September 2008
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APPLYING SHAMANISM TO AN ADVENTURE SPORT
By Jose Luis Stevens, PhD

In early July my daughter Anna’s permit to run the Colorado River through Cataract Canyon in Utah was eligible and with a group of fifteen extended family members we descended on Moab for a six day river trip. Now river rafting has always been one of my great loves and I was excited to run Cataract again after a five-year break. The Colorado River runs through the magnificence of Canyonlands with its soaring red buttes and mesas and eventually joins the Green River to enter into the plunging rapids of Cataract Canyon. These are rivers made famous by John Wesley Powell and other adventurers who braved the canyons back in the days when equipment was primitive and no one knew what lay beyond the next curve. Now we were armed with fifteen-foot hypalon inflatable rafts and good sturdy modern equipment. Yet even though today there are river maps describing the rapids, one really never knows what they will find around the next bend because there are spontaneous rock falls, changes in the currents, changing water levels and the like.

            Most of our party had never been rafting before and they were very excited and a little nervous about doing the river. My wife Lena and my daughter and her boyfriend Aaron had all done the river before so we reassured them that it would be fine and we would get through without a problem. We had checked river flows over the internet and although it was running unusually high for July, we were told it would be dropping fast and would be much lower when we arrived. A park ranger sat waiting for us at the put in to check our equipment and give us the mandatory safety talk. He told us the spring runoff in the Colorado Mountains was so huge that this year the river broke records with its water levels. Just last week he told us every third boat flipped in the massive rapids. Although the river was lower now, he said it had not dropped as much as expected and was still running very high. So high in fact that even though this was the fourth of July weekend, everyone else with permits had canceled and there was almost no one on the river. This meant that not only were we going to do high water but there would be no one around to save our ass if we flipped a boat in the rapids. The ranger wanted to know what kind of experience I had and I reassured him that I had done the Grand Canyon and many other rivers before. Satisfied, he left us to pack our boats.
After checking with everyone it was agreed that we would go anyway. No one wanted to miss this opportunity and some of us had come quite far. So we put-in, but not before gathering the group together and doing a tobacco offering to the River, smoking the boats, and saying some prayers to the Spirits of the Canyon and the River. Not everyone had done this before and they thought it a bit quaint, but they good-naturedly went along with it.

The water, usually very warm at this time of year, was quite cold with snowmelt from the Rockies in Colorado, yet it was churning with red mud from the canyons. Having done many multiple day river trips before I knew what awaited us. The 100 plus degree heat, the silence of the canyons in flat water, the terrifying roar of the rapids, the close quarters on the boats, the mosquitoes at camp, and the sunburn could all take their toll on even the strongest group of people. Plus river trips are a lot of work and everyone has to pitch in and work together, people who did not all know each other before. Like most rivers, this one went through powerful country with a long tradition of Anasazi occupation. There would be many spirits along the way, some friendly and some perhaps not so harmonious. That night I had a huddle with my daughter Anna, a veteran river runner and healer/ceremonialist, her boyfriend a kayaker and member of the Native American Church, and Lena, a shamanic practitioner. We discussed the fact that we were going to need a lot of help from Spirit on this trip and that the river would test us to the maximum. We all agreed to start our day and end our day with prayers and call in our allies for maximum protection of the group. We also talked about working with the local allies, the ones who live in the canyon itself.

The first couple of days passed uneventfully as we floated the beautiful canyon and everyone marveled at the rock colors, the bird sounds, and the rush of big water as it coursed its way down the canyon. It was soon evident that our local allies would be birds and frogs, the Great Blue Herons that lifted off and led us downstream turn after turn, the noisy Ravens calling across the canyon, the hummingbirds zooming by to check out our bright lifejackets, and the fat bullfrogs calling for mates throughout the night. And then of course. there was the river herself, always moving, always changing, ever beautiful and powerful beyond imagining.  On the fourth day we arrived at the confluence of the Green and Colorado Rivers, an incredibly powerful place for a number of reasons. Here, two powerful Western rivers come together in view of a huge butte that presides over the meeting of the waters, one red, the other greenish. Uranium has been found and mined near here, a radioactive mineral found in most power places of the world. Plus, the feng shui of three canyons coming together was palpable. Joyfully, everyone plunged into the confluence and soon we were all coated with the thick mud that builds up here. I took a moment to thank the river for a good trip so far. The next day the first of the rapids began and tensions in the group rose precipitously from easy going to short tempers and fear.

The ten-foot paddle boat one member had brought was clearly just too small for the river and the inexperienced captain, beyond his comfort level became fearful, alternately yelling at people and then giving confused paddling orders. The paddle crew mutinied and refused to get back in the boat. Two alpha males were going head to head and there were heated words exchanged between an older man and a younger man who questioned his judgment and authority. Classic group dynamics were at play in this formerly easy-going group. The rest of the people were riding in the two oar boats and there was a long stalemate as we tried to negotiate a truce so we could move on. Clearly, the river was beginning to test us. We relieved the captain of his ship and installed Aaron, who managed the rest of the day without incident.

So now we had the big rapids ahead of us, tension between two males, fear rising up in the crews, and with no way to go but down the river, we needed everyone’s cooperation to get through safely. It was time to check in with Spirit in a big way. I smoked a mapacho (Peruvian tobacco) and asked Spirit to provide some direction and guidance. At the river camp that night a group of ravens made themselves quite conspicuous. It was clear that they had appeared to communicate with us something of importance. So Lena, who has experience with ravens, talked to them. She shared with us that they wished to remind us that challenging weather and conditions are their favorite places to play. They said we could enjoy the turbulence and the rough water and that there was no reason to resist what could be really fun. We decided to share that with the group and interestingly enough they all saw the wisdom of this message. Based on a little aside, the young man made a peace offering to the older one and tensions subsided. It was determined that we would deflate and roll up the paddle-boat and put it on an oar boat. That evening we walked about a mile downriver past the big drops, the three huge rapids that come successively one after another. The roar of the river was extraordinary and there seemed no easy route through the maelstrom. There were huge gaping holes, reversals, boat flipping waves, and massive keepers that could tumble a fully-loaded boat for minutes before spitting it out. For hours we analyzed and strategized and when all was said and done there was nothing left to do but go back to camp and sleep on it. At dinner we discussed who felt comfortable going down the rapids and who felt they would rather walk around them. People divided themselves into walkers and floaters based on what they felt deep inside was the right path. No one was to feel shame or cowardice for electing to walk. The boats would be rowed by Anna and myself with riders in each one. Anna would row the self-bailer and I would row the bucket boat, the one that had to be manually bailed. Each had their advantages and disadvantages.

I felt the usual churning in my stomach and loosened bowels. I was beginning to obsess over the details of the rapids even though I knew it was not really helpful. So I did the only thing I knew to do — I went off to a private spot, sang a favorite song thanking the river, and talked to the river spirits, the canyon spirits, the Blue Herons and so on. This helped to calm me and I quieted myself to listen for their advice. Collectively they had words of wisdom for me. Basically they said the following: When you go into ceremony and take plant medicine, start a new project, travel to a foreign land, or enter into a relationship, it is no different from entering the ever changing rapids. You make your choice and then you take what comes. There is no turning back or changing your mind in mid-stream. You must commit. Secondly either you trust Spirit or you don’t. If you believe in Spirit then fear is not justified. That’s it. If you want to go through safely then you must not see yourself as separate from the river, fighting your way through for survival. To see or experience yourself as separate is a big human mistake. You are the river; you are the canyon; you are the boat. All is one. You are all of it. Remember to practice this as you go down the rapids. There will be no problem.
I felt a strange calm overtake me. The rest of the evening I joked good-naturedly with my companions and they asked me if I was afraid. I had to admit that I felt no more fear. I slept unusually well even thought the thunder of the rapids was loud during the night. The next morning I followed a procedure I had learned from a man who had studied with the Cree Nation. I went down to the river and made an offering to Takenaya, the Cree Spirit of Water Hydraulics so he would know I was coming. Otherwise, I had been told, I might frighten him, causing him to grab me with his multiple arms and upset my boat.  While this image amused me, I liked the metaphor. I felt good about giving the river a gift. I threw in a small but powerful crystal I had found in the high Andes of Peru. It seemed the river could benefit from knowing those mountains and those mountains could benefit knowing this river. Although apparently separate, they too are one. This made me feel joyful. Awhile later as we packed up, Anna and I smoked our boats to bless them and then we shared with one another what we had received from our allies. I told her about becoming one with the river and she told me about the golden string that the boat could follow, an exact course that would lead the boats safely through, a beautiful image shown to her by the Blue Herons.

There was nothing left to do in preparation. The walkers had left, the crews had taken their positions, now was the time for the doing, the being with the river. We launched and I headed out first with Anna following with her boat a safe distance behind. Once in the rapids I would not be able to keep track of her or her crew. If I could, it was agreed I would grab an eddy to catch any members who had fallen out of their boat. The day was hot and clear and the water swift, the color of chocolate. The big water raced toward the narrowing canyon walls curing out of sight ahead where the mists rose above the great churning waves and giant holes of the famous Big Drops. I felt calm as I remembered the words of the allies, become all the river, the canyon, the sky above, the boat. All is one. And I felt my consciousness spread out long and high and become all of it as we approached the roaring rapids. I could see the rock ahead that I knew I must go left around to catch the tongue of water missing the giant hole on the right and the massive boat eating waves to the left. Bingo, the boat was there and I pulled hard as a giant wave broke over the boat and I lost all sense of where I was or where I was going. The boat, filled with water, my crew was bailing like mad, and yes, we were headed right down the tongue passing the massive hole to the right where I could peer down what seemed like a yawning maw, a reversal that would have surely overturned the boat. Down toward the eddy we lurched but now it was evident that I would not be able to catch it as the boat was too full of water and the power of the current was shoving me toward the left of the next rapid. Fortunately, I had scouted the day before and had seen that there was a narrow passage on the left even thought the best course was on the right. We caught the passage and were through before I could catch my breath. We had done it and my crew was safe and we all shouted to the sky for our good fortune and for the sheer adrenaline rush of it all.
But what of Anna and her boat? I looked around and saw her boat right side up with its crew coming down behind me. She had made it too. Only later I was to hear the hair-raising story of her passage down the rapid. In the middle of the second drop next to a giant hole, she lost an oar and in trying to retrieve it, a crewmember fell out. The oar became lodged under the boat and they spun wildly about. But a wave shoved the crewmember back at the boat and they hauled him in. The oar became unstuck and she crammed it into the lock and meanwhile the boat had followed its course perfectly. All was well.

Later as we discussed the adventure from the safety of hindsight we agreed that although we were both rowing it seemed as if the river was way too powerful to actually maneuver with our puny little arm strokes and oars. Clearly Spirit was carrying the boats downstream on the course of a perfect golden thread, a thread that had been arranged by the allies because of our prayers. So we experienced an unusual and wonderful power but it was not personal. The power was one that we had the opportunity to participate in, something that we got to know a little more about and that seems to be the way of shamanic power. It does not belong to anyone but it may be tapped into with the proper respect and knowledge and if we are fortunate we may get to glimpse it, to experience it for a moment just as the power of healing might come through us briefly in a curing ceremony.

The river did not end there at that last big rapid. We still had thirty-five miles of river to go that day and by the time we arrived at the take out it was midnight. The last part of the river had slowed to become lake Powell because of all the high water. We ended up having to row the last twenty miles. Although tired and sunburned the group sang and told stories and marveled at the brilliant stars presided over by a massive Jupiter in the sky above. The canyons had tested us and we were all the better for it.

Blessings,
Jose Stevens
Power Path School of Shamanism
www.thepowerpath.com