I woke up the next morning groggy and unsettled after a fitful night. The good news was, the day started with some really fun paddling over the waterfalls of the Río Chocolja, a tributary of the Usu. Rob described deep, turquoise-colored water, with tiers of small waterfalls as far as he could see up the canyon. We hiked our boats upstream and ran five of the drops, including one about eight feet high. Rocky had offered to guide me, and he called commands, yelling “Paddle hard!” as I hit the edge, hearing the rush of the water ahead, the open chasm below, and the churning slosh at the bottom. I’d go momentarily airborne, then land nose first, slapping down flat. Sometimes I flipped, but more often I stayed upright. It was momentarily frightening, then exhilarating, then a relief.

Taylor of the Gypsies had a little mishap when he went over the big waterfall at too steep an angle and too far to the right. He bashed the nose of his kayak against an underwater rock, got stuck, and swam out. Afterward, the snout of his boat was totally dented inward.

Eddi in his inflatable ducky was the comic relief. His massive, muscular, 230-pound frame barely fit in his boat, and he came in sideways, hung up on the lip of the drop. He then toppled over sideways with his arms flailing, kerplunking into the pool below. When he popped back up to the surface, the yellow ducky came down after him, bonking him on the head.

In the afternoon, we entered the main gorge, and I could hear the limestone walls closing in and soaring thousands of feet straight out of the river.

Rob surprised me when he decided to run it in his kayak, even though he had to remain rigid, unable to twist his torso. He wriggled into his kayak slowly and carefully like a ninety-year-old man. It was no surprise that the Gypsies decided to run it, too. I hopped into the front of a double inflatable ducky with Eddi, not ready to kayak, but still unwilling to miss the action.

Rocky was correct: The power of the water roiling through this constricted canyon sped up the current, intensified the rapids, and magnified the boils, vortexes, and eddy lines. And instead of separated rapids, broken up by calm pools, this stretch seemed to surge and compound into one long, violent maelstrom.

The group carnage began immediately. Taylor flipped a record nine times in the first rapid, La Linea, which Rocky had warned would feel “very Grand Canyon–like: big and fast and hard to stay on line.” John fared much worse, however, flipping at the top of La Linea and swimming, emerging, and disappearing as he was carried downriver. As his head appeared, Rob had somehow gotten over to him and yelled “Grab on!” and the two roared down the turbulent gauntlet together, with Rob paddling furiously, looking for any escape to shore.