The ''Wall'' in Rishikesh. Review on White Water Rafting

The wall of water accelerated towards the Poseidon. We dipped hard into the emerald green as we paddled towards the rapid which was touted as the toughest on the Ganges – a grade 4 – our guide had told us we would be going right down her throat. The look of horror on the captain’s face foretold the disaster that was to unfold on the Poseidon. There was no escaping.

The night before was decision time as we closed ranks around the bon fire trying to mentally soak in the rapid labeled the “Wall”. Numerous stories preceded its image of a monster and a brute of a rapid that loomed large on rafters, which had fast churning undercurrents that could suck people in and spit them out many kilometers down the Ganges. Aptly called the visit to the green room, it called on an individual’s mental strength to stay underwater for half a minute more or less without panicking.

There’s little one can do when faced with nature’s fury of gargantuan proportions. The mind freezes for that split second till human courage, daring, resourcefulness all kick start a flurry of activity. At that moment, man has nothing. All he has is hope. As the helpless Poseidon groaned turning hard a starboard in an effort to ride the crest, the “Wall” bore down on it with tremendous speed and force. It had no chance. With one mighty swoop the curled wave hungrily tore into the liner devouring it, shredding it into countless pieces. The impact made the Poseidon seem like a paper boat which overturned with ease.

Our captain – the rafting guide – instructed us to paddle hard forward as we gathered momentum minutes away from entering the mouth of the rapid. We knew once we were in, there would be no turning back. We either succeeded or we didn’t. With tensed muscles and clenched teeth we aimed for the eye. Two ferocious water tongues waited to swallow us. As we lurched into the first, the raft sank into its belly. Paddling seemed hopeless as we hit air and not the churning water most of the time. The arms ached; the body arched violently forward and back, the paddles were mere toys. Only the captain’s sturdier oars could leverage the raft forward. We eventually did climb the first tongue which loomed on us.

Just when we thought we could manage a breather, we sank again into the second tongue of swirling ferocious white water. It seemed as if the six of us had lost our will. The blue sky had disappeared, the sunshine had deserted us and in the darkness what appeared in front was the most gigantic “Wall” of water we had seen and had to climb. With screaming lungs giving out the last gasps of energy, with every sinew straining we made our dash to freedom and victory. But it was to be otherwise.

The raft, sluggish against the force of the “Wall” reached up trying to ride the crest but instead capitulated sideways with the “Wall” overturning it and us with its mighty force. The next 10 seconds were spent in hues of yellow and green as I looked up gasping in the air pocket which had formed on the top of the raft. Luckily none of us had been swept away and the raft lifelines helped us stay hooked to it. Those 10 seconds seemed like an eternity until I fought my way out of the tangled watery grave. Our heads popped out like champagne corks amidst the bubbly white of the Ganges.

We scrambled aboard the overturned raft and threw life lines to some of our co-rafters hauling them to safety. It took time for us to realize we had witnessed and experienced the “Wall”, as everything had happened in split seconds before we could react to it. We had made it unscathed, however had failed to conquer it. This experience with the “Wall” was something we were unlikely to forget in a long time to come.