It seemed easy enough. I’d guided rafts through the Big Eddy stretch hundreds of times, I thought, as I sat in my little yellow kayak above the rapids. And I’d kayaked plenty of class IIIs and IVs.
But none of them were so thoroughly lined with lava rocks as sharp as these.
All summer long, I’d played the “should I or shouldn’t I?” game with this stretch—the rocks in the river here, just above Lava Island, are young, geologically speaking, and razor sharp.
But as the raft of a friend who would run safety for me rounded a bend, I knew my summer’s worth of contemplating was over.





