A common merganser placidly passes in front of our raft as we approach the spot where the river vanishes from view. Perched in the bow, I dig my paddle twice into the water and then drop to one knee as we plunge over the falls. The raft bucks and spins at the bottom, but as the second drop-off looms we have recovered our position. Paddling hard, we power through a wave in a hole that could easily flip the raft. Backpaddling, we slip sideways over the third step and head for a still eddy to watch the next raft negotiate the rapid.
All paddles rise for a mid-raft high five.
In Hell's Kitchen, we careen off rocks like a pinball and come to a halt against a boulder on the left side. Meanwhile, the raft upstream loses two paddlers, and we spot a pair of red-helmeted heads bobbing in the froth. Jardine leans over and snatches hold of the life jacket of the first swimmer, who's celebrating his 60th birthday on this trip. A lone kayaker intercepts the second swimmer and tows him to our raft. The last few miles go by languorously, marked by less challenging rapids and no more mid-water rescues.