| was neither fighting to
live nor succumbing to
death. | had no sense of
the passage of time.

rational thought was to try to find a safety strap to grab,
but the raft moved out of view into a blur of agitated
water. I couldn’t tell if up was down or down was up
but could feel copious quantities of adrenaline coursing
through my body. I was holding my breath.

I closed my eyes. Time stopped.
I heard Fernando’s comforting
voice repeating in my head like a
mantra: “If you fall in, relax. Just
As if

instantly absorbed in meditation I

relax! Just relax. Relax.”

felt transcended, so unconnected to
my body a fire alarm couldn’t rouse
me. I heard no rushing water, no
heartbeat. I felt no fear, had no awareness my life was in
danger. My environment felt like a soft cloud in a dream
state, perfectly enveloping, like there was no separation
between that River and me. A long tunnel with shim-
mering streaks of light beckoned. I was neither fighting
to live nor succumbing to death. I had no sense of the
passage of time.

* * %

“Where’s Ina? Where’s Ina?” Fernando blew the “man
overboard” whistle drawing the safety kayakers to look
for me. There was no sign of me for more than a minute.

Next I knew I was violently thrust from the depths
to the surface, gasping for breath. I was now fully
conscious of my life-threatening predicament and some-
how still holding my paddle. I felt the raw power of the
Pacuare, the total insignificance of my little body to it,
how this river made the American River of twenty years
ago look like a babbling brook. I urgently wanted to get
back into a raft, any raft.

Theard Fernando shout my name and saw him trying
to steer our raft toward me, both of us still moving down
river at pace. The river was a raging torrent; huge grey
boulders barreled by. I stayed focused on Fernando, will-
ing my paddle to connect with his outstretched hand.
He managed to grab my paddle and then me by the
shoulders of my life vest, tossing me in the boat in a single
swift motion, like a salmon at the end of fishing line.

Finally back in the boat, I coughed hard, my lungs and
stomach heavy with water. Ilost my lunch. I was shaken
to the core, but miraculously, unharmed. I took a series
of long, slow breaths and was overcome by the simple joy
of being in my body, able to feel how air comes in through
the nostrils, flows down to the lungs, the belly, and out.
I noticed my daughter’s brightly colored string bracelets
that looked like works of fine art, felt the sensation of my
husband’s hand on my arm as if he’d never touched me
before. I looked down at my own hands with wonder, as if
realizing for the first time how remarkable human hands
are, noticing these feats of engineering still gripping my
paddle, the paddling gloves no doubt responsible for keep-
ing with me the paddle that saved my life.

“Thank you for coming back,” my paddling-glove-re-
membering husband whispered; his eyes welled with tears.
My daughter embraced me tightly: “You did it Mom! You
did it!” There was no job to be awarded or withheld, no
one to impress with my fearless nature: only my family’s
gratitude that I’d made it back alive.