In the Shit
December 28, 2006
The day started with Hershey squirts.
When we booked our trip to Zimbabwe, we went through a booking agent called Afrizim – The Flame of Africa. They took our money for accommodations and activities, including three multi-day rafting trips.
We arrived in Victoria Falls and were directed to redeem our activities at a company called Shearwater Expeditions (a huge American company in the middle of abject poverty…but I digress). Shearwater informed us that in fact there were no multi-day trips happening, but they would be happy to hook us up with other activities. Carrie and I didn’t want other activities so we hit the pavement searching for someone to take us down the river for a three day trip.
As a Christmas present Anna had told us that she would take care of Zachary for the time that we were on the river. It was a marvelous offer and one we couldn’t pass up. Not to mention the fact that a trip down the Zambezi is the primary reason for coming to Vic Falls at all. There was no way in hell I was going to leave here without doing an extended trip on one of the hairiest rivers in the world!
We finally found a company that would accommodate us. They agreed to take the two of us down the river for a two and a half day trip. I was skeptical, but after interrogating the man in the office (Jackson), I decided that it might work out. He assured me that our boat would have a stern frame and two extra guides to paddle along to assure that we had enough power to brave the rapids. He also told me there would be an oar boat and a safety kayak along with us. After wasting one full day of our holiday, I agreed to let Frontier Adrenalin take us down the river.
They arrived at our lodge on the morning of December 26th in a tiny little Toyota pickup rigged up with an expedition cage on the back. We piled in with the gear and headed off to the office. There we met: Quiet, our guide; Steve, the safety kayaker; and David, the videographer. There was no oar rig and there would be no one else in our sixteen foot boat with us. Quiet would have a stern frame, but there would only be us in the boat.
As I pondered this thought, I grew increasingly nervous. I had heard about the Zambezi and it didn’t seem like two paddlers and a stern frame in a sixteen foot boat was a prudent way to attempt such a trip. I’m not sure whether that’s why I got the runs or maybe it was just the chicken I had for dinner the night before; either way, there it was. I was just standing there talking to Steve, learning about the trip when I felt a little gas. The next thing I knew there was a warm liquid running down my leg. Maybe it was an omen, but I chose to ignore it. I excused myself to the restroom and cleaned myself up as best I could with no TP. Then I marched back out and headed off for our trip.
We hiked down this crazy steep staircase to the bottom of the gorge. Once there we scrambled along the rocks and under the bridge. We watched one intrepid soul bungee jumping. I had actually considered participating in that particular activity. When I discovered that the jumpers were drawn back up to the bridge by a team of ten guys pulling on a rope, I decided that perhaps I would forgo that experience. We piled into our sixteen foot boat and practiced paddling by moving upstream to the base of the falls themselves. We bathed in the mist and marveled at the chasm we were floating in. Words cannot adequately express my awe at that moment.
As it turned out the rapids were actually bigger than I had pictured originally. Not only that, but there are no foot straps in the boat and only a chicken line to hang onto. In the middle of the first rapid, as I watched the cockroaches abandon ship, I realized that I haven’t really paddled a boat in quite some time. It is really amazing what a little fear can do for your body. By the third rapid I had been sufficiently thrown around the bow of the boat to realize that we were truly fucked…and only two more days to go.
Okay, maybe I overreacted a little. I was the only one to get thrown out of the boat and that was only one time. We greased everything else. Our camp the first night was reached with virtually no problem. It was a beautiful spot, even if we did have to wait nearly two hours for dry clothes and cold beer. We were alive and that’s all that mattered. So my day started in shit and ended in white sand; well worth the price of admission…
MJR
The day started with Hershey squirts.
When we booked our trip to Zimbabwe, we went through a booking agent called Afrizim – The Flame of Africa. They took our money for accommodations and activities, including three multi-day rafting trips.
We arrived in Victoria Falls and were directed to redeem our activities at a company called Shearwater Expeditions (a huge American company in the middle of abject poverty…but I digress). Shearwater informed us that in fact there were no multi-day trips happening, but they would be happy to hook us up with other activities. Carrie and I didn’t want other activities so we hit the pavement searching for someone to take us down the river for a three day trip.
As a Christmas present Anna had told us that she would take care of Zachary for the time that we were on the river. It was a marvelous offer and one we couldn’t pass up. Not to mention the fact that a trip down the Zambezi is the primary reason for coming to Vic Falls at all. There was no way in hell I was going to leave here without doing an extended trip on one of the hairiest rivers in the world!
We finally found a company that would accommodate us. They agreed to take the two of us down the river for a two and a half day trip. I was skeptical, but after interrogating the man in the office (Jackson), I decided that it might work out. He assured me that our boat would have a stern frame and two extra guides to paddle along to assure that we had enough power to brave the rapids. He also told me there would be an oar boat and a safety kayak along with us. After wasting one full day of our holiday, I agreed to let Frontier Adrenalin take us down the river.
They arrived at our lodge on the morning of December 26th in a tiny little Toyota pickup rigged up with an expedition cage on the back. We piled in with the gear and headed off to the office. There we met: Quiet, our guide; Steve, the safety kayaker; and David, the videographer. There was no oar rig and there would be no one else in our sixteen foot boat with us. Quiet would have a stern frame, but there would only be us in the boat.
As I pondered this thought, I grew increasingly nervous. I had heard about the Zambezi and it didn’t seem like two paddlers and a stern frame in a sixteen foot boat was a prudent way to attempt such a trip. I’m not sure whether that’s why I got the runs or maybe it was just the chicken I had for dinner the night before; either way, there it was. I was just standing there talking to Steve, learning about the trip when I felt a little gas. The next thing I knew there was a warm liquid running down my leg. Maybe it was an omen, but I chose to ignore it. I excused myself to the restroom and cleaned myself up as best I could with no TP. Then I marched back out and headed off for our trip.We hiked down this crazy steep staircase to the bottom of the gorge. Once there we scrambled along the rocks and under the bridge. We watched one intrepid soul bungee jumping. I had actually considered participating in that particular activity. When I discovered that the jumpers were drawn back up to the bridge by a team of ten guys pulling on a rope, I decided that perhaps I would forgo that experience. We piled into our sixteen foot boat and practiced paddling by moving upstream to the base of the falls themselves. We bathed in the mist and marveled at the chasm we were floating in. Words cannot adequately express my awe at that moment.
As it turned out the rapids were actually bigger than I had pictured originally. Not only that, but there are no foot straps in the boat and only a chicken line to hang onto. In the middle of the first rapid, as I watched the cockroaches abandon ship, I realized that I haven’t really paddled a boat in quite some time. It is really amazing what a little fear can do for your body. By the third rapid I had been sufficiently thrown around the bow of the boat to realize that we were truly fucked…and only two more days to go.
Okay, maybe I overreacted a little. I was the only one to get thrown out of the boat and that was only one time. We greased everything else. Our camp the first night was reached with virtually no problem. It was a beautiful spot, even if we did have to wait nearly two hours for dry clothes and cold beer. We were alive and that’s all that mattered. So my day started in shit and ended in white sand; well worth the price of admission…
MJR
posted by Bronx to Timbuktu at 9:56 PM
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