We rented gear and arranged transportation at an outfitter in Salida. The night before the trip, Jamie ate a pot brownie and drank about fifteen Natural Lights; when we woke him up to leave, he barely made it out of the tent before heaving. So we left him at the campsite to sleep it off and drove to the put-in, about a quarter mile upriver from the first rapids. Arch left Vanessa and me with the boats and paddles while he drove to the take-out area, where he’d arranged for a ride back on one of the rafting company buses.

Early morning, June, Colorado. Infinite sky. The canyon downstream, rocks scattered along the hills around its mouth, scattered patches of sweetgrass and yellow and purple wildflowers. The scent of piñon. Dirty-blond hair. Goose-bumped flesh along the slopes of narrow arms and calves. The faint trace of pale lip balm along the Cupid’s bow of her lovely mouth.

Had we known the river was near flood stage, Vanessa and I would have been afraid. We should have remembered it was already Arch’s habit to lead us into things for which we were not properly prepared.

A bus loaded with rafts pulled to a stop, Arch hopped out, and twenty minutes later we were on the river, speeding toward the mouth of the canyon, the sound of the rapids growing louder and more violent as the cliffs rose up and the shadows fell across the water.

We’d paddled kayaks in the gentler rivers of Tennessee and North Carolina, and thought we knew what we were doing. Arch had coached us before we put in, reminding us how to bail out and swim if we flipped (only he knew how to “Eskimo roll” a kayak back upright if it capsized). We agreed that Arch would lead, followed first by Vanessa, with me at the rear.

When we reached the first rapids, I didn’t even have time to be frightened. The current took over. After maybe twenty or thirty seconds of pure terror, we poured out into the flat and looked around for each other, our faces blanched with awe and relief.

After that first drop, we settled into an easy, confident rhythm. The fear of disaster dissipated. Soon, the water picked up speed again as the channel narrowed and dropped between the rocks and turned to roaring froth. At the center of the run stood a large boulder almost obscured by the explosion of aerated foam and mist spewing up over it. Arch nimbly steered to the side of the rock and descended. Even if she’d been much more experienced, Vanessa wouldn’t likely have had time to follow Arch’s maneuver. The nose of her boat plunged over the rock, tilted up, and capsized, just as it sped toward a second, much larger drop. I had only a moment to look for her before I slid past the boulder and fell into the spume.