By William McGinnis Adrenaline pumping, heart pounding, you speed down into huge holes alive with upwelling mountains of erupting white popcorn foam. The exploding foam overwhelms and stalls and knocks your boat for a loop, inundating your raft, slamming and lifting your bow paddlers. You yell, “Dig, dig, dig! Forward! Forward! Need ya now! Need
by William McGinnis “Whatever you do, Lou, don’t miss that eddy!” It was 1963; Lou and I were 15-year-old river-guide trainees on the South Fork American; and these were the words of our mentor and boss Bryce Whitmore, one of California’s first two rafting outfitters. The rapid before us--Devil’s John (now called Satan’s Cesspool and
By William McGinnis Our 14-foot self-bailer accelerates down the smooth, bulging V-tongues, flashes past foam spewing wrap rocks, and slams into one sticky hole after another, slowing but punching through each time. Everything is fine, normal and right with the world. But suddenly … the entire universe around us starts to spin. Looking down I