So now I am a real backpacker, going to tourist hotspots and spending my cash on adventure activities !!!
After having spent a week in Livingstone waiting for Damo to come and join me I was getting a little restless. With Damo pulling the dodgy shoulder caper, I headed off alone early one morning to take on the Zambezi on a raft. Apparently the Zambezi is the Mecca for white water rafting - for 32 kilometres from just below Victoria Falls, the Zambezi shoots through a narrow serpentine canyon, rushing 25 rapids with a couple of class six monsters to really challenge even the most experienced rafter. I had managed to arrive at a fortuitous time, as the full 25 could only be done for a couple of more weeks before the water levels rose too much making more than half of the rapids unmanageable.
After collecting a few people on the way we ended up at one of the swankier waterside hotels in town. I had an arm and leg surgically removed as payment (or so it felt) and we were presented with an
indemnity and release form whilst waiting in the breakfast queue. We were warned that rafting is a dangerous activity and then all agreed to release the company from any legal claim whatsoever arising from anything relating to the rafting, including any negligence on behalf of the company. I spent most of the safety briefing thinking about all the fun that could be had with picking holes in that indemnity. (Once a law talking guy always a law talking guy)
We were then geared up, driven out to the falls and then we formed in to a team of 6, in that randomly yet completely predictable way that like seeks like when backpackers are thrown together. After our team photo we wandered down the steep incline to spot our chariots, bright rubber ducky yellow 6 metre long rafts - in various states of being inflated.
The rafts we tied to the rocks just outside the Boiling Pot, the first rapids which gains its name from being the point where all of the water from the width of Victoria Falls is concentrated back in to a river,
forming a churning vortex about 20 metres wide, across which the fragile looking Zambia-Zimbabwe bridge is perched. Every once in a while somebody throws themselves off the bridge attached to a bungi, and they come plummeting down towards the Boiling Pot about 100 metres below, before being jerked back up towards the bridge. Once the rafts were fully inflated, we jumped in and were pushed around in large loops on the edge of the rapids, waiting for others to get ready. Rafting is, according to the experts, all about choosing the right line. Hit it coming from the right direction at the right spot and
you sail through, hit it in going the wrong way or at the wrong spot, and you become the plaything of a series of walls of water, that toss you about at their pleasure.
The first rapids were actually fairly tame, we hit them at good speed,tilted down slightly and were then lifted up by the wave of water and pushed out towards the edge of the Pot towards the rocks and in to the current that carried us down the river. Whilst enjoying a small shot of exhilaration, the whole thing seemed a little tame. Even when we saw two boats behind us go over, throwing the occupants out in to the water, they all seemed to make it back to their boats without much drama.
After six successful attempts we hit rapid seven with plenty, perhaps too much, confidence. On the lip of the rapid suddenly a wave drew up before us, we faced a fall of about three metres, followed by a wall of water a couple of metres higher than this roaring towards us. We all hit the deck as instructed and held on for grim life.
Down we went, then the water roared past, collecting the nose of the raft and rotated us around
180 degrees, so that we were facing upstream. The next wave then picked us up driving us back in to the fall, but this time with the wall of water behind us. As we fell the nose dug in to the water, the raft stood up vertically, and was then collected by the wall of water and tossed upside down in to the middle of the raging waters. The brief moment of hanging in the air is perhaps the most frightening, the raft seems to pause there, you get an adrenaline rush and your mind flings as many possible scenarios through your head as it can.
Once you hit the water it all becomes a bit of a blur, the water rushes around you, picking you up and flinging you this way and that, it is pointless opening your eyes as there is nothing to see. And every time you try and head for the surface the raft seems to be sitting right above you. After several unsuccessful attempts trying to get to the surface, I started thrashing about a little, and eventually found some fresh air, before the raft pushed me under again. A couple of seconds later I was back at the surface, and managed to grab a hold of the raft and cough up a bit of water I had swallowed. Eventually the two guides got on top of the boat and pulled it up right and we all scrambled in - a few of us had swallowed some water, but most had managed to get through it unscathed. In fact being catapulted in to the water was ore exciting than making it through the rapids without getting wet.
After our first successful encounters we then became the Zambezi Swimming team as we capsized on four rapids in a row. However as capsizing is far more exciting, it means that you are getting as close (or too close) to the most powerful part of the rapids, where the water is moving the fastest. On the rapids were we had a choice we always elected to go the hard way, and there was a bit of a competition
going as to who could do the best move before getting thrown overboard - we were all aware that there was a camera taking photos of us each time we went through the rapids. The second time I was thrown over I got caught under the boat, so I let go of the rope and let the water take me down stream - there I was lying on my back enjoying the view when a safety kayaker paddled past with a panicked look on his face and barked,
"Drop the oars and swim to the boat".
Fortunately after our fourth pitching we arrived at the lunch stop. We paddled the rafts in to a calm backwater and sat on the rocks and ate our packed lunches. Of the 40 or so people there I was the only
vegematarian - so I got a special lunch - the salad rolls of the omnivores less the slice of meat !!
After lunch we lost one of our team, but the rapids became fairly sedate, and we spent more time in the water - swimming around by choice. This gave us a bit more time to enjoy the view, lying on my back in the water I could stare up at the sheer, green cliffs of the canyon on either side, covered in rock piles caused by the soft sandstone of the area. Under the bright sunshine, the contrast between the tranquillity of the canyon and the pulsating energy of the water was awesome.
We managed to make it through all of the rapids, and on number 24 a couple of us ran them without a raft. Feeling the water pull you five different ways at once is a little disconcerting, but with a life jacket
on it is hard to be kept under for more than a few seconds.
After the last rapid we pulled in to a beach, left the rafts with the porters and headed to the cable car. A small cage attached to a wire strung between a pole at the top of the hill and one at the bottom about
300 metres below. Before getting aboard we had to sign another indemnity - this one didn't even have any writing on it !! Before we set off the guide warned us that if we heard an unusual noise that was normal and not to panic. He didn't have an answer to my - How will we know if the noise is unusually usual or unusually unusual ? The cage was pulled up the hill with no problem and afforded us a superb view of the river below as it winded off in to the distance, snaking its way towards Mozambique and then out in to the Indian Ocean.
After having spent a week in Livingstone waiting for Damo to come and join me I was getting a little restless. With Damo pulling the dodgy shoulder caper, I headed off alone early one morning to take on the Zambezi on a raft. Apparently the Zambezi is the Mecca for white water rafting - for 32 kilometres from just below Victoria Falls, the Zambezi shoots through a narrow serpentine canyon, rushing 25 rapids with a couple of class six monsters to really challenge even the most experienced rafter. I had managed to arrive at a fortuitous time, as the full 25 could only be done for a couple of more weeks before the water levels rose too much making more than half of the rapids unmanageable.
After collecting a few people on the way we ended up at one of the swankier waterside hotels in town. I had an arm and leg surgically removed as payment (or so it felt) and we were presented with an
indemnity and release form whilst waiting in the breakfast queue. We were warned that rafting is a dangerous activity and then all agreed to release the company from any legal claim whatsoever arising from anything relating to the rafting, including any negligence on behalf of the company. I spent most of the safety briefing thinking about all the fun that could be had with picking holes in that indemnity. (Once a law talking guy always a law talking guy)
We were then geared up, driven out to the falls and then we formed in to a team of 6, in that randomly yet completely predictable way that like seeks like when backpackers are thrown together. After our team photo we wandered down the steep incline to spot our chariots, bright rubber ducky yellow 6 metre long rafts - in various states of being inflated.
The rafts we tied to the rocks just outside the Boiling Pot, the first rapids which gains its name from being the point where all of the water from the width of Victoria Falls is concentrated back in to a river,
forming a churning vortex about 20 metres wide, across which the fragile looking Zambia-Zimbabwe bridge is perched. Every once in a while somebody throws themselves off the bridge attached to a bungi, and they come plummeting down towards the Boiling Pot about 100 metres below, before being jerked back up towards the bridge. Once the rafts were fully inflated, we jumped in and were pushed around in large loops on the edge of the rapids, waiting for others to get ready. Rafting is, according to the experts, all about choosing the right line. Hit it coming from the right direction at the right spot and
you sail through, hit it in going the wrong way or at the wrong spot, and you become the plaything of a series of walls of water, that toss you about at their pleasure.
The first rapids were actually fairly tame, we hit them at good speed,tilted down slightly and were then lifted up by the wave of water and pushed out towards the edge of the Pot towards the rocks and in to the current that carried us down the river. Whilst enjoying a small shot of exhilaration, the whole thing seemed a little tame. Even when we saw two boats behind us go over, throwing the occupants out in to the water, they all seemed to make it back to their boats without much drama.
After six successful attempts we hit rapid seven with plenty, perhaps too much, confidence. On the lip of the rapid suddenly a wave drew up before us, we faced a fall of about three metres, followed by a wall of water a couple of metres higher than this roaring towards us. We all hit the deck as instructed and held on for grim life.
Down we went, then the water roared past, collecting the nose of the raft and rotated us around
180 degrees, so that we were facing upstream. The next wave then picked us up driving us back in to the fall, but this time with the wall of water behind us. As we fell the nose dug in to the water, the raft stood up vertically, and was then collected by the wall of water and tossed upside down in to the middle of the raging waters. The brief moment of hanging in the air is perhaps the most frightening, the raft seems to pause there, you get an adrenaline rush and your mind flings as many possible scenarios through your head as it can.
Once you hit the water it all becomes a bit of a blur, the water rushes around you, picking you up and flinging you this way and that, it is pointless opening your eyes as there is nothing to see. And every time you try and head for the surface the raft seems to be sitting right above you. After several unsuccessful attempts trying to get to the surface, I started thrashing about a little, and eventually found some fresh air, before the raft pushed me under again. A couple of seconds later I was back at the surface, and managed to grab a hold of the raft and cough up a bit of water I had swallowed. Eventually the two guides got on top of the boat and pulled it up right and we all scrambled in - a few of us had swallowed some water, but most had managed to get through it unscathed. In fact being catapulted in to the water was ore exciting than making it through the rapids without getting wet.
After our first successful encounters we then became the Zambezi Swimming team as we capsized on four rapids in a row. However as capsizing is far more exciting, it means that you are getting as close (or too close) to the most powerful part of the rapids, where the water is moving the fastest. On the rapids were we had a choice we always elected to go the hard way, and there was a bit of a competition
going as to who could do the best move before getting thrown overboard - we were all aware that there was a camera taking photos of us each time we went through the rapids. The second time I was thrown over I got caught under the boat, so I let go of the rope and let the water take me down stream - there I was lying on my back enjoying the view when a safety kayaker paddled past with a panicked look on his face and barked,
"Drop the oars and swim to the boat".
Fortunately after our fourth pitching we arrived at the lunch stop. We paddled the rafts in to a calm backwater and sat on the rocks and ate our packed lunches. Of the 40 or so people there I was the only
vegematarian - so I got a special lunch - the salad rolls of the omnivores less the slice of meat !!
After lunch we lost one of our team, but the rapids became fairly sedate, and we spent more time in the water - swimming around by choice. This gave us a bit more time to enjoy the view, lying on my back in the water I could stare up at the sheer, green cliffs of the canyon on either side, covered in rock piles caused by the soft sandstone of the area. Under the bright sunshine, the contrast between the tranquillity of the canyon and the pulsating energy of the water was awesome.
We managed to make it through all of the rapids, and on number 24 a couple of us ran them without a raft. Feeling the water pull you five different ways at once is a little disconcerting, but with a life jacket
on it is hard to be kept under for more than a few seconds.
After the last rapid we pulled in to a beach, left the rafts with the porters and headed to the cable car. A small cage attached to a wire strung between a pole at the top of the hill and one at the bottom about
300 metres below. Before getting aboard we had to sign another indemnity - this one didn't even have any writing on it !! Before we set off the guide warned us that if we heard an unusual noise that was normal and not to panic. He didn't have an answer to my - How will we know if the noise is unusually usual or unusually unusual ? The cage was pulled up the hill with no problem and afforded us a superb view of the river below as it winded off in to the distance, snaking its way towards Mozambique and then out in to the Indian Ocean.
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