| Special Rafting Supplement: True Tales from the Guiding Life |
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| Written by David Shively |
| Wednesday, 01 March 2006 07:22 |
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Two Daves Enter, One Dave Leaves With too many Daves guiding for one unnamed Durango, Colo., outfitter, there was only one way to decide who deserved to be called by the mighty moniker “Dave Number One”—the Zircon Death Match. The PBR-infused gladiators—helmeted and armed with whiffle-ball bats, Wal-Mart (ain’t-no-toy) machetes and broken paddles—transformed a Zircon metal shipping container into an impenetrable cage for a brutal and arbitrary battle for bragging rights. Trapped in the Zircon’s absolute darkness, the Daves swung blindly at each other, tripping over rolled boats and piles of life jackets. The match almost took a lethal turn when the duo, locked in a grapple, slammed into a wall littered with rusty screws. After eight minutes, the doors opened, and the bloodied Alpha Dave crawled from the Zircon to the sight of police arriving on the scene—alerted by the raucous drumbeat of rookie guides pounding the container’s roof with oars, and a beat-down Mazda Protégé blasting “Eye of the Tiger” into the night. River of Broken Engagements Can blatant infidelity make a classic stretch of river run dry for five years? Perhaps the Dolores River was jinxed when a dirtbag raft guide stole another man’s fiancée on an extremely awkward 10-day commercial trip in 2000. The trip was a lavish wedding gift for the groom’s entire family, courtesy of the groom’s father. But the old man underestimated the animal magnetism that raft guides exude during those cool fire-lit nights on the river. While the unknowing groom turned in early each night, his bride-to-be began retiring to another tent altogether. The group survived Snaggletooth Rapids, but the engagement was another story. The wedding was off, and legend has it that a certain guide and his special bow paddler are now the ones happily married forever after. Grand Theft Auto: Fairbanks, AK Male raft guides get lonely. Especially in Alaska, where outnumbered single women often say that “the odds are good, but the goods are odd.” So lonely was one group of Nenana River guides that they decided to drive the company van 120 miles to Fairbanks for a night out at the notorious Showboat (Gentlemen’s) Club. They neglected to inform the company owner, who returned early and promptly reported the van stolen. When the gentleman guides emerged from the club at 3 in the morning, sun still shining, Fairbanks’ finest responded promptly. The police stopped the stolen van at gunpoint and began frisking the frisky guides. Fortunately, because some of the guides were wearing raft-company T-shirts, they managed to convince the officers that they had merely borrowed the van. 20/20 Vision Back in the early days of Durango, Colo., rafting, homeless men slept under the cottonwoods near the 9th Street Bridge, which also was the shared boat ramp of Animas River outfitters. Local guide extraordinaire Dale W. was then a rookie in charge of moving the hobos off the ramp every morning to get the fleet pumped and rigged for the day’s trips. But the belligerent riff-raff were rarely in a mood to move. One afternoon, Dale decided to use addiction to his benefit. He stopped by Liquor World and bought a case of Mad Dog 20/20 to use as an incentive. “You boys can have these if you get these boats pumped up,” he told them the next morning, with the wine in one hand and a pump in the other. Sure enough, his company’s boats were topped-off and gleaming when customers arrived. The Legend of Eddy Turn Before there was a legal put-in on Pennsylvania’s Upper Yough, off-duty raft guides plucked the forbidden fruit by throwing their rafts off a bridge and then climbing down the steep embankment. The local authorities were about as enamored with rafters in those days as the Salt Lake City police are with attendees at a Phish concert. So when the local sheriff drove over the bridge just as a group of guides clambered into their raft for one such illicit run, the lawman shouted that they were violating the law and demanded their names. “Eddy,” rafter Dave Martin yelled in reply. “What’s your last name?” the sheriff hollered. “Turn,” said Dave, and the sheriff wrote the name down as the guides drifted around the corner. “We expected to get off the river in Friendsville with a warrant for Eddy Turn waiting for us,” says guide Glenn Goodrich. “Luckily, we never saw him again.” We’ve got a Jumper! For years, guards at the suspension bridge over Colorado’s Royal Gorge had managed to apprehend every B.A.S.E. jumper bold enough to try the 1,000-foot leap into the gorge. That is, until a pair of jumpers enlisted some crafty Arkansas River guides in their cause. When the jumpers threw their ‘chutes, the bridge police immediately put out the All Points Bulletin. Game over, right? Wrong. As soon as the daredevils splashed down in the river they stashed their ‘chutes and clambered into a waiting raft, where they quickly donned customer wetsuits, life jackets and helmets and joined the steady stream of commercial raft traffic. The police waiting at the mouth of the canyon checked every boat, but couldn’t distinguish the thousands of commercial customers from the two imposters who floated to poached parachute glory. Mum on the Middlefork Salmon River sweep boat captains are a singular bunch, running their cargo-laden craft well ahead of commercial trips to set up camp for the paying clients. Sometimes special passengers can ride along for a free trip and, uh…well…nothing spurs passion like rapids, hotsprings and rugged Idaho scenery. One can only imagine the clients’ faces when they pulled into camp and surprised the happy couple. “I’m sure they got caught up in the moment,” says river boss Hank Honeybone, who nonetheless sent the amorous sweep boater packing. Word is he found work with another outfitter. And the girlfriend? “I never heard if they stayed together,” says Honeybone. Royal Gorge Gratuity When the ladies from the Colorado Springs, Colo., Hooters rafted the Royal Gorge, they gave new meaning to customer service. When the rafts hit the Corner Pocket eddy for a brief food and beverage break, one of the guides snuck into the canyon with a smitten waitress. The pair quickly got lost in the heat of the moment, well hidden from their fellow rafters. What they forgot about was the view from the “most scenic train ride in North America.” As the Historic Royal Gorge Route Railroad chugged slowly through the canyon, a trainload of camera-armed tourists took home a lasting memory of the guide collecting a gratuity he won’t soon forget. Originally Published, Paddler March-April 2006 |
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