A river runs through me. It is the only way I have been able to encapsulate what rivers mean to me personally. The essays below are about three of the main aspects/themes of what my summers as a raft guide in Jackson, Wyoming mean to me. Not to say there are not many other ways to describe the hundreds if not nearly thousands of hours river guides dedicate to the water each summer. I hope this gives some insight to a world lived on the river and works as an explanation to all the people’s texts I failed to answer this summer.
A River Runs Through Me
Heat
The summer doesn't start in the heat but once the heat starts, it becomes impossible to escape. On the first trips of the season, I pack hot peppermint tea and show up to the boathouse bundled in my waterproof fleece-lined pants, down coat, bulky rubber boots and a fleece hat my mother made me. This may seem overkill, but when the water is a brisk forty degrees Fahrenheit, and the air is even colder, dressing like this is not for fashion but for function. The surrounding mountains are still blanketed in winter’s snow, which will soon become the water we raft on. The talk of when and what high water will be this season is all the excitement amongst guides. During this time, we all forget that the melting is also the beginning of the end.
The Teton, Snake River, Gros Ventre, and Wyoming mountain ranges receive copious amounts of snow every winter – sometimes surpassing five hundred inches (which is over forty-one feet if you can believe that). The snow melt is what runs in the veins of the valley – keeping it alive.
Jackson has changed a lot in my nearly twenty years of living there. Although I do not recall my earliest years here, my parents' words and our old camcorder tell the story of what the winters used to be. As a kid, the month of June was still sometimes part of winter. I spent the majority of my birthdays (June 7th) inside or bundled up as we got our last few snow squalls around that time. Therefore, the spring runoff and high water did not happen until the middle or end of June. However, as the world has changed, high water in Jackson is now around the first week of June. Spring runoff makes the rivers look like chocolate milk and fill the banks to the brim. High water does not only mean faster trip times but also, more carnage , harder swims, colder water, and higher consequences. It is the best high any river junky can feel. The Snake River in Jackson only becomes a Class IV run once a year, as then the river only gets lower.
I like to joke that I give my whole summer to be a river guide but in reality that is part of the job. It may sound cliché to say it's blood sweat and tears to do the job. But I have experienced all three at once during the dog days of the summer. As much as I hate to admit it, I am definitely a sweaty person. But that is what comes when you spend nearly twelve hours a day in the sun. The sweat that runs into my eyes as I give my fourth safety speech of the day on whitewater trips is a gentle reminder that my Nalgene full of water rolling on the floor of the boat is not just an accessory, but also a means of survival.
The sun beaming down at such high elevation also is taxing. I have my Chacos, watch, and work uniform tanned into me by my third week of work every summer. The skin peeling off my nose and the cracks in my lips remind me that sunscreen was invented for a reason and I should reapply.
Heat is a variable that you dream of in the early season because rafting is not fun in the cold. But heat is also the thing you complain about in the middle of the season as it seemingly takes years off your life each day. Heat carries no mercy and no remorse for about two months of the year and then it's gone just as it arrived – making you forget about its pain and making you dream of it all over again till the next season.
Heat comes in many forms, but the worst form is still heat. Still heat is when there is absolutely no wind and you are merely burning under the broiler. Rowing into a headwind is terrible, but rowing in the direct sunlight rips you apart. The new company hat that I receive at the beginning of the summer is completely bleached by mid-season; the navy blue is now pale with hints of orange tones, and my black life jacket even appears lighter and ripped. My Smokey Bear Chacos have only a shadow of a bear figure left on them, as they carry the memories and wear of thousands of river miles, and dozens of different rivers. The wear on my gear reminds me I am not the only one who battles the heat.
Grit
The first trips of the season are my constant reminder that ski season did not maintain my upper body strength from the previous summer and that you do not really use your legs to row. The first few weeks cut deep into everything, your shoulders and back feel it the most, the new- forming blisters on your hands are a slight distraction, but your mental strength is also weak. Getting back into the grind of rowing a minimum of a marathon a day, is not one you just slide into (at least not for me).
But there is a sweet spot in the season when you are feeling strong again both physically and mentally. The rivers are still high, and the afternoon storms have not started yet. By mid-summer, your body is strong, but the mental side of the game is only getting started. Rowing eight to sixteen people downriver for up to thirteen hours is a full mind and body workout that tests every last ounce of patience. Carrying the joy and excitement for each group – trip after trip – is far from easy, especially when the rivers are getting low and the upstream winds are persistent. This is when the going gets tough and the glitter comes out (biodegradable of course). As fun as the whole raft guide thing sounds, it is one of the most taxing things I have put my body through. Blisters, bruises, and blood are the unofficial three Bs of river work.
Blisters come in many forms: the rips in your hands and fingers during early season as you tear off the soft winter skin are just one kind. The second type of blister comes from the sun. No matter how often you reapply sunscreen, you will inevitably miss a spot, which will blister, reminding you just how hot the sun is each day.
Bruises are something I would’ve thought would make me more self-aware, but they never do. Each day I get home, look down at my legs, and try to recall everything I must have bumped into, which is tracked by the dozens of bruises that litter my legs during the summer.
Blood is the one you know about immediately. I only had one good bleed this summer, but I think the scar will remain for the rest of my life. The raft trailer door of all things beat me up more than anything. This summer it ripped a six-inch gash into the back of my right thigh at 8am. It was most definitely a stitches-worthy wound but instead had to be held together by extra-large Band-Aids and steri-strips as there were trips that needed to be guided, and so that is what I did. The scars I collect are like natural tattoos that are left as reminders of the effort I put into every day of work. As a bonus, scars make for really cool stories to tell guests, like about the grizzly bear that attacked me the night before (rather than my personal clumsiness).
When the end of the day rolls around, the pain endured and angst-ridden thoughts fade just like the memory of the 8am trip rowed nearly twelve hours before. Though the majority of the job is spent in type one fun (which is what makes it worth it), the end of the day is when the type two fun settles in and you can laugh about the mistakes and really painful things that you endured just a few hours before. The life of a raft guide is far from glorious or graceful, but at the end of the day, the rough and ugly parts as well as the glitz and the glamor are what makes the job all worth it in the end.
Passion
I wouldn't exist without rivers but that is true for all forms of life in general as water is crucial for survival. I would not be the person people know if it wasn't for water and rivers and their impact on my life. When I say, ‘I grew up on the Snake River,’ it is not an exaggeration. My parents took me rafting as soon as I fit into a Personal Flotation Device. I went whitewater rafting the summer I turned three and could roll a whitewater kayak at nine-years-old. If you asked me today what I love, I would put rivers pretty high on that list, though it was not always that way. I was the kid to throw a decent tantrum (as it’s in the job description of the youngest child). I was beyond fortunate to grow up in a household with adventure-loving parents, but as a kid I preferred to hang out with friends, and I guess not go rafting. Though as time went on, I started whitewater kayaking with the local kids’ kayak club and things started to change. Having independence and control of my adventure quickly hooked me on rivers and for many of the following summers I spent most of my time running new rivers with a gaggle of boys my age (I was the only girl).
But as time went on, I could not spend my whole summers kayaking and carefree. The year I turned fourteen, my dad told me I needed to get a job and so I did. Loving rivers, I walked into a local raft company and asked if I could work there (it is as simple as that). The job I received had the glorious title of ‘wetsuit washer’ and yes, it is exactly what you think it is. But that is what I got since I’d requested three weeks off in the middle of peak season to go kayak the Grand Canyon (I had my priorities). Over the years, I slowly climbed the raft company ladder until the summer I turned eighteen – and was finally allowed to guide trips.
Each trip I row, I put on a face, and I suppose a secret persona to not be seen as the teenage girl I truly am. It turns out the average person doesn't want to put the fate of their family in the hands of a teenager who at the time had not even graduated high school (don't worry I did). It seems most people do not assume it is even legal for someone to guide at that age– but with a hat, sunglasses, a solid tan, and a healthy amount of confidence, nobody really thinks I am under twenty-five (unfortunately people have guessed even older). I am still trying to decide if it is a compliment or not to appear six years older than I actually am, but for the moment I guess it works.
Beyond the internal passion I carry for rafting and rivers, getting to share something I love with people from all across the world and all different ages almost seems too good to be true. This summer, I rowed eighty-nine commercial whitewater and fifty-six scenic trips for just about 1500 miles total (about Miami to Dallas as the crow flies). So, if what I’ve said so far has not convinced you that I love rivers I hope that did. Do not get me wrong. Many of those miles were hard and I wondered if I was crazy. But for the majority of those miles, I got to take families on what might be the highlight of their year. The smiles on kids' faces as they get pummeled by whitewater is way more rewarding than washing someone’s dirty wetsuit. I can tell you that much.
I never thought I could like a job enough to be counting down the days till I get to work again, as the community of people the river gathers might as well be my family. This all may seem crazy or insane to someone who doesn't understand the rivers like I do, but I would like to say part of me is always in the river and part of the river is always in me (I consume a lot of river water every summer). All of what I have written is borne of my genuine love for rivers and my eagerness to share them with as many people as I can. With the current state of our world, the future of many waterways being uncertain, I can only hope this glimpse into my passion for rivers can encourage you to preserve and restore all of our rivers. Everywhere.
Conclusion
These photos taken nearly nine years apart show that though things have changed for me since 2016 many things are still the same and I can only imagine what my ten year old self would think of all the rivers I have run since the day I learned how to roll a kayak in the local rec center pool.
I hope you’ve enjoyed a brief look into what my life as a guide looks like, for those of you who did not know before this I hope you can understand a little of why rivers are not just important to me but also why they need to be protected. For those who do know me now you can understand what constantly plays in my head during every chance I get to leave reality I think about my figurative third parent that has humbled me more than anyone ever could.