Words and other adventures: Rio Grande baptism

Yesterday I was baptized in the Rio Grande, blessed by boisterous, unruly water. The morning's Race Course trip near Pilar, NM, sixteen miles south of Taos, marked my first commercial raft trip on this river in seven years. In between I guided several trips on the float section of the Snake, that iconic braided channel river that meanders along the Grand Tetons, near Jackson, Wyoming. Three excursions didn't add up to cool confidence in running this section with five male high school students. I had transformed into a rookie again, though the end result prevailed in a positive way.

Canoeing the Orrilla Verde section of the Rio Grande.

Nerves jangled, I had to find a place in the willows that shielded the shore to offer liquid back to the river, and I ran the lines through in my head, recalling each rock, but I reveled in the fresh perspective and lessons of revisiting an occupation I have left behind. Despite numerous summers in a boat on that river - paddle guide or passenger, behind the oars, in an inflatable kayak and once only in a hard shell - this cameo appearance attuned my eyes to new ways to circumvent or charge through obstacles and rapids, deal with situations as they arose, interact with and take charge of other's lives, all the while focused on fun, safety and the moment.

When I ski a run I know by heart, the snow, weather conditions and even the me that I am at that moment determine how I address the actions I need to take to succeed in this dance down the mountain. Each turn, movement and even breath coordinated and there's no room for mundane worries, daydreams, or to answer that phone call, text or email. This is life, distilled into the details, as vivid as it will ever be, so all that signifies is now.

In the middle of the first major rapid, Albert Falls, our boat hit a hole, a place where recirculating current creates a pillow of water hidden on the downstream side of a half submerged boulder. As our momentum halted five of the six passengers, me included, slid over slick PVC tubes and into the drink. The hero of the hour, a short kid with a well developed upper body, caught my hand and dragged me in, and then I pulled in the closest two, and we collected the third from another raft in the eddy below.

None suffered more than the chill of spring snow melt, and we warmed up paddling hard through the next two rapids. Those almost men were thrilled, even though each one had expressed trepidation about falling in the river prior to it occurring. This didn't squash their desire to risk an intentional swim in the cool Rio, which they requested only ten minutes later and were allowed to do once we had passed beyond all rapids.

As we floated down the final mellow mile, they sang a call and response: "soy marinero," and "soy capitan!" No doubt they will remember that day for a long time to come, in particular the heart pumping adrenaline, their fears realized but overcome, an adventure unique amongst two busloads of juniors. Higher risk balanced by triumphant results makes for a better story to recount. I'm humbled whenever I take a swim in the river, and cleansed, too.

In it I am baptized, vision cleared, whole being enlivened and reset to a more neutral attitude. The water clarifies, washes away the day-to-day and connects me to the source of everything. I guided the rest of that eight mile stretch, freed from my apprehension and grateful for the transformation.