I had just gotten back a few hours ago from the now world-famous and much-talked about adventure vacation package in Tuguegarao, Cagayan. It involved two days of kayaking and white water rafting in the Pinacanauan and Chico Rivers. I went with a group of friends—all middle-aged city folk—to celebrate the birthday of our dear friend, the godfather of white-water rafting vacation packages in the country, Anton Carag.
The weather was far from ideal. The rains were relentless. But we proceeded as planned because our guides, Anton with Argel Gerale and Herbert Perez--seasoned river denizens, who have been doing this for decades and have shepherded hundreds of clients to safety--are the best there is. They were trained by American and Australian experts not only in kayaking, river rafting, and caving, but also in rescue operations and first aid.
The river had swollen to hostile heights (five meters higher than usual); the current, raging and unforgiving with class 3+ rapids. But we all came out of it in one piece—yes, drenched, spent, and yet triumphant and exhilarated, all because we surrendered ourselves to these men. Yes, Argel and Herbert were total strangers but when you choose to put your life in the hands of another man, nothing else matters except your complete trust in him and your unconditional cooperation.
There were many moments as we hit gargantuan rapids when I felt that I was definitely going to be thrown off the raft and that the river would swallow me alive. But Argel, the river guide, was at all times in supreme control, barking precise orders. And so again, because I kept my mouth firmly shut during the pre-rafting clinic, paid full attention during the run, and most importantly obeyed every word without question despite the gnawing urge to interrupt and drop in my two-cents worth of womanly nonsense to do otherwise as my instincts dictated, I lived to tell, yet again. As I trudged to base camp after the three-hour feat I asked myself, “Why the hell did I go into the river?” The answer that immediately popped into my brain was, to borrow from British mountaineer George Mallory when he was asked why he wanted to climb Mt. Everest in 1924, “Because it’s there.”
Yeah, yeah, sure. How unlike me, you say, to relinquish control with absolutely no resistance to them pseudo-Nazi supremacists; these members of THE opposite sex that we always gossip about, but it was the most fun I’ve had in my life, along with skydiving, of course. The excitement of facing the unknown, the adrenalin rush during the run, the self-satisfaction of completing a daunting task, and the memories that are yours to keep and take to your grave is the priceless, inalienable, irreplaceable bounty your reap from all these.
So friends, when you put your life in the hands of another man, shut up, listen hard, and do everything he tells you!
The weather was far from ideal. The rains were relentless. But we proceeded as planned because our guides, Anton with Argel Gerale and Herbert Perez--seasoned river denizens, who have been doing this for decades and have shepherded hundreds of clients to safety--are the best there is. They were trained by American and Australian experts not only in kayaking, river rafting, and caving, but also in rescue operations and first aid.
The river had swollen to hostile heights (five meters higher than usual); the current, raging and unforgiving with class 3+ rapids. But we all came out of it in one piece—yes, drenched, spent, and yet triumphant and exhilarated, all because we surrendered ourselves to these men. Yes, Argel and Herbert were total strangers but when you choose to put your life in the hands of another man, nothing else matters except your complete trust in him and your unconditional cooperation.
There were many moments as we hit gargantuan rapids when I felt that I was definitely going to be thrown off the raft and that the river would swallow me alive. But Argel, the river guide, was at all times in supreme control, barking precise orders. And so again, because I kept my mouth firmly shut during the pre-rafting clinic, paid full attention during the run, and most importantly obeyed every word without question despite the gnawing urge to interrupt and drop in my two-cents worth of womanly nonsense to do otherwise as my instincts dictated, I lived to tell, yet again. As I trudged to base camp after the three-hour feat I asked myself, “Why the hell did I go into the river?” The answer that immediately popped into my brain was, to borrow from British mountaineer George Mallory when he was asked why he wanted to climb Mt. Everest in 1924, “Because it’s there.”
Yeah, yeah, sure. How unlike me, you say, to relinquish control with absolutely no resistance to them pseudo-Nazi supremacists; these members of THE opposite sex that we always gossip about, but it was the most fun I’ve had in my life, along with skydiving, of course. The excitement of facing the unknown, the adrenalin rush during the run, the self-satisfaction of completing a daunting task, and the memories that are yours to keep and take to your grave is the priceless, inalienable, irreplaceable bounty your reap from all these.
So friends, when you put your life in the hands of another man, shut up, listen hard, and do everything he tells you!
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