-From the never to be released collection of short stories.
"How much is it?" "Five hundred and fifty-three yuan".
"What," I exclaimed. I had finally gotten through to my wife in the States to
tell her that I was OK, but probably would not be going back on the Nu Jiang
(Angry River). "Will you take a Travelers check?" "No, cash only". Guess they
had never heard of Karl Malden over here. I was beginning to wonder if I was
going to get to see a Chinese jail from the inside. I dredged my wallet and
every nook and cranny of my clothing, and managed a little under five hundred
yuan. Close enough! It was a fine trade for my freedom. I immediately left the
citadel of the Telephone Company and wandered pell-mell past the myriad of little
shops along the cobblestone road back to the hotel. I sat down on my austere
little bed and contemplated my situation. Besides my ribs, the river had broken
some of my spirit and determination, and now the phone company had broken my
wallet.
The Nu Jiang trip was going to be my great, once in a lifetime,
adventure in a foreign land; a first descent on a beautiful unspoiled river
in the Himalayan foothills of southern China. It didn’t turn out that way. The
Nu Jiang would normally be low in fall. The weather would normally be sunny
and warm. It wasn’t normal. It was cold and damp, torrential rains persisted,
like the cold I caught, for over a week. The river was much higher than normal,
a callous 30,000 cfs.
Like Coronado’s captain, Cárdenas, who first gazed
down upon the Colorado River from the south rim of the Grand Canyon and thought
the river to be six feet wide, we too, greatly underestimated the size and power
of the Nu Jiang. We had tried to map the river as we rode upstream on the bus,
but the road was often so far above the river that it appeared as a mere trickle.
Although we thought we knew better, like Cárdenas, we too were deceived.
Rapids that we classified as 2’s or 3’s from the bus were in reality 7’s, 8’s,
or 9’s on the Grand Canyon (1-10) scale. Rapids that we classified as 4’s or
5’s were 10’s or unrunnable at this water level. Furthermore, while many wave
trains and even holes on the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon can be smooth,
regular and downright consistent, most waves and holes on the Nu were extremely
irregular, pulsating, and even exploding at times. Their only consistency was
their inconsistency. Like a starved lunatic, they eagerly awaited their first
taste of hypalon.
Our river team consisted of 3 rafts and 5 kayaks, Mike
and Frank captaining two floored rafts, me in a cataraft, and kayakers Dave,
Scott, Phil, Brad, and Greg. Mike and Frank were both competent, experienced
rafters. Phil, Brad, and Greg were competent class IV-V kayakers while Dave
and Scott were world-class boaters. Jennifer was the expedition leader. The
various on river duties were assigned by a vote of the entire group. Scott was
in charge of safety; Norbert, the road crew; Bill, supplies; Zia, the kitchen,
Mike, the maps; and I, river navigation. Two of the floored rafts, which were
destined to be left in China as part of our river running agreement, had been
purchased specifically for this trip. I was to row the expedition leader’s cataraft,
the "Monkey", which was almost identical to my own cataraft.
The first two days on river were a fairly easy warm-up
although the rain rarely abated. We had put in at 1:30 PM on Thursday, October
31st from BingZhongLuo and floated 9 k the first day and 15 k the second day.
This section of river contained only minor rapids with the exception of one
major rapid encountered the second day in which both Mike’s and Frank’s floored
rafts did 360’s before exiting. I was much more maneuverable in the cataraft,
but also, much more flippable, as I would soon find out.
We camped on Friday, November 1st on a large beach on river
right. Mike wanted to use the Avon Adventurer since its stern frame would give
him an additional level of control beyond that of a paddle crew. However, the
shipping container with the rafts had been damaged in route. The Avon Adventurer
had received several small puncture wounds in the floor as well as one in a
tube, resulting in a slow leak. My first attempt to patch the Avon in the pouring
rain had not been very successful. Since the sun had decided to make an appearance,
it seemed like a good time for some raft repair before we ran the serious whitewater
downstream. We decided to layover Saturday to work on the rafts and let the
kayakers run and scout for us the first significant stretch of serious whitewater
below. Mike and I spent the morning mapping out a strategy for running the next
4-5 days down to Fugong, which was nearly the halfway point. We had to move
at a fairly good pace to accomplish the entire run in two weeks. I spent the
rest of the day patching the Avon. Our glue had been ruined in route but we
had managed to purchase the creme de la creme of Chinese contact cement. After
several failed attempts, I got the patches to stick... well kind of.
Sunday, November 3rd, was our second straight
day of sunshine, and we were excited about running this challenging 20k stretch
down to Gongshan. Jennifer, the expedition leader, wanted to ride on her raft.
Unfortunately, I still hadn’t found the hardware to attach the bow seat to the
boat. I don’t think we found that hardware until we were packing up the gear
to be sent home! This left the cooler behind me as the only place for her to
ride. Neither could I find two large water jugs that I wanted to use for weight
up front. Normally, I like the bow of my raft to be slightly down, especially
for hole-busting, but I ended up running with my bow slightly raised instead.
In retrospect, I was too nonchalant, and a bit over-confident as well. But heck,
those are usually my two best river running attributes. In any event, the sunny
day as well as the group’s confidence level was about to take its first big
blow.
The first major rapid was visible from our camp. While others were still
rigging, I walked down to the top of it to take a quick look. It didn’t appear
to be any big deal, just a straight shot middle left, down the gut as usual.
However, soon after we entered the rapid, we went into
a huge wave/hole/backcurler and flipped head over heels. Jennifer twisted her
left knee, but got pulled into Mike’s boat almost immediately. I was holding
on to the side of the cataraft but the next huge wave ripped my hands from it.
However, the boat was just downstream a little, so I swam to it. Just as I was
about to grab on, I watched stupefied as another huge wave lifted the cataraft
10-15 feet in the air and then sent it crashing down on my head giving me a
mild concussion. Despite being a bit more dingy than usual, I managed to grab
hold of the raft and slowly climb onto this slippery haven from the turbulent
waters around me. I had planned on reaching down into the water and grabbing
one of the oars to maneuver it over to shore. However, no sooner had I reached
this sanctuary than I espied a huge rock pour-over dead ahead.
I now found myself entering the second major rapid of this
section, which was only a couple hundred feet below the first. However, I felt
the rockledge ahead held more danger than main current. As if leeches awaited
me as in the "African Queen", I stood up to my trepidation and leaped back into
the Nu Jiang maelstrom. Over the years I have developed a real hatred, but not
a fear, of swimming whitewater. I know how to survive in such water--by getting
out as soon as possible. However, this seemed unlikely, as I was caught in the
grip of the Nu’s omnipotent current. As I neared the bottom of the second rapid
I was beginning to feel like a soggy piece of bread or a watery version of gravy
train. The sight of Phil kayaking toward me raised my hopes of a rescue at last.
But such was not to be. Soon after reaching me we both got chundered in a huge
hole, and for a short time, I had a swimming buddy. However, a second kayaker
soon paddled over to us and pulled Phil to shore as I continued my downstream
journey.
Suddenly, I heard someone yelling from Frank’s raft. His
floored raft, nearly full of water, was barreling toward me. Frank dropped the
oars and pulled me into his boat. Being dazed and confused, slightly hypothermic,
and extremely waterlogged, I was of no assistance to the crew. I sat and watched
dumbfounded as the crew struggled frantically to keep the remainder of the Nu
Jiang waters on the outside of the raft while Frank struggled at the oars for
some small illusion of control. We continued our frenzied float downstream,
more as part of the river than on top of it.
Frank was trying to pull us over to the left riverbank.
The river turned suddenly to the right crashing the current and us off the left
wall. The left oar jammed against the rocks on river left as the boat smashed
into the vertical wall, exploding the left oar lock and part of the wooden raft
frame into splinters. Fortunately, this taste of Hypalon was not to the Nu Jiang’s
liking, she gagged and spit us into an eddy on river left where we were able
to pull over to the left bank at last. Still dazed, I watched as Greg, one of
the kayakers who had also been salvaged into the raft, and Frank used straps
and duct tape to tie down both oar stands to what was left the of the frame.
The upturned cataraft floated by us while Frank and Greg were busy working.
We pushed off and rendezvoused with Mike’s raft just downstream
and decided to pull over to river right where we could get help from our road
crew. We also had picked up Phil’s kayak. None of the other river runners were
in sight. We had lunch and accessed our situation. The upturned cataraft and
the other kayakers were all far downstream. Our road crew arrived along with
Phil and Scott. At first we thought Frank’s raft frame was too damaged to continue.
However, Frank and Greg had done a great job. The oar stand was now stronger
with straps and duct tape than with the bolts and glue that had originally held
it together. After some discussion, the less experienced, wet and cold paddlers
got on the bus while the rest of us cold wet crazies continued downstream. Greg
and I now paddle-assisted on Frank’s boat. We still had the toughest rapid of
this stretch to run. Even from the bus, we had classified it a 4, which meant
it was at least a "14" on the Grand Canyon river scale.
Dulong
were famous for running ALL foreigners out, or disappearing them – whether Chinese
OR Red Devil. AND they had an unwritten deal with the Chinese Army to protect
the paranoid border with the rabid Myanmar Generals. Both Beijing and the minority
nationalities had their own separate reasons for keeping this area tightly closed.
Then suddenly in 1994 while I was in Kunming being treated by a famous acupuncturist,
the Sports Commission told me that the local government wanted White Pearl to
come and see if the Nu was "suitable" for river running.