Lava Falls

With the plan clear and nerves sharpened, we pushed off into Lava Falls, the most formidable rapid of the trip. The river dropped fast and hard, funneling into a steep tongue that hurled us toward the infamous Ledge Hole on river left, a massive hydraulic capable of swallowing a dory whole. At the oars was Rio, calm and focused, setting us up with deliberate precision. He angled us right of the hole, driving hard to catch the narrow chute that threaded between surging laterals and exploding waves. The dory plunged over the first drop, the bow disappearing momentarily as a wall of whitewater crashed over the front deck. The boat flexed under the force but held steady as we punched through a series of stacked haystacks, each hit throwing cold spray high into the air. The current shoved from both sides, boiling and surging underfoot, but Rio’s powerful, composed strokes kept us clean and centered. Time stretched and compressed in equal measure as we rocketed through the chaos, the roar of the rapid surrounding us completely. When we finally burst into the tail waves and the calmer water beyond, cheers echoed off the canyon walls. It had been a hard, perfect line through the heart of Lava, a run that would stay etched in memory long after the river quieted.