{"id":32503,"date":"2024-04-03T11:00:32","date_gmt":"2024-04-03T18:00:32","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/?p=32503"},"modified":"2024-04-01T12:19:28","modified_gmt":"2024-04-01T19:19:28","slug":"bad-lines-on-the-buller-river","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/2024\/04\/03\/bad-lines-on-the-buller-river\/","title":{"rendered":"Bad Lines on the Buller River"},"content":{"rendered":"

As we dropped into Whale Creek, my heart stuttered. I braced my foot deeper under the thwart and shouted, \u201cForward three!\u201d I felt the raft jump forward, the momentum of the first wave combined with the paddlers pulling us into the heart of the rapid. Shit,<\/em> I thought as the raft careened through the first wave. We were too far left, and after the next wave, we\u2019d type-writer into a churning hydraulic coming off the left wall. Sonny, my trainer, cackled as the passengers whooped and cheered, unaware of their pending predicament.<\/p>\n

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I leaned over the side tube, drawing with everything I had. It was too little too late, and the raft slammed sideways into the wall. I scrabbled to the high side, shouting some indistinct version of \u201cjump left!\u201d I saw a pair of legs in the air as the front right passenger fell out of the boat, and the raft surged to right itself. The weight redistribution was just enough to save us. Before I could exhale in relief, Sonny grabbed hold of the chicken line and flung himself to the low side of the boat. We made eye contact, and the last thing I saw before the raft flipped was the satanic twinkle of his golden eyes.<\/p>\n

I decided to go to New Zealand and become a guide with the fanciful carelessness only a 24-year-old can pull off. I\u2019d started guiding earlier that year, rowing baggage boats in Idaho on the Salmon and Snake. I\u2019d also enthusiastically taken up kayaking. Anytime I had more than 48 hours off, I\u2019d drive to Banks, where I incessantly swam every rapid on the Main Payette.<\/p>\n

In the haze of the fire smoke of a guide party one fateful Banks evening, I found myself talking to a tall, black-haired guide from New Zealand. We chatted for about ten minutes, during which I said, \u201cI want to go to the Banks, Idaho of New Zealand.\u201d He answered, \u201cThen go to Murchison and work for Tim.\u201d<\/p>\n