I’m not a superstitious person. I did, however, have some interesting habits while I played football that would create a superstitious feeling if the habit was broken or altered in any way. I used to wear the same undershirt for every single football game I ever played. Every game, from high school to summer league to university, there I was with the same cut-off grey muscle shirt. By the end of my football career it was basically a few remaining threads as thin as tissue paper. But, other than that, I don’t tend to believe in superstitions. I walk under ladders, don’t pay attention to black cats, and have broken several mirrors without any consequences. Like I said, I’m not superstitious. Something happened the other day, however, that started to make me question this belief, or lack thereof.
I arrived in Honduras last week passing over the border with Guatemala near the famous Mayan ruins at Copan. I traveled by bus from the border to San Pedro Sula, where just hours before my arrival a local bus was ambushed by bandits and machine-gunned for several minutes, killing more than 30 people. My first impression of Honduras was rather bleak, and to tell you the truth, there hasn’t been much to rectify it.
My destination in Honduras was the seaside town of La Ceiba, a popular base for divers who want to explore the famous Bay Islands. Flowing through the town of La Ceiba and pouring into the Caribbean is the Rio Cangrejal. The Cangrejal, or river of crabs, is a challenging class 4 river with a few class 5s that runs through the mountains west of La Ceiba. Nestled deep in the jungle, about an hour from town, is the basecamp for Omega Tours, a German-owned rafting and kayaking company that specializes in running tours on the Cangrejal. I arrived thinking that I’d paddle for a few days before heading further south to Costa Rica. Much to the delight of my wallet, the owner, a nice man named Udo, offered me a job raft guiding and safety kayaking for two or three weeks during his busy time of the year.
Before I left Mexico I bought a silver medallion of the Zambezi River god called Nyaminyami. The Zambezi, similar to the Futaleufu River in Chile, is one of the pinnacles of a raft guide’s career. I bought the necklace thinking that it would be a great thing to keep me motivated to one day paddle the Zambezi. The Nyaminyami is worn by all the whitewater professionals who work on the Zambezi and by all those who have paddled that awesome river. I was warned that it was bad luck to wear the idol if you haven’t paddled on the Zambezi. I ignored the warning and started wearing the necklace on New Year’s Eve. I didn’t believe in superstitions.
We rang in the new year with a simple celebration in the jungle that was highlighted by fine Honduran cigars and lots of Havana Club. The party ended shortly after midnight and we retired to our respective cabanas in order to get some rest for the busy day ahead of us. Little did I know what a disaster the first day of 2005 would be for me.
David, another Canadian guide who was working at Omega, invited me to do an early morning run down the canyon section of the river before the rafting activities for the day began. I accepted the invitation; what better way to start the new year off than by paddling some hard whitewater. We donned our paddling gear and started hiking down to the put-in, me, David, and my Nyaminyami.
It was the second of the class 5 drops that nearly ended my short paddling career. I was in over my head on this section, relying more on following David, the much better boater, than on my river skills and instincts. I missed a boof stroke and ended up in a very retentive hydraulic. I held out for as long as I could but my desire for freedom, and more importantly, for air, overtook my pride and I exited my boat. However, the pourover wasn’t done with me. It continued to recycle me over and over. I was unable to escape the backwash of this powerful hole. I felt my body losing its energy. Despite being able to get the odd breath, my muscles were starting to ache and my mind was starting to panic. I was being recirculated long enough for David, who happened to be in an eddy on the far side of the river, to ferry across the river, get out of his boat, and throw a rescue rope to me in the hole. He pulled me to shore, checked to see if I was alright, then promptly headed downstream in his boat to find my scattered gear. Thankful I was alright, I headed downstream to a calmer spot, swam across the river, and returned to basecamp where I found David with my mangled kayak.
There wasn’t much time to sit around and contemplate what went wrong, there was a rafting trip to run. Despite the rough start to my day, and my year, I was excited to guide my first ever commercial rafting trip. We packed the gear, drove to the put-in, pumped the rafts, and started paddling downstream. I was the third boat to leave the put-in eddy. I ferried out, broached on a Volkswagen-sized rock, and flipped the raft sending all 6 clients for a swim. As I was rerighting my raft I was thinking that I may have chosen my new career poorly. It was definitely a great blow to my ego to get my first flip on my first trip and not even in a real rapid. We cleaned up the mess and continued downstream.
At the end of the day I was full of emotion. I was upset with my swim in the morning but happy that I was safe and alive. I was upset with my flip in the afternoon but happy that I guided my first commercial trip and got the monkey off my back, so to speak. Regardless, it was a tough day for me. As I was contemplating the events of the day by myself in a hammock with a bottle of Imperial I caught myself playing with the little silver medallion hanging from my neck. I then remembered the warning given to me when I bought it: “Its bad luck to wear the Nyaminyami if you’ve never paddled the Zambezi.” I clenched my fist around the idol and with one swift pull, tore it from my neck. I stared at it, questioning my belief or nonbelief in superstitions, and wondered if my dramatic day was the result of a curse from an African river god. I tucked the medallion into my pocket, and despite still not believing in superstitions, vowed to never reveal the light of day to my Nyaminyami until I paddle the Zambezi River.
