"And this next rock we like to call Senna Tea, cause it's the smoothest move on the whole ride," I say.
The banana yellow raft doesn't laugh, except for one little huff from a girl with her dad. She turns to explain the bit, the sign of absolute failure, but we're already there. The raft takes the rock and we're lifted in the air. The rapids have been nice to us and my station almost goes over the edge. We're maybe a foot off the surface but it feels like a mile. One of the moms gives a fun little scream and the son looks like he wants to die. But he jumped too. It's scary, the first time around. A moment where everything hanging on the thread of disaster and we're sliding back down in the water. The rapids take us back and we're moving along at a good clip.
It's a good group this afternoon. Not too chatty, mostly down for all the safety measures, a well-oiled machine that came together without too much coaching. We're rowing and moving and having a good time. I can hear the tips jostling in the wallets. If I was a much more unscrupulous man, we could have a fun little accident and I disappear into the woods. I line up the next little stunt. We're going to pinball back and forth on some rocks and give everyone's brain a good scrambling. The group seems too smart. I need to change that.
First group this morning was a bit of a wash, had some people get mad at me that they got wet, but still a good crop of tips harvested. I got a good feeling about this one. I trust the quiet ones. The talky ones seem to think that their company alone is good enough compensation. It never is. And we've kept a good pace with Nina's raft and that means we can flirt and still get paid.
The weather is nice, just enough of a chill from the mountains to keep everyone alert. I can smell the wildflowers in bloom. The birds are singing among the trees and I am this close to being a pretty, pretty princess. I don't have any more orders for the moment.
"Say Vic, how many of these trips you do a season," asks the try hard dad right in the front. I can see the divorce in his eyes, the way his kids hold him in contempt, the poor thing. But I make a big show of doing the math in my head.
"Maybe about 300," I say, "Take off a few for bad weather or just days with no bookings. I'm counting the multi day trips as double. Let's go a bit lower and say about 250. And that gets me through the off season before winter picks up."
"You're here for the winter?"
"A lot of us are. Winter's for skiing and snowboarding. Summer's for rafts and camps. And there's some weird spikes for paleontology trips for the school year."
"Really?"
"Oh yeah. Like 3 different universities have dig sites within 50 miles. I've done a few seasons on one about an hour south of town as a tour guide."
"That's really neat. Doesn't that sound fun guys," he says to his kids, "Maybe we can hit that the day after tomorrow on the way to the airport?"
His kids roll their eyes so hard I can hear them on their way to a 7-10 split. I feel bad for all parties involved. It's not on the way to the airport. It's not the season for it. They don't know this, but the buildings don't have AC. And it costs like 40 bucks to get the pass. Technically the pass applies to the other places too, but it's not worth a one off. He'll figure it out. Maybe. Or they'll miss the flight and be stuck here with me forever. He looks like he could use the outdoor time.
"Alright," I say to my gathered crew, "We're coming up on a little bumpy patch so I want everyone here to pull up their oars and hold onto the straps while we get shaky. If you're having trouble, just pretend you're a martini and you'll be fine."
The dads appreciate me. The moms have really fun thoughts that keep bringing up the very important rings. The kids either laugh or just look at me with poorly veiled contempt. But I see reactions from everyone, so I know they're paying attention.
We're more or less neck and neck with Nina's group. They're not quite on the same level, so she's taking the safer path. She's having her own lovely chat with a young lady about her story book arms. The mom doesn't seem to approve, but the young lady's enthralled. And I know about some of the tattoos that she doesn't show to just anyone. Like the snake eating its own tail. Like the family crest. Like the teasing intricate knot of ivy and flowers that carves such a beautiful trail over her body. I see her smile and even a river away, under a helmet and life vest, I can still pick out that warmth. She's never needed the canned lines to get her through a ride. I brace myself and start counting as we pass the invisible boundary and start rocking the boat.
I'm perfectly fine. Every shake, rattle and roll of the river is habit. If it weren't for the stupid sensible rules, I could do the route blind folded. I swat the rocks, take my own little paddle and set us spinning. The kids finally start getting some stimulation from the threat of some pretty traumatic head injuries. That's the best way to get kids to pay attention. Concussion, impalement, maybe some broken bones. I'm such a riveting storyteller.
We're all dizzy and wet and the tea girl is having a great time. I look over to Nina's raft through the spinny gaze and she has a look of horror. Odd.
That pulls me out. I'm back on my raft. Tea girl and her dad are fine. Chubby but nice mom and her kids are fine if a bit rattled. Sad dad is now action dad because one of his brood has simply disappeared. I keep the scan nice and calm, no need to panic. The water's like knee deep on a toddler. I told them that the standard safety procedure is to stand up and lay back, float down river to the safety net that may or may not be at the end. I get the kid sighted first. And I did nothing wrong. The kid's belt was unfastened from the looks of it. But I find him in the water, not quite aware of the fact that he should be panicking. I reach out the oar and find a good place to hook. It takes and I brace and lift. Dad takes the hint and starts lifting with me. A little bump and we're all fine. Someone's a bit wet. The others don't even realize that I had to go fishing. All in all, a good trip, The kid's smiling. The danger wasn't that bad. The dad's fussing and looking for bruises. He gets the seatbelt back on the kid and we're all fine. We take one last bump on a rock and we're back in calmer waters.
"And there we go ladies and gentlemen," I say, "Ready for an olive and fancy glass, Everyone still got all their limbs?"
We're all a bit looser now. I get a half enthusiastic 'yeah' from the gaggle and that's a pretty good day. Nina's staring me down, but we're fine. No one's hurt. And as long as she doesn't say anything to Kyle, then I won't have another conversation in the time out office. It's much too nice a day for anything like that.
---
The crew are very nice to me right to the end. They've piled their life jackets and helmets and oars in the designated areas. Nina's did not. She's keeping it together with a calm smile. The important thing is that nothing got lost and no one got hurt. We're all fine. I shake a few hands, give a few smiles and respond to the 'thank you's. A different dad offers to help us lift the rafts, but that's something not covered by the waiver. They will forevermore be emasculated in the eyes of their spouse and spawn. Such a shame. Especially when waify little Nina gets the first raft all by herself all the way to the shed. It's nowhere near as impressive when I do it. I'm big. She is small. The sad dad comes wandering over, pretending to be casual about our meeting. I have no idea why. He's allowed to talk to me.
"Hey Vic," he says as if there's a water cooler right over there, "Thanks for saving my kid. Their mom would have roasted me if anything happened."
He fishes in his pocket for a bit and comes out for a handshake. The $20 bill hidden in his palm is visible from space. I'm not going to say no to $20 no matter how clandestine.
"Part of the job, my man," I say. The bill finds itself in my pocket and it seems to like its new home.
"Still. Thank you. They had fun at least. You said you've been here a few seasons. How long exactly?"
I make a big show of thinking. It's a bit nuts that I have to actually think about it at all, but I'm surprised that I have to run the count.
"Coming up on my sixth year out here," I say, "I'm getting to be an old timer now."
