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