Rumble in the Jungle

Bob Foote inspects a local hand-crafted canoe on the Rio Sico.

Junior veered off the deserted road into the driveway of a large, forested estate owned by a wealthy Honduran businessman/ environmentalist. "He lets our company, Rios Honduras, use it as base when we run the Cangrejal," he said. "Pretty cool place, eh?" Was it ever. From the spacious deck adjoining the attractive hacienda, we faced directly across the river into Pico Bonito National Park. And in spite of the low, obscuring clouds, we were treated to a spectacular waterfall that plunged sheer and white into the Cangrejal from rain-soaked cliffs.

In the open-sided garage below the living quarters, we selected our river steeds for the week. Actually, there wasn't much to choose from since all six canoes were 12-foot Dagger Rivals, a boat designed by Mr. Foote himself. "The Rival is one of my favorite designs," Bob said fondly of his sleek Royalex creation that's known for its maneuverability and good hull speed.

Like gladiators about to enter a soggy arena, we suited up in helmets and PFDs and launched right from the hacienda's dripping, mossy, Jurassic Park-like backyard. This is the most frequently rafted section of river in Honduras, Junior proudly informed us. But "frequently rafted" does not have the same meaning here as it does back home, I surmised. In fact, we had the Cangrejal completely to ourselves.

A minute or so later we pulled ashore to scout a Class III rapid-a pushy, zigzaggy run called Primero. From atop a boulder, Bob shared his philosophy on canoeing whitewater, based on more than 30 years' experience. "I want to work with the rapid, rather than fight it," he said, sizing up the foamy obstacle course. "What I look for is not the biggest waves or the whitest water-that's what I want to avoid. Rather, I look for the lowest and darkest water-that's the 'dry highway' I want to ride."

Bob led the way and, as to be expected, had a flawless run, followed with equal success by Dave and Colleen. I tackled the rapid next, and other than my boat filling half-up with water, I bounced down with a modicum of style and grace. I was on shore bailing when I glanced upstream and was startled to see Chris swimming beside his canoe. Could this be? He has open-boated the Chattooga's experts-only Section IV more than 20 times (to my none), the powerful Class V upper Gauley a half dozen times (to my none), and all the other heavy-duty whitewater rivers in the Southeast (of which I've paddled only a few). Later, after his self-rescue, he said sheepishly, "Well, I guess someone had to break the ice."

We plunged through more Class III drops in good shape, then spun into an eddy to scout Lava South, the main rapid on this, our warm-up run. "At this level, Lava is a IV," said Bob, as we nervously pondered the pour-overs and holes we wanted to avoid, and the slick, dark tongues we wanted to hit.

Dave boldly went first. He wanted to even an old score. On a trip three years earlier, he had taken a long swim at Lava at much lower water levels. This time his run was clean, though by the time he reached the narrow slot at the tail end of the rapid, his boat was full of sloshing water and only with effort did he muscle it to shore.

Bob was next in line. From high on the right bank I watched, camera in hand, ready to photograph the master. But when he drew even with the first hole I was truly astonished to see his boat heel over on his off-side. A high brace couldn't save him, and over he went, into the surging, bouncy river. Holding my breath in suspense, I waited as his canoe bobbed upside down toward the meat of the rapid, expecting him to roll up any second. But then he surfaced, floating on his back beside his boat! With no one to help him, he executed a textbook self-rescue and swam his Rival into a tiny eddy just before the next hole. Only later did I learn that one of his thigh straps had blown out.