gingerly to grab his paddle. The current was much stronger than he had imagined.

Suddenly a crosscurrent caught him amidships and sent him rolling violently, like a cork on an angry sea. Every muscle in his body tightened as he swayed back and forth to keep upright. Then he remembered Doug’s advice: “Don’t fight the current. Ride with it and relax.”

Sandy took a deep breath and forced himself to ease up. Almost immediately he felt more confident. The rocking motion continued, but he was on top of each swell, his entire body moving gracefully with the raft and not against it.

Just as he was beginning to enjoy the ride, he heard the first rushing noise of the rapids and he was catapulted forward. It crossed his mind that this was like going off a high diving board; there was no turning back. Then suddenly he was too busy to think. Everything became a series of reflex actions.

The raft spun with a snap and he was shooting off to the right. Sandy leaned back on his haunches and stabbed the paddle down into the water at his left. The shaft bit into the river and slowly hauled him back on course.

He heard a loud smack and felt himself flying through a curtain of white spray. There was a sickening bump and he was back on the river, riding furiously through a world of roaring noise and bone-jarring motion. A long ledge of rock loomed up ahead. Sandy brought the paddle up and pushed with all the strength in his shoulders.

His little raft bounced away and was flung sideways into a channel between two ledges. Doug had told them that this was the fastest point in the rapids and he was right. Sandy’s raft quivered like a live animal as it shot through the funnel of rushing water, twisting steadily to the left.

Further and further it leaned until water licked hungrily over the sides. Sandy knew he had to right himself quickly and jammed all his weight down on his right knee. As he did, an invisible hand seemed to pluck at him and he felt himself pitch over. The paddle shot from his hand, and in the next moment the waters of Salmon River closed over his head.

The current carried him, bouncing him around like an old sock in a washing machine, for another thirty yards. Finally he was swept into a pool of relatively quiet water. He cut for the surface, blinked the water out of his eyes and looked up to see a grinning Doug Henderson sitting calmly in his raft, fishing for Sandy’s lost paddle.

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