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I had always wanted to experience whitewater rafting, so I jumped at the chance to go with a dozen of my long-time buddies in northern Wisconsin last month.
We arrived early morning at Wildman Whitewater Ranch in the tiny town of Athelstane, Wis., to find seven inches of fresh snow blanketing the land along the Peshtigo River.
The Peshtigo’s water was high and fast, and the rapids were “epic,” according to our trip leader.
In many ways, the signs pointed to an ideal early spring whitewater rafting trip.
The slightly damp wetsuit and boots already had me shivering, and we hadn’t even touched the river yet. If I remember second-grade science class, the 25-degree roaring water we were about to face should have been a solid ice chunk.
I quickly realized how much I had underestimated what was ahead for us.
We shuttled to the drop-in point, and our group of four boats and seven guides pushed off the shore, kissed any warmth we had left goodbye as the Peshtigo pulled us downriver. With each paddle in the slow, rippling current, I felt body heat draining from my feet and was reminded of muscles I forgot I had.
The water soon became swift, but remained relatively calm as my friends Dave Neumann and Mark Dahlberg and I figured out a system of maneuvering the ‘mini-me,’ a small raft that held three to four people.
With the feeling in my feet completely gone 15 minutes into the trip, I needed something to warm me up. I caught myself wishing the rapids would get bigger soon.
Be careful what you wish for.
We made our way to the back of the group as the river’s turns began to wind like a snake. The Peshtigo was beautiful. Snow covered the tree-lined shores, and granite rock formations provided a gorgeous backdrop for the mounting rapids ahead.
The rapids gradually grew, and standing waves crashed against big rocks, matching my vision of what whitewater looked like.
The boat was picking up speed, and the river pulled us harder. In the distance I could hear a low rumble that also sped up my breathing. We paddled around a corner and saw our group and guides about 100 yards ahead peering at us, only the tops of their heads visible from our boat. That could only mean the first deep hole was ahead, and any chance to turn around and quit was over.
Whether I wanted it to or not, the river was taking us to the hole. We approached the drop on the right side — my side. We dropped over the ledge. It took only a moment for Mother Nature to have her way with us.
In an instant, I was flung off the side of the boat, and I could see Mark and the boat flipping over me.
My head hit the drink, and the icy water sucked me under. The chill sent a shockwave that surrounded my body and gave my body a shot that made my eyelashes retreat into my eyes.
Underwater it felt like I had icicles swirling behind my eyeballs, and with every reach, it was like grabbing onto an electric fence. I have never been that cold in all my 27 years.
The huge gulp of water I swallowed on the way in caused an ice-cream body ache and panic. I shot up above the water, gasping for air. In a matter of seconds, I was past the rapids and was able to swim to the shore to meet Dave and Mark at our boat.
We shared smiles once we pulled ourselves back into the boat. Smiling was the only way for me to say “that sucked.”
Dave did his best from the back of the boat to steer us around the upcoming obstacles that Mark and I called out.
Our simultaneous directions of “right, left, ahead, that way, other way” were leading us into trouble. It was also clear the river was taking us where it wanted despite our furious spurts of paddling.
A level of frustration settled in when our mini-me gravitated to every big rock. The boat became stuck on rocks numerous times, and, without paying attention to the laws of momentum and leverage, we struggled as we tried to continue down river.
I can only imagine what the three of us looked like as we bounced our way free, time and time again. Dave was brave enough to put a leg out to shove us along numerous times. Maybe that tired him out enough to make him slide off the back into the water for a second time. Mark and I grabbed him and pulled him back into the boat.
Soon the second deep hole was in front of us, and we were determined to not become engulfed by the rapids. A giant rush of relief engulfed me when we reached the bottom of the drop in an upright boat. I felt I finally conquered the rapids.
Maybe that feeling was a sign of insanity because we could have ended the trip at that point.
Three members of our group bailed, but we pounded our chests like macho morons and decided to paddle on. Based on the guides’ grimaces, we probably should have stopped there. Stupid move.
A guide in an inflatable kayak led us on, and the third big drop quickly approached. We managed to take the drop on hard again and thankfully made it through for a second time in a row.
With confidence up and feeling throughout the body nonexistent, we were determined to reach the end of our run as quickly as possible.
My boat was about halfway through a long stretch of rapids when the river again reminded us why we should have gotten out when we had the chance.
A large, seemingly manageable rock was in front of us, and we took a sharp angle to avoid it. Suddenly I was being whipped off the side of the boat, and I reached out to grab the side.
Unfortunately I latched onto Mark’s lifejacket, and the three of us instantly were back in the water. If you think falling into 25-degree water is cold the first time, the second time puts everything to shame.
Shock and chaos were in full effect. My arms and legs would not work when I yelled for them to.
I couldn’t see a break in the rapids close by, and the guides were so far ahead, and past the rapids there was no way they could come to my aid. I was in a heap of trouble.
The panic was primal. For a moment I became extremely sleepy and wondered whether this was going to be the end for me. Luckily the rapids calmed before I could shut my eyes. I was able to use every bit of energy I had to doggy paddle to the shore with my oar still in hand. I grabbed a flimsy brush branch and pulled myself onto a snow bank.
That was too close for comfort.
The river decided I had my fair share, and the rapids soon calmed into a rippling current. I hitched a ride with two Boy Scout leaders and made the long paddle to the take-out point. I could barely lift my legs or paddle with my arms, but the cold was downright painful. I just wanted to get onto the shore, get into the shuttle bus and let the warm-up begin.
A fireplace never felt warmer when we returned to the lodge. The trip might sound like the most miserable experience ever, but the wildness of the experience was more warming than any adrenaline rush I’ve had on fourth-and-10 or with the bases loaded.
The elements and rapids provided me with the most physically grueling test I have ever faced.
I was pushed well beyond my mental limits for the first time in a long time. It may have taken a few unnecessarily cold close calls to help me push my own limits, but I’m glad the Peshtigo River sent me a wake-up call.
I’m definitely awake now. I just wish the water was a little warmer.
Jared Heintz is the assistant sports editor for the Winona Daily News. He can be reached at jared.heintz@lee.net.
