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Romancing the river
Source: Inquirer
Author: Teret Peņa
Date: 2000-03-27
 
Sunday



I dragged myself out of bed on Sunday at 5 a.m. Daylight was barely seeping in as I gulped down two cups of thick hot chocolate.



We still had to recover from the aches and pains of the past day, but as we loaded the coaster that morning, a new surge of energy was sufficient to move some of us to burst into song!Throughout the two-hour ride that took us to Kalinga, a chorus was crooning at the back of the bus.



We stopped at a small town in Kalinga to transfer to a jeep that would better manage the route up the Cordillera Mountains, along the Chico River, to our start-off point. It was another two-hour ride, only this time on rough and dusty uphill roads.But the view of the restless river--and the prospect of an exciting downstream paddle--kept us literally at the edge of our seats.



We disembarked at a quarry on the edge of the Chico River and unloaded the jeep. Siltation from recent rainfall had turned the waters a dark, muddy color, but white curls were still visible--an indication of rough currents ahead.



The rafts Anton and his crew inflated were much larger than I had expected. Pumped up, they were 16 feet long and eight feet wide. And solid, with skin made of hypalon fabric, virtually impossible to puncture. Again decked out in life jackets and helmets, we were each handed a paddle and assigned either to the left or the right side of the raft.



With me on one raft were four other first-timers (Noriko, Marge, Mike and Ben); Anton, who was our captain and would control a larger paddle serving as our rudder at the tail of the raft; and Ian, who was second in command. Closely behind us was a second raft with four of our other companions (Noel, George, Noelle and Jill) and three expert paddlers (Herbert, May and Danny) on board.



Certain things were made clear as we merged with the flow of the river. First, that we would take all our cues from Anton.Second, that our feet had to be tucked securely under the thwarts in front of us to serve as anchors to the raft. And third, that if any of us fell off, we should simply go with the flow, feet pointing downstream and at a slightly lower level than our heads to feel for rocks underwater.



River wild



I admit that despite all the precautions and assurances, the mere thought of being submerged in the wild currents was enough to keep my toes tightly curled inside the thwarts throughout the ride. The Chico River, especially after some rain, is not a picture of serenity. Rapids come at short intervals, and large rocks protrude along the way, causing the waters to crash and curl in scattered directions.



I could tell from the river's surface that it had a life of its

own--holes could suck us in and eddies could send us spinning

uncontrollably. But an adventurous streak in all of us was slyly

trying to defy our fears. It was an internal rebellion of sorts. The

nervousness made us laugh, and the fright made us squeal with

delight. Each upcoming rapid presented us with unexpected

thrills.



Midway through, we approached another rapid which seemed

no different from the others. Arms aching but still in high spirits,

we took our cue from Anton and paddled forward. The image of

a giant black rock lingered at a distance, peering out of crashing

white waves.



Maybe we underestimated the rock. Maybe we overestimated

our own paddling skills. Maybe we were too trusting of the

river. Or maybe we just didn't see it coming.



All I knew was that time froze at that moment, and all action

seemed to go in slow motion. Our raft hit the rock, swerved to

its side, and tilted helplessly against the constant crash of the

waters. I watched, virtually paralyzed, as one after the other

each member of our crew slid off the raft and into the river.



Inevitably, I dropped into the river too and hurriedly pushed

myself out of the raft's way as it capsized, empty.



Until that day, I had always thought of rivers as peaceful and

poetic places, where people had a picnic or a romantic

rendezvous. I had never thought they were capable of such

power or speed.



Lying afloat on its surface, obedient to its flow and beaten

painfully by rocks and twigs underneath, I was suddenly struck

with the fear of death. It was at that instant that I looked around

and reached out for the first person I saw.



It was Mike, floating in the same direction. Everyone else was

scattered throughout the river's width. Marge was close behind

me. Noriko and Ben were near shore, making their way toward a

rock they could cling to. Anton and Ian were nowhere in sight.



Letting go



Trapped in the river's flow, we caught sight of the second raft

just a few feet away. Intinctively I grabbed it, but it was moving

at breakneck speed, with abrasive rocks in its way. It was more

dangerous than life-saving to hang on. So I let go, and got

caught in the river's flow once again, until I felt a tangle of arms

and oars pull me out of the water and onto the raft.



But the struggle wasn't over until we had paddled our way to

shore, where the next challenge was to retrieve the straying raft.



Ian, however, had skillfully managed to save the raft not far from

the rock it hit. Once Anton and Noriko were safely on board,

they began to collect floating paddles and maneuver their way

out of an eddy that was keeping them spinning in circles. Soon

we were back on dry land--tired, shaken, but giddy with

excitement.



Our telling and retelling of the experience kept us occupied for

the rest of the trip down river. We were like war veterans,

tirelessly telling old war stories with amazement and pride. There

was some competition about who had the more thrilling ride--the

rescued or the rescuers--but we reached a consensus that our

whitewater adventure wouldn't have been as thrilling without

that flirtatious brush with Danger.



By mid-afternoon, we had made it down river to the quiet spot

where our jeepneys patiently waited for our return. The guys

deflated the rafts and the girls packed the oars, helmets and life

jackets. Bottles of ice-cold beer and soft drinks were passed

around.



On the ride back to Tuguegarao, the coaster was blanketed in

silence and sleep. We had a last home-cooked dinner with

Anton, and then boarded the bus that would take us back to

Manila at exactly 7 p.m.



Before I drifted off to sleep, I took one last look at the valley.

Again a full flame-orange moon peered back at me, and kept us

company during the long ride.
 

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