Cold ... then Warm

Don't let these smiles fool you. This is me just moments before I am about to become the coldest little cucumber ever.

The coldness started the night before when we got to our campsite, a campsite situated in a little place called the middle of nowhere. We get there late and I go searching for an outhouse. Nothing but creepy, boarded up old cabins. EERIE! Adam builds a great fire, it provides some relief. There is no bathroom, no running water, no showers and nowhere to wash my face. Good thing I saved a Wal-Mart receipt for wiping. I wash my face in the freezing cold, dirty river. Adam has never seen me so mad (just wait till the next day). We retire to our little tent, where I have nothing but me and my mummy bag to depend on for warmth. Why hasn't someone invented a sleeping bag built for two? My body does not heat itself, people! I don't sleep most of the night because my feet are cold.

This is the following morning. Pleasant enough. The miracle of this day is that it's NOT drizzly and raining. It is sunny and warm. I {mistakenly} think there is hope for me on the Klickitat River.

The rafts end up getting transported by Little Mike's truck after the van carrying 15 of us breaks down. We caravan down to the river. We stop in the middle of the road because in the middle of nowhere there is no traffic. We are crammed to the ceiling in our little Toyota Prius (we named her P-Biscuit) with the 3 travel guides Kyle, Josh and Keelia. We are waiting for the car of 5 girls who are on their last drop of gas.
We have a lovely view of Mt. Adams.



The rest of the day goes down in history as my coldest day yet. The river has class III rapids all the way down. Not just a few here and there - but never-ending walls of white water. Adam falls out of the raft twice but he's a champ and swims back over to us, paddle in hand. We stop for lunch, my lips are blue, my speech slurred and I feel like I have Parkinson's because I am shivering so bad I can barely get my sandwich from the plate to my mouth. With the few brain cells that are still around, because, after all, I am deteriorating fast, I try to plan my walk home. I despair. It's not an option. I am surrounded by steep cliffs and raging waters. Just then my river guide saves my life and hands me his WATERPROOF jacket. He says he can tell I am in the early stages of hypothermia. Where was he stashing this thing four hours ago? The jacket restores me, and while I still know I will have to amputate my feet if I ever make it to dry ground again, I am able to forge ahead. Adam tells the river guide that the jacket has saved our marriage.

We retire here for the night. Somewhere between BZ Corners and Trout Lake, Washington. There is a hot tub, sparkling apple cidar and dainty doily cookies. I am never going rafting again.