying to remember that kayaking is fun.
Email nick [at] noumbrella [dot] com with your questions, comments and concerns.
Design and Content © 2002 to 2006 No Umbrella
