This is the #1 Challenge for an Adventurous Woman Alone
One guide said, “I’ve seen guys not do half as well.” As if my being a woman should have been an impediment.
It was a perfect summer afternoon when I joined a whitewater rafters group in Stanley, Idaho. They were heading out to the class III whitewater on the Salmon River, and I was tagging along, the only lone participant, with a kayak.
About 20 of us piled into an old school bus towing our boats in a trailer behind. The other adventurists were mostly families: Mom, dad, and 2.5 kids. They’d be riding the rapids together in large shared rafts with guides. I’d be braving them as a woman alone in an inflatable kayak.
Being the solo single woman
On the bus, we blasted Aerosmith on the radio while trailing along the cliff edge that bordered the Salmon River. Once we were moving and it was clear nobody would be joining me, the tween girls gave me sideways glances and smirked. Tweens are always smirking. The parents mostly talked to each other, and I, as I usually did in these situations as the oddball out, talked to the guides.
The Salmon River flows 425 miles through central Idaho, dropping more than 7,000 feet in the Sawtooth Valley. It is one of the largest rivers in the United States without a single dam. Louis and Clark determined it “too rough to be navigable” when they surveyed it.
At the river, the guides gave instructions about what to do if we fell out, which sounded like a likely occurrence, especially for kayakers. I was nervous because I’d never been in rapids before, so I asked many questions.
I learned you need to row like crazy to ensure you go head-on into the rapids because, going sideways, you’re guaranteed to flip. If you do flip, my guide, Rainee, said, do not panic, just let the boat and oar go. Say what?
And, the most critical part: Do not try to stand up in the rapids. This seemed counter-productive to me. My first instinct would be to stand up and grab my boat quickly so that I could get back in.
“Do. Not. Try. To. Stand. Up. In. The. Rapids.” she said again.
Single women stand out enough without drawing attention
“Why?”
One of the tweens rolled her eyes at my question.
My presence, I could tell by the group’s sheepish glances and nervous laughter, made them a bit uncomfortable. Was it my zealous question asking or my gender that seemed to make them think I was less capable or that I would be a burden to this trip? Most of them had never been in rapids either.
Though it’s rare that anybody except single women will acknowledge or admit it, we’ve been judged harshly as “less than” in many ways. Even today, in “modern” times, our singledom threatens society and its institutions by going against the norms. When people break away, we threaten the well-constructed structure. I see how uncomfortable I’ve made people.
Except for me, everyone else here was coupled. It’s often this way when I go places.
What’s more, single women are rarely seen alone on adventure excursions. I know because I am always alone on these excursions.
As she played with her cellphone, even the young eye-rolling girl seemed to be judging my ability because I asked more questions than the men standing next to me. Was I somehow “less than” because I did not have the luxury of a man to manage the boat and the information as she did?
Women are often the first to tell me about the things I can’t or shouldn’t do because I’m a woman alone. I think men approach the idea as entertainment, and women seek to save me from myself, like the embarrassment of eating dinner in a restaurant alone. They’d spare me the ridicule and have me alone on my couch each night, comfortable and secure.
Rainee explained that the many rocks in rapids are the ideal place to get your foot stuck. You do not want your foot stuck in a rock while those rapids are blasting you in the face nonstop without pause.
That seemed sensible to me. So, what in the world do I do?
“Just keep your feet up, let your life jacket do its work, and float through the rapids until the water calms.”
Kayaking Rapids is not a Sunday Stroll
I’m a competent kayaker. We used to stand up on the kayaks and canoes on family trips and play games as we cruised down the river. Those rivers, though, were smooth and rock-free. There wouldn’t be any game playing on this river unless you count “fight for your life” as a game.
The first rapid came about five minutes into the trip. It was barely enough time for me to adjust to the oversized inflatable kayak I was captioning. The only kayaks I’d ever used were hard plastic and much smaller. Here, hard plastic knocking off jagged rocks would likely bounce me right out of the boat.
Into the Rapids
Suddenly, the kayak started to pick up pace, and looking ahead, I saw why: There was a gusher of blasting water as if it were coming out of a firehose at full force awaiting us. It sprayed and gurgled as it blasted around the many rocks that attempted to block its path.
Before I knew it, I was in the full force of the rapid. I was violently tossed side to side as I dug my paddle deep and attempted to navigate around the giant rocks. My kayak dipped low in the front going over a big rock, and water blasted me in the face blinding me for entire seconds.
I fought furiously, my legs gripping the side of the boat to hold my body inside. It was like being on a roller coaster, except your life was actually on the line, and the only thing keeping me from agony and great bodily harm was my strength and skill.
I had blisters on my thumbs almost immediately from clutching that paddle so hard.
For long moments I struggled to see and breathe through the water that assaulted me while trying to paddle my way through the tempest. I felt inadequate and sure that my muscles and mind would give out before it would end. And then it did end.
Just as quickly as I was pulled into the rapid, I was pushed out of it into relatively still, welcoming waters. I was still in my boat.
“Whooo! Who!” I shouted with relief and the other rafters laughed and cheered too. I had surprised them.
After, the guides told me that at least 40% of kayakers fall out on that first rapid. I’m glad they didn’t tell me before.
Our three-hour trek down the river continued much in the same way, rapids followed by still water, followed by rapids. It didn’t get any easier, but I did gain confidence once I knew I could manage it. I didn’t fall out even once.
Being a Woman Alone
By the end of our trip, nearly everyone had complimented my kayaking skill and ability to stay in the boat. Clearly, they had not expected much of me.
I didn’t think about “being a woman” until one guide said, “I’ve seen guys not do half as well.” As if my being a woman should have been an impediment.
I grew up as a single girl in a world of boys. My athletic and competitive brothers and cousins didn’t think being a girl warranted any softer treatment. If anything, it meant I needed harsher lessons. They challenged me physically and mentally at every opportunity. In turn, I know my limit is likely five times further than I believe it is in any scenario.
They taught me to stand alone and conquer my obstacles. That I was a female made no difference to them, so it made none to me.
People, mostly, can only understand things they’ve personally experienced. That guide had never seen a single woman kayak so well before. Now that he has, maybe he’ll rephrase his gender statements.
But it is often this way. As a single woman, who often travels solo and enjoys activity and adventure, I am an oddity. To see a woman alone is one thing, but to see her engaged in “manly” pursuits quite another.
Because of my brothers, I have no doubt it is easier for me to manage. That’s likely why I’m able to do it at all. Still, I’ve had to swallow down plenty of gender bias, grin good-naturedly, and show them something to open their minds a little wider.
I’ve learned to let awkward laughter, eye rolls, and gender “compliments” roll off my back, or I’d never leave home.
Be the Example
Near the end, we stopped to rest in a quiet part of the river where there was a big 20-foot high boulder. Many men and boys climbed to the top and jumped into the water below, so I joined them just like I’ve always done.
Following my lead, several of the young girls and one Mom jumped too.
After, as we made our way to the end of our trip in the last slow miles of the river, I overheard one of the tween girls ask her Mom if maybe next time she could try the rapids in her own kayak. “We’ll see,” the Mom said, grinning in my direction.
Maybe I was a novelty to those girls, quickly forgotten, but I hope not. I like to think the next time they’re faced with something they believe beyond a woman’s ability, they’ll push themselves just a little further than they think they can go. And perhaps even, when encountering a woman alone, they’ll look at her with a bit more respect and less preconceived expectation. And I hope you do too.
