Jon Bowermaster
BIG CHOP ON THE YANGTZE
My eyes lock on a bright red dragonfly that has lighted a foot in front of me on the edge of the yellow raft. I focus on the bug, desperately trying to avoid looking downstream at what lies ahead as we push the heavy boat off the sand and into the fast-moving current.
It is a blazing, sun-filled day in the rural countryside. Terraced green farm fields climb dramatically up both sides of the river. But the surrounding geography is out of focus, all soft edges. The only thing in sharp focus, a sight that gains in clarity as we float through deceptively calm waters, are the biggest standing waves I’ve ever seen on a river.
Hung Men Kou is the name given the rock-choked bend ahead. The last time it had been attempted by a boat heavy with gold and miners had ended badly, the boat overturned, men swimming frantically for their lives.
As Barry and I enter the rapid our best-laid plans, as they so often do, go badly awry. We don’t bite quite enough of the initial wave to spin us around to face the wave. Instead we hit the hard water head-on, like hitting a cement wall, and spin sideways, depositing us in the worst possible position heading perpendicularly towards the twenty-foot tall wall of aquamarine river water, valiantly trying to position the boat dead-center seconds before it is rendered … maneuverable.
Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse the iridescent red dragonfly as it lifts off …