We worked all day to get it loose. I got into the freezing water, and cut loose the bags that hadn't already been ripped from the raft by the river. A kayaker rescued the debris before it went around the bend into the next rapid. With no progress in the waning light, we got a line on the raft tied to shore.

I worked hard and kept my head low. Everyone was incredibly nice to me especially Boss. It was a lesson in leadership and humanity.

That night, Boss went to sleep in a wet suit next to the kayak. We put a bucket of empty beer cans next to the rope that held the stranded raft. In theory if the boat broke loose, the rope would knock over the bucket of cans.

Curt would wake up and give chase, yelling to Joe and I on his way out. We would follow with a raft. We all slept fitfully to the sound of rough waves pounding the shore and the roar of Crystal rapid taunting me in the distance.

Just before dawn, one of the passengers woke me up saying he had a dream, and he knew the boat was off the rocks. It was pitch black out. We got the largest flashlight in camp and shone it out towards the boat. True to his dream the boat was floating in the eddy behind the rock. It looked like there was a figure in it swaying back and forth as if it were bailing out the boat.

We ran upstream to where Curt slept, thinking he must have kayaked out to the boat. But why hadn't he yelled to us. But Curt was asleep. The bucket of cans was undisturbed. We woke Curt and explained the mystery. He pulled on his helmet and life jacket. He kayaked out into the darkness into the middle of lower Crystal rapid to investigate. We followed his progress with the large flashlight. We saw him paddle from eddy to eddy out to the boat.

We gasped as he almost fell getting out of his boat into the raft. He got on the rock, freed the bowline, and pushed the boat into the current. The rope to shore held and the raft swung to the shore. The boat looked like a shipwreck. It was flat in three of the four outer tubes.

The mystery slowly unraveled. It appeared that one of the large Kitchen boxes had been forced open. A large kitchen knife had escaped and was driven into one of the tubes by the force of the water. It flushed around the inside of the tubes, cutting 17 holes in the boat.

After the release of water from the upstream damn had diminished, and my limp boat had slid off to the opposite side of the rock, where it had been caught by its rope. The heavy water that filled boat had forced the cross tube up into the air. So what had looked like Captain Ahab beckoning to us, had actually been the thwart.

As dawn lit the scene, we made breakfast and settled in to patch the boat. In 6 hours we were on the river again. Throughout it all, Curt was taking pictures and laughing. Joe Mama, not quite so diplomatic, announced to the world, "Take a lot of pictures, Frenchy! You'll never see this river again."

We got back on the river that afternoon and caught up to our normal schedule in another day. But as we continued, we were plagued by small travails at every turn. Joe wrapped his boat in minor ways twice during the rest of the trip as if in admonition for his wisecracks.

The night before Lava Falls I felt a growing anxiety. After dinner the guides spun tales of terror from the history of Lava Falls. The rapid drops 37 feet and was thought at the time to be the "fastest navigable rapid in the world." I didn't sleep well.

The next day we rowed mostly flat water all morning until we came around a long bend and we could hear a distant roar. They say that you can tell a rapids drop by the pitch of its sound. The deeper the pitch the bigger the drop. Down river, it sounded as if an oversized runaway train was thundering towards us.

There is an unusual rock in the mile above the rapid called "Vulcan's Anvil." It is an old volcanic core that sticks out of the water like a chipped black obelisk. Guide superstition says that putting a small offering on the rock will bring a good run in Lava Falls. I felt I needed all the help I could get, so I rowed over to the rock, and tried to throw a quarter up on top. It bounced off back into the boat. Rejected!

I took off my hat and sunglasses to find the quarter in the bottom of the boat. I stood up to flip the quarter on a ledge in the rock. The quarter bounced off and fell in the river. As I stepped back, I felt the crunch off my sunglasses under my tennis shoe, mirrored sunglasses. Did that mean I would get 16 years of bad luck for breaking both the mirrors? I didn't know, but I was suddenly feeling very unlucky.

We scouted from river right high above the rapid and I stared at the moving water so long that when I looked up, the cliffs started to move. Oh no, what a terrible time for an acid flashback! Joe assured me it wasn't and told me to look away from the rapid occasionally to alleviate the phenomenon. Curt was feeling like the trip was getting jinxed with all the wild events, and he didn't want to take any chances. So, after he and Liz rowed their boats through, he climbed back to help us.

The water backed up above the rapid almost like a lake. Then the river suddenly plunged into an enormous ledge hole, which crossed most of the center of the river. This hydraulics of this perfect recirculating wave had been know to flip boats not just once, but numerous times before releasing the boat from its clutches. From upstream the river seemed to just disappear from sight, with only an exploding spray of water warning of the dangers below.

It seemed impossible to know where to enter that blind drop. We wanted to be just to the right of that frothing, churning horror of boat swallowing whitewater. Once past that, we would be positioned to survive the ensuing onslaught of enormous waves. "Just to the right" meant within inches of the ravenous monster. However, finding that thin line on a blind drop off was like trying to thread a needle blindfolded.

Mysteriously, however, in the slick green tongue of current leading into the hole, there were periodic upwellings of bubbles that miraculously lead right to the entry point. This was the infamous "Bubble Line Run." The trick to this run was to float sideways to the current put the center on your boat on those bubbles, and stay on the bubbles until the last second, then pivot the boat downstream to hit the waves bow first. It would take blind faith and rock steady nerves. Neither of which was in great supply on my boat.

But Boss didn't want any more catastrophes. He decided to stand on the cliff above us, and signal which way to row to be directly on top of the bubble line. It was definitely a remedial aid for novice boaters, but I wasn't complaining. Lava Falls looked enormous and sounded deafening.

I tried to keep my mind focused as I walked the trail back to the boats. My heart was pounding. I breathed deep and slow to try to keep the adrenaline from exploding out my ears. Two of the same brave guides who were with me at Crystal had elected to show their confidence in me by riding with me once again. It had been difficult to recruit passengers since Crystal.

Maybe it was me, or maybe it was the odors that were by now unavoidable in my boat. Anyway I was glad to have people with me who knew how to swim.

We floated away from shore, and caught the current that slowly slid us towards the falls below. Up on the rocks we could see Curt waving to us. As we came to the bubbles, I was poised across the current, ready to pull or push to put the raft on top of the bubbles.

Curt waved me towards the left shore. I gently pulled back. I could see the bubbles were going under the back end of my boat, but I wasn't quite on top of them. Curt waved me again to the left shore.

I pulled a little harder. The bubbles were still stubbornly under my stern. Evidently the current must be pushing my boat right.

Curt again waved me towards the left. In my frustration I gave two hard pulls to the left. Now the boat responded with enthusiasm and shot over the bubbles way to far to the left.

The guides in my boat turned to me in horror. "Where are you going?" I was heading dead sideways for the center of the largest ledge hole on the river. The bubble line was gone. There was no time to change the line now. We were split seconds from launching over the edge of the cataclysm.

"Straighten it out!" everyone yelled.

On shore, Curt yelled to everyone "Get you cameras ready. He'll flip for sure!"

I spun the boat and felt like I was about to drop off the edge of the world. The river not only has a sense of justice it also has a sense of humor. Somehow our boat scooted through the hole without stopping. I then proceeded to crash through all of the following waves sideways without flipping.

I was yelling "Highside! Highside!" One guy was laughing wildly and the other was holding on with one hand and taking pictures with the other. We pulled over on the little beach below. I jumped ashore and tied the boat.

I looked at the other two guides who were grinning from ear to ear and I said, "Well, I guess it's better to be lucky than good!"

We broke into laughter from which I literally fell over. We laughed until tears were in our eyes and we had to take deep breaths to revive ourselves.

That was the start of a life long lesson in humility which rivers around the world have taught me. The moment a boatman thinks he is the conqueror, the river will set him straight with an ego-thumping lesson. We are allowed passage on a river only through our respect for its power and humility for its majesty. Yes, I did return to row the Grand Canyon the next spring and I carefully navigated all its challenges. I went on to row many rivers across the world and to learn lessons from each of them.