Rafting: 17 miles
After a full day of rest, we were chomping at the bit to go play in some white water. As before, our group was divided among two rafts: an American one and an International one. In order to balance out the numbers, we found ourselves in Team USA, unable to contribute much to the patriotic singing other than a bit of Star Spangled Banner.
Once again, we got a good splashing and soaking. Every now and again, one of us would get a face full of water, drenched by the brunt of a wave seemingly intended only for them. “Sorreee” yelled our captain from his perch at the back of the boat, with a cheeky grin that really said “sorry, not sorry”, belying his skill at controlling the raft.
Today was a full day of class 2s, 3s and … wait for it… 4s! It was on one such class 4 that things started to get hairy. I’m not sure if we took a non-optimal route, or if we weren’t paddling hard enough or fast enough, but somehow we ended up wedged precariously on a rock, water pouring in the raft faster than you could say Titanic. We were thrown from our perches on the sides of the raft into the “down” position, crouched over on our knees in the middle of the boat. This at least served to minimize the amount of water pouring in, as the boat was already full of us.
We could barely hear our captain’s commands over the rushing water, but there was a yell that sounded like “Move Forward”. While there were many commands we’d practiced as part of the safety briefing, this was not one of them. Like participants in a fast-paced game of Twister, we sprawled forward, placing a hand, a foot or a knee on any spare space of raft real estate, while our captain bounced up and down like a jack in a box at the back, desperately trying to loose us from our perch. The whole thing probably took less than a minute, yet took a year off my life!
And just like that, we were released from the rock, kerplunking our way down the rest of the rapid. How we didn’t flip is nothing short of a miracle, but having survived that, any remaining nerves I had were eradicated.
All that bouncing around is enough to work up an appetite. An offshoot of the river led us to a small beach, and as the group eagerly exchanged salty dog stories, the guides rustled up a tasty lunch. It was served up on one of the rafts upturned to form a makeshift table. Genius.
After lunch, you know the score. More rafting, more white water, more fun. We pulled in to the river bank once more to hike up to a waterfall. And if you go all that way, you might as well get in it. Forming a human chain, we hauled each other up and into the waterfall, the fast rushing water fighting to send us hurtling back down the way we came.
While my diving boots had served me well on this trip, right now it was like walking on banana skins. Trying to scramble over the rocks on the way back down, slick and green with slimy moss, became a five points of contact affair. Not a problem other than the grit and sand that accumulated on my bum, making the next round of rafting like sitting on sandpaper. Ouch!
As we left the hardcore rapids behind us and the river flattened out, I was coerced into doing a stint at the front of the raft. Definitely more exposed up there but great views! All in all, I’d have to admit I really enjoyed white water rafting 🙂 Might even try it again some time!
After a hard day’s paddling, we arrived at another comfortable river camp.
After hanging up our wet gear, we had the challenge of getting through the missing red wine from last night that had now turned up. But tonight’s main entertainment was frog hunting. Unfortunately, the iconic Costa Rica red eyed tree frog was nowhere to be found. But we saw countless poison dart frogs, their intense red color a sharp contrast in the green of the rainforest undergrowth. Along with camouflage style green and black poison dart frogs. Super cool.
