As an offshoot to organising the Banff
Mountain Film Festival screenings in 2013 here in Uganda, one of the perks of
the job came early in the New Year. I
was quite embarrassed to admit to Thomas; the part-owner of the Nalubale
Rafting company in Jinja and one of our screening sponsors, that I had lived
and travelled in Africa for over 10 years and yet had never jumped in a big,
yellow, inflatable raft and let gravity and raging waters do their thing. It’s not like I’d not been tempted though. In fact it had found its way onto my bucket
list of things to do before I turn 40, have children and…well I would add die
to the end of that sentence too, but I suppose this is one of those things can
could I suppose lead to that! Especially
when everyone you meet has a tale to tell about; a person they knew, who knew a
man, who was travelling with someone etc etc etc. So I’ll admit it was with butterflies in my
stomach that on the weekend of my 33rd birthday we were collected by
our rented Matatu on our hill in Mutungo and bussed out to Jinja; the source of
the White Nile, to get kitted up and sent off for our two day rafting
expedition.
It’s strange, but as we practiced our
drills at the start of day 1 with our Kiwi guide on the flat water above the
first rapid – “the Dead Dutchman” – that I started to feel more at home, and it
brought back fond memories of my Duke of Edinburgh Gold expedition; where we
kayaked for 5 days in Southern Ireland.
Frankly it was just great to be in the water and out of the sun, but it
was my intention to try and stay in the upright raft as long as possible. Some people actively enjoy getting thrown
from the rubber dinghy like circus midgets being launched from a comically
large canon, but I saw this adventure more of a challenge to stay dry for as
long as humanly possible. Anyway after
learning the ropes, which ones to keep hold of, and how to prevent knocking
other people’s teeth out, we took our delegated positions and set off into the
jaws of the first descent; over the waterfall at “Overtime.” We’d been briefed about what to expect, and
if I’m honest I was expecting the worst.
Maybe I’ve watched too many adrenaline fuelled films – primarily thanks
to Banff – but I was happy to say that the drop was little over 10-15ft rather
than the 50ft that I’d been anticipating with less than happy thoughts. This is not to say that it wasn’t exciting,
but as we crested the top and started to plunge I was exhilarated. As the front of the boat hit the water I let
out a howl of enjoyment and looked into the distance for the next one. This was fun!
Of course now that the new Bujagali Dam has
flooded the old upstream rapids above Overtime this first rapid allows the
inexperienced to be gently introduced to the river. However this comes to an abrupt end when you
stare down and ultimately run the next set of cataracts at “Chop Suey” and “The
Bad Place” at the base of the Itanda Falls.
Few people and certainly no amateurs like yours truly would be crazy
enough to run the Itanda Falls, and just looking at the boiling swirling waters
from the bank gives you a perspective and new found respect for this eternal
and mystical river. Since the Romans
started trying to find the source of the World’s longest river people have
often wondered where it began. Even the
Greeks through Ptolemy had their theories, but it wasn’t until Speke and Burton
looked on Lake Victoria and then possibly further downstream as we were doing
now, that they had any idea. As you stare
at the river descending over the falls as a single wall of water, it is easy to
imagine how such a large volume can stretch for nearly two and a half thousand
miles. While from the thunderous roar it
is mind blowing to considering it taking up to four weeks to reach its final
destination at the Mediterranean Sea.
Anyway there wasn’t much time for
contemplation because we were marching our raft overland and dropping back in
below the Itanda Falls. Our guide Reuben
gestured for us to take up our positions for the second time and pushed off
from the side. For those reading this
who maybe don’t know the certain features of river rapids, The Bad Place is
known as a ‘hole’ by the rafting community.
Generally the water rushes over a more hollow section of the river bed or
submerged object creating a depression in the water surface after this
feature. As it pops up the other side it
produces a wave of water. This wave acts
in a very similar way to those in the sea, trying to force itself back up the
river and allowing a kayak or small raft to sit within it for as long as it
will allow you. The drawback is that
once you’ve entered it and had your fun it is generally the wave that decides
when your enjoyment is up. The Bad Place
is such a wave, and with the speed and power with which our raft was crumpled,
flipped and spat out, it certainly lives up to its name.
Between the class 3-5 rapid you have plenty
of time to sit back and relax while the flatter sections of the river meander
through the Ugandan landscape. Drifting
along we were able to cool off in the water beside the raft eating our lunch
and watching the birds overhead. In
certain spots where the waves are a little less powerful we even had the chance
to experience a bit of river boarding.
Using a bogie-board we paddled into the river wave and spent time
surfing back and forth in a manner that is amazingly similar to the ocean
sport. Although once again if you make a
mistake the wave will end your fun, due to the size of the feature it is most
certainly less extreme an experience.
After our final rapid of the day we lugged the rafts out of the water
and set up camp high up on a big bend in the river while the crew prepared our
supper, and we blew the froth off a few very well deserved cold beers.
Day 2 started fairly leisurely as we
allowed the river to fill up after a night’s electricity generation
upstream. So at around 10am we suited up and jumped into
the water astride our bogie-boards to run the fast and suitably named “Hair of
the Dog.” This rapid is as close to a
roller coaster as I imagine you can get with river rapids. In single file we set off from the bank and
steered into the jaws of the constricting river. As I dropped into the depression at the
entrance of the first wave I could see three paddlers who had left in front of
me surfing up the exit of the wave and disappearing into the bowels of the
second with frightening speed. Before
realising that it was my turn and there was no stopping to get off in this
fairground. As the speed increased and
my helmet sunk lower over my eyes, it was a struggle to see where I was going so
I tried to relax and let the river take me, in the hope that it would spit me
out in the right place eventually. After
rounding the first (or possibly second) corner, our river guide appeared out of
nowhere sitting in a small eddy and ordered me to kick hard to the right and
back into the current. Quickly adjusting
my helmet and giving myself an injection of speed, I rapidly gained the correct
line once more and disappeared under the final three subsequent waves. Thankfully years of practice on a foam board
in the waves of South Wales allowed me to keep hold of my board and on the
surface of the water, but as I looked around quite a few of the others hadn’t
been quite as fortunate. In time we all
managed to regroup and now wide awake, dragged ourselves back into our floating
home to set off over the last four cataracts of our weekend.
The next rapid came and went in the blink
of an eye and then after another lunch Huckleberry Finn would have been proud
of, we came within the clutches of the infamous “Nile Special.” Named after one of the strongest and arguably
best tasting Ugandan beers; Nile Special is a World famous wave. As the river plunges into the bowl it then
rises steeply to give kayakers and rafters a ride they’ll not forget easily. Typically the raft will burst through the
first and often second consecutive waves as I’m reliably informed, before
getting held in the third. This lets all
on board the chance to ride out the wave for as long as skill or the river allows. This was no different for us. As we launched into it we crashed through the
first two wave crests and headed down the face of the third. Sitting at the front of the raft I bore the
brunt of the white water at the crest of the third wave, but unlike the last
two we didn’t break through this one.
Instead the wave held us and spun us 180 degrees to face back up the
river in the direction we had come.
Clearly this all happened within a split second, or in the “B of the
Bang” as Linford Christie used to say. While
we sat in this position for what seemed an eternity, the entire might of this
great and historic river roared beneath us.
Before we knew it though, the river lost its grip on our slippery little
raft and we started descending the wave to the base of the depression. As much fun as this was, by the time we
reached the centre point we had started to turn ever so slightly so that the
river was now hitting us broadside. Once
again, faster than my mind can clearly recall, the boat folded in half, flipped
upside down depositing all of us into the drink and disappeared over the top of
the wave. My next memories are rather
blurry to say the least, but by the time I re-emerged from the depths of the washing
machine spin cycle, I had been carried 40m from the boat, was clutching two
other paddles along with my own, and feeling as close to a drowned rat as I imagine
possible.
Clearly for a lot of people
this is the best possible way to end a rafting trip, a quick dunking to thank
the river for its hospitality whilst going away with your adrenaline pumping
and your respect for Mother Nature firmly intact. Well this is pretty much how I felt when we
trudged ashore after swimming down from the final rapid; “Mulalu,” – the
Lugandan word for crazy. Presumably
given by the locals to the ‘Mulalu Mzungu’ who happily choose to spend their
time and risk their lives tackling this spectacularly dangerous white water
that they have lived beside for countless generations. Yet as the sun quickly dried us and we open a
few cold beers awaiting us on the river bank, those very same locals laughed
and joked with/at us, I could see how infectious this pastime could become, and
how maybe as my years pass I’m become more Mulalu after all.
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