The river felt as calm as a lake, just a mellow flow drifting the boat downstream. Staying close to Rob, I flipped intentionally a few times to practice my roll, popping back up like a cork each time. We cruised along comfortably for a while, with me working to follow Rob as best I could. Sometimes the bow of the boat wouldn’t track properly, or I over paddled—and once it started going in a direction, it just kept going. Rob would correct me, saying, “Right, right! You’re not actually turning right … more right!” and eventually I’d straggle back on course. Our boats collided a few times, the hard hollow hulls making a loud, drumlike thump. I slammed into a rock, bounced off, flipped over, and managed to roll up on my second attempt.

I got back on course and followed the whistle. Rob reminded me of the T-rescue, which I could use if I failed to make my roll. From upside down, I was to beat my hands on the hull and then run my hands back and forth along the sides to give him a target. He’d then ease the nose of his boat into the side of mine, and I’d grab his bow and use it to leverage upright. If this failed, I knew to pull my spray skirt, slide out of the boat, and swim. But swimming was a last resort. Your kayak partner had to fish you out of the water and get you to shore, and then chase down your boat, which would be filled with a hundred gallons of water that had to be drained. It was a situation that was unsafe and best to be avoided.

I could feel and hear the terrain ahead narrowing, constricting as sound began to patter off rimrock walls. Also, I felt a cooling temperature change as a shadow slid across me, and I sensed we’d tucked in next to a rock wall.

“We’re heading down into the canyon now, with towering walls of red and beige sandstone rising from the river,” Rob said. “Oh, and that’s Winnie’s Rapid up ahead. The first real rapid. There’s a big boulder in the middle of the run that we need to stay right of. Try to lock on to the sound of the whistle.”

My boat picked up speed. The whistle blasts bounced around—ricocheting off the walls as the water rushed and rumbled under my boat. I paddled hard forward, but the whistling had vanished. Waves poured over the bow and hit me in the chest and face. Water splashed me from the left, then the right. My upper body bobbled as something seemed to grab me from below. I almost went over, but somehow recovered. Which way was I pointing? Maybe to the left? Maybe upriver? I felt alone.