"It'll make ya piss yer paaants!" We all slugged our lukewarm Kilt Lifter cans and giggled as we traded our best Mark Nelson impressions. We were paddling our six-man, Four Peaks laden yellow raft into mile 209 of the majestic Colorado River. Nine days prior as we loaded our gear to hike into the Grand Canyon, Mark, our twelve year resident do-it-all electrician at the brewery rambled on and on about how the 209 Mile Rapid hit him so hard he urinated himself about two decades past.  "You'd better piss first because you'll piss yer pants at 209!" he excitedly advised us.

We were laughing like school boys on our eighth day down the river, not only because of our uncanny mastery of Mark's animated mannerisms and farmhand Prescott accent, but also because we had successfully navigated everything the Colorado had thrown at us  - rapids much bigger and bolder than the 209.   Hell, it didn't even have a daunting name and was labeled merely with a mile marker.   What could the 209 possibly hit us with that we hadn't divided and conquered before?

Travis, our trusted guide told us that the 209 Mile Rapid is without a doubt "the prettiest wave in the whole canyon".  He explained to us on approach that we should "sneak" the rapid just a little, still catch some action, get plenty wet and witness the gigantic crashing wave in all of its glory from a fairly safe distance.  One by one we stared each other down, inwardly thought about the consequences, took another swill of beer and collectively agreed, "Hell no! We're goin' for it and were doin' it for Mark Nelson!" After some obvious contemplation from Travis his eyes went wide and signed us a boyish nod - he smirked at the six of us and said "OK boys, we got a strong boat - let's do this!  Give me two forward paddles and strap it up tight. Worst case scenario, swim hard as you can because its rocky as hell and boys, we're goin' big!"

From the back-right of the raft, Travis drove his steering oar in the 48 degree water and vaulted us into the tongue of the emerging rapids. He was aiming right at the hole of what was now recognized by us all as an immensely unforgiving wave.  "All forward boys! Dig deep! Dig real deep!" He was barely audible over the crashing water quickly enveloping all around us. We drove forward as hard as we could and started up the building wave, only to be stymied as the massive crest barely beat us to the apex. The yellow raft lurched backwards as a brick wall of white-water swept all five companions ahead of me clean out of the boat as if the Colorado River was shooing a fly.  The wave subdued for a brief moment and I tried to maneuver a little, or at least tried to catch a glimpse of one of my fallen boat mates.  Roper, Neuman, Murphy, Josh Caron, Marty and Travis however, were gone.   I started to look out toward the current but the wave had begun to regenerate - within moments the same monstrous wall crunched the front end of the boat, lifting and flipping it like a pancake and sending me deep into the torrent of the Colorado.

Your brain instantly spikes. Thousands of memories, thousands of thoughts crash through your head in a single solitary moment. Is this really it? Your limbs flop like a rag-doll as the powerful current drives you further down into the freezing Colorado River.  Suddenly, like a light switch... complete darkness and absolute silence... almost a calm and restful peace. Many less thoughts cloud your numbing mind... Are you about to crunch into the bottom of the river bed? Is your skull about to slam into a boulder?  Did your instincts draw you enough breath to make it back to the top?  How deep can this possibly go?

Time seems to stop. Put your head back - try to relax. You think you see a glimpse of light and push forward with everything you've got left in you. Is the power of the river playing games with you? Is this a trick? It was doubted for an instant but your life jacket faithfully does its job as you abruptly break through the gurgling waterline and take in air like you never have before, only to get pummeled by crashing waves still looking to suck you back down.  Just keep breathing - every possible breath, every chance you get.  A few friendly ripples inch you forward and suddenly the immense violence seems to subside - the current carries you away from the mayhem, hopefully toward safety and not more peril as it seems hopeless at this point to fight it. Your heart rate slows from beating clean out of your chest and you loosen your jacket just slightly to finally take a deep breath of air. Finally, far ahead in the distance you see your fallen boatmen being picked out of the water and immediately realize you will see another day to journey this incredible river - another day to take in everything this amazing spectacle called The Grand Canyon has to offer.