As I paddle along in my startlingly bright sapphire canoe, I listen to the cute tinkling of the water rushing over rocks. I can’t help but smile at the picturesque beauty.

I am pulled out of my trance by the feeling of my canoe picking up speed. I look past the translucent green river towards the quickly approaching white water rapid notorious for its name: Big Mama.

I start to panic. “Nicole, you need to row!”

“I’m trying!” she yells back. I hear the roar of the upcoming rapid growing louder every second.

“Well, then row harder!” I scream. I almost want to turn around in the canoe, grab her shoulders, and shake some sense into her, but then we most definitely will not make it. So instead, I steel myself and shove my feet firmly in the folds of the blow up canoe, a precaution which will keep me from flying out, just in case we miss the entry point, a thought that makes me shudder. I can now see the white water crashing and churning below. We don’t have time to cruise and just go with the flow. If we keep paddling in our current direction, we will completely miss the entrance to the rapid and wind up in the little valley of rocks, upside down and sputtering for air.

I jam my paddle into the water as hard as my muscles allow and pull with the strength of an ox. I feel the water’s resistance every centimeter I win. I immediately notice us gliding towards the rapid’s entrance. I grin as our canoe rushes to the opening in the rocks. Triumphantly oblivious, it takes me a little longer to comprehend that our canoe hasn’t stopped turning. My eyes widen as I start to glimpse the calm and still water that I had just left behind in front of me again. I feel my mouth form an “O.” The only thing worse than missing the rapid’s opening is facing the wrong direction. My stomach drops; if we can’t see where we’re going then we won’t know when or where to paddle, meaning our chances of capsizing have just multiplied by 100.

I shut my eyes in anticipation.