Rafting the Nile, part 2

Writing intimidates me sometimes. When it comes to telling stories and talking about relationships or characters, I’m not scared. I have a solid grasp on what it means to tell a good tale. But when it comes to describing nature, I’m clueless. A sunset. The top of Mt. Kenya. The ocean cliffs. An African safari. To even begin to describe beauty like this seems foolish. Words are just insufficient to me. Like giving someone a kazoo and asking them to play Handel’s Messiah.

I use that as a preface to say that my descriptions of…
a quarter mile river (at parts) slinking its way through lush green hills
...and deep brown fields under partly cloudy blue skies
...and the dreadful and exhilarating sound of a class 6 rapid a few hundred feet ahead of you
...and a million gallons of water rushing at your face with only a vinyl tube as shield
...and an eight-foot wall of water towering angrily above your head
...and spinning in circles under a waterfall while the upside-down raft speeds away from you at the surface
...and the sweetest, softest pineapple chunks you can imagine at the end of the day
—all these descriptions are pretty weak compared to the actual experience.

The Nile River rafting was the most adrenaline-filled thing I’ve ever done. I’ve water-skied and snowboarded and surfed and cliff-jumped and ocean kayaked and rafted the Colorado River, but this blew them all away. After over six hours on the water, our weary and burnt legs walked up the sticky, muddy hill to the transport trucks and our dry clothes.

However, regardless of the adrenaline-high of adventure sports, something else happened on the water that will be my favorite memory of the Nile.