Nestled between the rugged embrace of towering mountains and the untamed flow of a river lies a hidden haven – a rafting outpost. In a world that has become dominated by concrete jungles and the monotony of routine, living in a rafting outpost offers a breath of fresh air, both literally and figuratively. This is not just a lifestyle; it’s a commitment to a life uncharted, where the river becomes a companion, and every day is a new chapter in the book of adventure.
As the sun sets behind the peaks and the river whispers its tales, those who call a rafting outpost home find themselves immersed in an existence that thrives on the pulse of nature. From the exhilarating rush of navigating rapids to the tranquil moments spent by the fire under the starlit sky, life in a rafting outpost is a symphony of experiences that resonates with the wild spirit within us.
This journey as we dive into the heart of river life, exploring the challenges, the triumphs, and the sheer joy of living on the edge of the extraordinary. Welcome to a life uncharted, where every ripple in the water tells a story, and here is part of mine.
Challenges & Rewards
Living in an outpost has had its challenges and its rewards.
Most staff live either in tents, cabins, or in their own cars. At the outpost I stayed at, old buses were an option too.
Accommodations were provided on property for showers, laundry, fridges, coffee makers, etc. All shared spaces.
A Biohazard Weapon
The one thing I remember missing the most while in the outpost was my own fridge. It was nice that we had a fridge, but one thing about community living is someone is going to forget that they had bought a gallon of milk and a month later it will be a biohazard weapon whenever that fridge is opened. With a communal fridge, comes community sharing of food. It was just up to you to take the dare of whether or not the food was still edible.
Unwanted Guests
I had a small cabin, the best way to describe it was it was like the small sheds you see outside a Walmart or Tractor Supply. The flooring was a layer of sheet plastic. I had two windows – taken from a bus, and a porch. But my porch had rotten wood, which I had found out by falling through. So the first week, I tore the extended porch off. Outside of my cabin, in the “yard” was a bonfire pit and two benches.
This may be a little naive, but it’s not people I was scared of, someone breaking into my cabin or some psycho killing me, it was the bears and racoons.
I had sensor solar lights attached above my door, someone had left them from years before, but they would flick on whenever I would step up on my porch. One night, I got into my bed, put my phone on the shelf and wrapped myself in blankets. The days were warm, and most nights were too, but when the leaves started falling it got cold. The lights outside flicked on. I heard it, thud thud thud.
My eyes bolted open. I didn’t move. Throughout the season I had seen and heard deer beside my cabin, some squirrels, a hawk or two. But not a bear. I knew they were around, but didn’t expect one to be right at my front door. I had a crack between wooden boards, and I had to see for myself.
As the bear meandered on the porch, I couldn’t help but remind myself that, in the grand tapestry of life, humans are but a small thread, coexisting with the untamed beauty around us.
The bear and I locked eyes for a second. He didn’t care that I was there, just looking for some food. Bears are scavengers, so once he realized there wasn’t any food that my porch could offer him, he ran off. At least the brown bears we had around weren’t going to put up a fight unless he had to. It was a stark reminder that, in these remote corners of the world, we are merely guests.
The bear, in its natural habitat, served as a gentle reminder of the delicate balance that exists between the human and animal realms. Was it the bear or the humans that were the unwanted guests?
A Flicker of a Flame & A VHS Tape
The reward comes in unexpected ways. For me, it came from the flicker of a flame and a VHS tape.
It is a case of irony, really. How raft guides, who love the water, also love bonfires. I met my first friend around the flicker of a flame, and we laughed, and became two peas in a pod.
Bonfires became our way of sharing stories, the fire crackling and the laughter from all of our experiences of the day, it was through these moments that all of our bonds deepened. These moments became small threads that weave the tapestry of lasting connections.
In the shared communal space, there was a TV. None of the channels worked, but we had a VHS player and a DVD player set up, and bookshelves of DVDs and VHS tapes. It was one of our holy grails during the rainy days.
A Painted Portrait
The Song of the River
As someone who loves water, the orchestra of the rapids is unreal. A picture is worth a thousand words, but the music of the water’s trickling is unwritable, and writing of its beauty doesn’t quite do it the justice it deserves.
The river brings life into the landscape that it traverses. It carves its stories in the rocks that make its rapids. The patterns of the rocks showing the decades of writing. Rivers are not just bodies of water; they are living canvases, ever-changing and ever-beautiful.
Being in the outpost, gave me the fortunate opportunity of being a friend to the river. I learned to respect her power, the rushing water, the etches of a story. I watched the ambers fly into the starry night, and then watched a gradual wash of pastel hues grace the sky, with hues of rose and coral blending seamlessly into the indigo canvas of night. The horizon becomes a blaze of molten gold, casting long, stretching shadows that reach out to embrace the day. The world, now fully bathed in the golden glow, comes alive with a renewed energy, as if the sun’s rays are infusing every atom with vitality. I felt at peace.
Thank you for reading my reflection.
Rapid & Reflections 
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