thirteenth CHANCES

“So… you can pull a big guy like me out of the water?”

The man’s beady eyes bored into mine, his bulk towering over my petite frame, as if daring me to respond. As I stood on the bank of the Wilderness Channel at the US National Whitewater Center, where I had begun training as a whitewater raft guide a week ago, my mind spun, unsure how to respond.

“Yes, sir, if need be, I sure can!”

Honestly, I had no idea if that was true. No one expected a slight 17-year-old girl to be able to guide a full boat entirely on her own, but as I had been dreaming of this job for years, I refused to back out.

I thrust my weight against the paddle, sweeping the blade through the water in what I hoped was a powerful j-stroke. The stopwatch was running; I had two and a half minutes to power the raft out and back across the pool. The sun beat down, sweat beading at the corners of my eyes as I fought the current, inching forward at an excruciating pace.

By the time I reached the opposite bank, fire was coursing through my arms, and I was panting with effort. I looked back at my co-workers, gathered to watch me attempt this test for the third time. Make it back, I told myself, and you can move on; you’ll never have to take this stupid test again.

Hopeful, I shoved off the concrete wall and spun towards the opposite bank. Seconds later, the water caught me, sending the raft drifting rapidly towards the boundary line. I hauled the bow of the boat as far upstream as I could and willed the raft to move faster. On the bank I saw a trainer raise his arm and give the signal. Wrap it up. I collapsed into the boat, defeated. Failed again.

This wouldn’t be the last time I failed an evaluation. After an eternity of fruitless attempts, I passed the j-stroke evaluation, but while the majority of my fellow trainees moved on to guiding full-time, I remained stranded on the final stage: checkouts. The idea was simple: run an errorfree trip with guests and another guide in the boat, and you become a full guide. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been that straightforward. Twelve times I had tried to check out, and twelve times I had been met with failure. Barely awake, I stood alongside the other guides, already feeling defeated.

“Group of eight, you’re going with them!” The supervisor called. Forcing a smile, I waved as a group headed towards me. Second chances existed, but thirteenths? Unlikely. I perked up when I saw my crew: mostly friendly-looking adults and a few teens, likely strong paddlers. As I pushed off the rocks, I thought, Maybe this will be the one.

Instead of running smoothly through the waves, I hit rapids sideways, people fell out of the raft, and I frequently tumbled from my seat into the bottom of the boat. Sitting down with the guide who had evaluated me, I braced for another round of merciless critique. I needed to exert more control over the boat, he told me, and clean up my lines as soon as possible. I hung my head, awaiting the final blow.

“That said,” he remarked, “You fixed your mistakes. The guests had fun, and you remained extremely calm, and most importantly, you haven’t given up.” He grinned. “I am going to pass you today.”