WHITEWATER IN PERU

Never in a million years did I ever dream I would drown in Peru, but here I was wondering if I would ever surface from the depths of the Urabamba River.  As I sank in the swirling waters, I held my breath and tried to remember the instructions our guide had given us when we started out that morning in our rubber raft.

"If we should capsize," said Hector, "relax and float with the feet pointed downstream until you can make it to shore."  It seemed as though I would never float.  My lungs were about to burst.  Which way was downstream?  All sounds of the outside world were muffled as I was suspended in this watery grave.

With effort I turned my face to what I thought was up, and tried to point my feet to downstream.  I remember thinking, "It must be downstream because the force of the water keeps pushing my legs back under me."  It was difficult to raise my legs to float.  I felt my canvas shoes slipping off. I was out of breath.

Just as I broke the surface and tried to take a gulp of oxygen, I was pushed back under by the tumbling water of the rapids.  Again and again I would try to get a breath of air only to have water wash over me.  Coughing and sputtering I gasped for that life giving, invisible element we take for granted.

I felt something touch my hand.  At first I ignored it.  Then I remembered Hector saying he would throw us a line if we went overboard.  Was this the life-saver?  Should I grab it? Was someone trying to rescue me?  I tried to hang on to whatever it was.  Then I heard a voice, "Let me go!"  I had grabbed onto Lynn and nearly drowned her I found out later.

After what seemed an eternity, Ron, our group leader, pushed me over to a huge rock.  I tried to hold on as the thrashing water tried to sweep me away again.  I clutched the rock with what little energy I had left., as I spit up water and finally filled my lungs with air.

When, at long last, I felt I was going to live, I looked around to ascertain my whereabouts in this river of woe.  Ron and Hector were farther downstream rescuing the raft and a couple of paddles.  Lynn and Laura were already on shore, as was Tammy.  I slowly made my way from rock to rock until I reached them.  Shaken, but alive, we made our way through the underbrush to a plowed field where we could walk downstream to where the fellows had pulled the raft onto a gravel bar.

With trepidation we got back into the rubber raft to head on downstream to where the van driver was to pick us up.  Now with only two paddles instead of six, it was up to the boys to get us through the remaining rapids without capsizing again.  Fortunately, there were none as bad as the ones we had just been through.

Later, as Hector and the driver let the air out of the raft and prepared to return us to the hotel, we lay back on the grass shivering, letting the sun dry us out some.  We reflected on our narrow escape from death and thanked God for bringing us out of it safely.  Lynn's thoughts as she had fought to swim to shore was wondering if she would get back for her daughter's 17th birthday.

Laura said, "I got my mid-life crisis over today.,"  Ron remarked, "I was just glad to see five red life jackets."  Tammy made the decision to go home and face her father with the fact, "I must live my own life and do what I want to do."  Poor Hector just kept saying to me, "I'm so sorry."  Apparently, he rarly has rafts that capsize.

We were a motley crew traipsing through the lobby of the hotel soaking wet, me with no shoes.  There wasn't time to waste, however.  The rest of our group of eleven were waiting for us to change and get on with our tour of Peru.

Soon we were on our way to an authentic Quechua lunch in the courtyard of a private home in a picturesque village in the mountains.  Then to a most fascinating demonstration of weaving by the village women in native costumes.  And so our "whitewater rafting" became just  another chapter in our journals, as we went on to see more wonderful sights, from the jungle to the Andes, in our beautiful neighbor to the south, Peru.

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