Sisters by Water, Part 2 - The Attack

If you haven't read Part I, you may want to do that first here: https://www.susannormanauthor.com/post/sisters-by-water-part-1-the-canoe-safari

Finishing up breakfast on day four, Gary announced, "Everyone, gather up, we have an important decision to make."  

       Rising from my camp chair, I hurried over to hear what pearls of wisdom our guide had to offer today.

       So far, Gary's expertise in navigating us through wild animals on both land and water during our 5-day canoe safari on the Zambezi River has been impressive. We had paddled and hiked through one of Africa's largest and most biologically diverse game parks without incident. I'd never imagined being so close to hippos, crocodiles, elephants, cape buffalo, and lions that weren't behind bars. Acutely aware of our vulnerability, we dutifully followed every command and instruction from our guide. His vast knowledge of animal behavior had enabled us to experience close encounters with a variety of wildlife without provoking flight or fight responses.  

      "Soon after we launch this morning, the river is going to braid into several channels through a section known as Hippo City, and you guys need to vote to decide what kind of experience you want. Gary's intonation changed noticeably as he named our three choices: Hippo Boulevard (dismissively bored), Hippo Alley (possibly interesting), or Hippo Bronx (eager excitement).

     "The Boulevard is the widest channel, not much different from what you have paddled so far. The Bronx is the narrowest”, Gary elaborated.        

      Janet, Juliet's mom, with her arms folded across her chest, was the first to ask questions.

      "Well, why would we not just want to go the safest way, where the channel is the widest?"

      "Sure, we could do that, but you will be able to see wildlife really close where the channel is smaller,” Gary replied. “You could get some outstanding photos."

     "Just how narrow are the channels?" I asked, wondering if I wanted to get any closer to wild beasts than we had already. 

     "In the Bronx, it will squeeze down to about 20 feet”.

     "That seems tight," Kelley said anxiously, "are there hippos?"

     "There are a few, but there won't be any large pods. The Bronx is where the loser bachelor hippos end up that weren't successful in competing with the other males to establish a harem.” They're a surly bunch, but they aren't very tough. They're a lot less likely to attack because they don't have a harem to protect."

      Mark, Kelley's boyfriend, said, "Well, we haven't had trouble staying out of trouble so far."  Sharing a bro' nod with Gary, he continued, "You feel sure we'll be fine in there, huh Gary?"

     "Oh yeah, with your paddling skills, we'll be okay. We'll just paddle slow and quiet, keep our spacing and our eyes open", Gary replied confidently.

     "I think it sounds exciting," Brooke exclaimed eagerly, "and we'll never get this kind of chance again. You guys are okay with the Bronx, aren't you?" 

      Being asked this question by our team's youngest member suddenly made me not want to seem like a wimp.  Although I had initially been thinking along the same lines as Janet… just play it safe… Gary's confidence and desire to take us through the Bronx were compelling. I mean, he was the guide, the professional in charge. It would be almost insulting to say no, wouldn't it?

       We had just completed two weeks of white-knuckle class V rafting in the upper Zambezi gorge for the World Whitewater Rafting Championships. Compared to what we had just been through, it was easy to succumb to Gary's calm assurance and confidence in our ‘bad-assedness’ to handle this relatively minor increase in risk.  Besides, Brooke was right. It was unlikely we would get this opportunity again. We all agreed on the Hippo Bronx, some more eagerly than others.    

       In the heart of the Bronx, where the channel narrowed to just a few feet wider than the length of our 16-foot canoe, we drifted past first a cape buffalo and then a hippo, standing mere feet from the river's edge. Holding my breath, I slowly pulled up my camera and snapped a few shots while Jules steered the back of the canoe, maintaining our position in the center of the channel. The beasts looked straight at us but did not seem alarmed. It was exciting to be so close, in apparent harmony with these powerful animals.

 After about ten minutes of animal viewing wonderment, we came around a sharp bend in the river and saw Gary pointing to the right with his paddle. Gary steered his canoe towards the left shore as he and Janet approached a 75-foot-wide pool. Looking in the direction he was pointing, I was alarmed to see three hippo heads in the water near the right shore.  Although the channel had quadrupled in width, it was not big enough for three hippos and five canoes. 

        When Gary's canoe entered the pool, two of the heads slipped under the surface like enemy submarines. 

        "Goddamn it, where did they go?" I whispered to Jules.

         We back-paddled to create more space between Brooke and Juliet's canoe in front. Jules signaled to Kelley and Mark behind us to catch an eddy if they could. As Mark steered their canoe towards shore, Kelley pulled the iron fire poker out from where she had packed it within easy reach this morning and put it in her lap. 

        Time slowed as we watched Gary and Janet gingerly paddle to the end of the pool, with Brooke and Juliet close behind.

       Then, with a tremendous cracking BOOOOM!!, Brooke and Juliet's canoe lifted out of the river and tipped upside down.

       "Shit, where are they!" I shrieked while paddling furiously towards their canoe. But our canoe didn't seem to be moving. 

Fuck, we must be stuck on a sandbar! 

I paddled even harder, desperately scanning the water. 

       After what seemed an eternity, Brooke swam out from behind the upside-down canoe. Her wind-milling arms lifted her back out of the water as she bee-lined towards the shore.

        Still no Juliet. But no hippos or screams either. That was good. Or maybe not. Maybe Juliet was being held underwater, silently screaming. 

       These thoughts passed through my mind in the blink of an eye. I was still paddling as if in a race start, my lungs burning with exertion. 

       Why weren't we getting any closer to their damn canoe!? 

       Finally, Juliet appeared past the bow of their upside-down canoe, about 10 feet behind Brooke. The spray from their desperate strokes created mirrored, sparkling fans of water as they hydroplaned across the surface.  

       As Brooke reached the shore, flinging clods of dirt into the river while scrambling up a four-foot embankment, I finally heard Jules’ shouts through the roar of blood in my ears.  

       "Sue, STOP!  Paddle AWAY from the canoe, AWAY from the canoe!" 

        She, of course, had remembered the hippo safety talk. From the instant Brooke and Juliet's canoe was attacked, Jules had been paddling just as hard as I, in the opposite direction. Following Gary's instructions, she was trying to keep us from blundering into already enraged hippos. As Gary had explained, another canoe entering an attack area would only make the hippos feel even more threatened. 

       Coming to my senses, I gasped, "Oh shit!  I'm sorry, Jules."

       She croaked, “It's okay, just paddle towards shore," her voice hoarse from her repeated attempts to break through my panic-fogged brain.

        I thrust a wide draw stroke into the water, angling the bow of our canoe away from the hippos and towards Juliet, who was now clawing her way up the riverbank. At last, paddling together, Jules and I sprinted across the channel to join the rest of our team.

       Once the canoes were safely beached, we all huddled around the dripping wet and still trembling Juliet and Brooke.

       "Brooke, you didn't even slow down when you came charging over the bank and sprinted into those bushes," Kelley chuckled nervously, pointing to a clump of shrubs about fifty feet away. "What if you had run into a cape buffalo?"

       "Fuck the buffalo, all I could think about was not getting chomped by a hippo."  

        I laughed at the image of Brooke screaming at a cape buffalo to get out of the way in her mad dash. "I think if a buffalo had seen you coming, he would have definitely run."

       Jules relayed our Keystone Cops attempt at rescue, our paddling tug-of-war in the middle of the river.

       “I was back paddling as hard as I could and shouting at the top of my lungs. She just wouldn't stop." 

        Blushing in embarrassment, I replied, "I can't believe I didn't hear you. I kept paddling harder because I thought we were stuck on something".

       Soon, we were all laughing, along with the tears streaming down our cheeks.

       Once we had calmed down, a chagrined Gary explained what he needed to do next. The hippos had not continued to attack the upside-down canoe after the initial strike. But two of them kept circling, like a pair of wolves trying to decide when to pounce again on the wounded moose. 

       I was all for abandoning the damn thing.

       But Gary said we needed the canoe and its equipment to complete the trip. He solemnly gave the radio and rifle to Mark. Still armed with his Colt 45 and a machete, Gary got back into his canoe.  

       With slow, deliberate strokes, barely stirring the water's surface, Gary paddled over to the upside-down canoe. The hippos slightly widened the radius of their prowling as Gary pulled up next to the other boat. Jesus, that guy has nerves of steel, I thought, wondering at what point one of the two-ton flesh torpedoes would slip down and launch another attack.

       Gary stayed locked in an intense stare-down with the hippos while he carefully pulled a third of the upside-down canoe across the gunwale of his boat, secured it with a strap, and calmly paddled it back to shore. 

       Who knows why they didn't go after him? Gary and the hippos had reached some sort of understanding. Like the hippos had gotten the point…. we’re going to get our crap and go quietly. Or maybe they were just not that tough, or at least not as tough as Gary. I was grateful that I did not have to witness our guide's gruesome demise, and that we were not going to be left on our own in the African wilderness. 

        After pulling the canoe on shore, we gathered around to view the ten-inch diameter hole where Juliet's sandal-clad foot had been resting on the floor.  

        “Jesus, Juliet, that sucker came right at you!"  I said, a shiver running through my body.

        "The last thing I saw was a big ugly hippo face rushing up at me from under the water," Juliet replied.

      "Could you see his tusks?" exclaimed Kelley in horror.

      "Oh yeah…. his mouth was wide open".

      "Could you guys see anything after you went in?" I asked.

      " I couldn't see a thing, "Juliet replied. "But I knew I had fallen right on top of him."

      "When we flipped, I didn't know what had happened," quavered Brooke. "It wasn't until I saw Juliet swimming towards me like a madwoman that I realized we had been attacked."

       Gary's solution to fixing the canoe was to duct-tape a Tupperware lid over the hole. Several of us voiced our concern about the repair's durability. But Gary explained we needed to get to a better spot to camp before it got dark, and we didn't have time for a fiberglass patch. He did ask Jules and me to stay close to Brooke and Juliet, just in case.  

      None of us wanted to get back in the canoes, especially Juliet, the only one who had seen the gaping jaws of a lunging hippo. But we knew Gary was right. It was time to get out of the Hippo Bronx. 

Juliet, Brooke, hippo-chomped canoe

       That evening, Juliet and I walked to the river to fetch the camp's washwater.

Approaching the shoreline, we both stopped and stared at the impenetrable silt-laden river. The river is the place where, throughout my life, I've experienced peace, thrills, joy, courage, beauty, and love. But now I felt a new, profoundly unwelcome emotional association: primal fear.

         As we had throughout the trip, we'd brought a paddle to test the water depth and make sure it was shallow enough to prevent crocodile lurkage. Theoretically, we could also use it to protect ourselves. Using a paddle to test for the less than one-foot safe zone, much less as a weapon, now seemed inadequate. 

       "Let's look for some rocks to toss to find a shallow spot", I said. "The last thing we need right now is to get attacked by a croc. My nerves are so shot I think I would have a heart attack". 

        "That's a great idea", Juliet replied.

        As we wandered the beach looking for fist-sized rocks to plunk into the river, Juliet continued. "Sue Norman, I will always remember that you were willing to risk your life to save us. That was rad."

      “Well,” I replied, “I felt like an idiot, not remembering to paddle away from the canoe".

       She laughed, "Yeah, you totally didn't remember the hippo safety talk."

       "I think it was just years of instincts kicking in,” I continued.  "I mean, it's ingrained, you always paddle towards a swimmer, right?”

      "For sure, in whitewater," agreed Juliet.

      "All I could think about was you guys under the water with that thing. Being able to help”… , my voice broke, “… if you got chomped."

       "I don't even want to think about how close that was", Juliet replied with a grimace. "Mom is really pissed that Gary took us down the Hippo Bronx. She thought it showed a serious lack of judgment."

         "Jesus, I can't imagine what that was like for her. Watching her daughter swim for her life in a hippo-infested river. Nobody should ever have to go through that."   

         "After all the Class V carnage we survived over the past two weeks, I can't believe how much scarier this is. Her voice shrinking, Juliet concluded, "I'm ready to go home now."

       "Yeah, me too", I replied.

It wasn't that I no longer respected Gary. If anything, I had even more admiration for his skills and bravery. But I realized this was no different than our own experiences as whitewater guides. If we blew it and flipped a boat full of clients in a big rapid, those least at risk were the clients who could actively participate in their rescue. As we had during our past two weeks of competition in the Zambezi Gorge, we needed to keep watching out for ourselves and each other. 

         Despite Gary's impressive knowledge and skills, it was abundantly clear there was only so much he could do to help us when the wild animals decided to be wild.

         I read somewhere that the closest friendships develop through shared experiences that generate intense emotions. Of course, one hopes to share experiences with friends that bring great happiness and exhilaration. But even closer bonds can be forged between those who share moments of terror. Generals know that those friendships are what make their armies work, soldiers willing to risk their lives for each other.  

         I do not presume that our team's experiences competing on Class V whitewater or paddling through the Class V wildlife of Africa are the same as combat. But they certainly encompassed feelings of extreme elation and extreme vulnerability. Times when I have felt the most dependent on others, to avoid potentially life-threatening outcomes.

         Having faced many challenges in whitewater kayaking over the years, I'd often depended on others for moral support, instruction, and the occasional rescue. But I knew the outcome of navigating challenging whitewater was ultimately up to me, my skills, my abilities, in that moment.

         Paddling on a rafting team was different, requiring a level of trust and communication equal to the challenge being faced. The friendships on our team before going to Africa were already strong. But the bonds forged on the Zambezi had reached a different level. Class V bonds, tested and strained by Class V challenges.

       During a decade of competing together on the US Women's Whitewater Rafting Team, we faced challenges I would not have attempted with any other group. Our accomplishments were the result of the unique alchemy of our combined strengths, becoming something greater than the sum of our individual talents. 

         It was not always pretty. I have been deeply hurt by my teammates, as I know I have sometimes hurt them. A poorly worded communication, while our bodies surged with adrenaline, sometimes led to anger and tears. Emotional hurts requiring repair after the immediate crisis was over. But ultimately resulting in a stronger, more united team, ready for the next challenge.

         I am still close with the women from my whitewater rafting team, even though geography, careers, and kids have inevitably led to substantial separations. Our connection is different from that with other friends. Not always the easiest or most comfortable, but ties that are resilient and durable

       Sisters bonded by water, as thick as blood.

1997 US Women's Whitewater Rafting Team, (top row) Juliet Starrett, Susan Norman, Brooke Winger, (bottom row) Kelley Kalafatich, Julie Munger, Beth Rypins