Читать книгу Canoeing with Jose онлайн

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As we passed over the dam and swooshed down the rushing slide behind it, the canoe smashed into the first frothing line of standing waves. José was thrown onto one knee, and he grabbed the left gunwale with both hands. The canoe dipped left, the standing wave crashed over the rails, and river water filled the boat. José and I were pulled into the churning backwash along with our food and gear, then jettisoned unscathed from the lethal mayhem below the dam. As I popped to the surface, I found José clutching the partially submerged bow, his eyes wild with panic.

“Stay with the canoe, and keep your feet out in front of you,” I shouted. “You’re alright! Your life jacket will float you.”

We swam the canoe to shore and began corralling our tackle box, the GPS receiver, and whatever else we could find. As we were doing so, I looked upstream and saw Kocher in trouble.

He was standing in the current below the dam, up to his chest in roiling pandemonium, weighted down by the 80-pound Duluth pack strapped to his back. Demonstrating fearlessness and the superhuman strength I had come to expect from him, Kocher trudged to land, then continued over to where we were standing waist-deep against the steep rocky bank, emptied his hands of supplies, and fished us out of the river with an outstretched hand.