And the really fun thing was that their guide was a black bear shifter. “How lucky we are to have you as our guide,” Kendra said.
“No luck about it. Park Ranger Patrick learned you were going whitewater rafting for half a day today and told me. I made sure I was the one who got the mission. He said you were just getting married. Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Kendra said.
“So you live around here?”
“Yeah, in Kalispell. Both of us now,” Kendra said.
They saw other outfitters going by in their paddle rafts jammed with people. She was glad they didn’t have to go with a big group like that, though they were probably family and friends.
They put the raft into the water and climbed aboard. Gaylord was at the stern to command the crew and give them navigation. Grayson and Kendra stuck their paddles into the water and began paddling, per Gaylord’s instructions.
They started out on a calm stretch of water to get themselves ready for the rapids. They were Class 2 and 3 rapids, perfect for a novice. Both had been whitewater rafting, but neither was really experienced. The sun popped out, and the river was a beautiful, clear green.
When they got to the rapids, Gaylord steered them on the best paths to make sure Grayson got wetter than Kendra. She loved that Grayson was good-natured about it and just laughed.
But then they saw a grizzly chasing a black bear up a tree. She had thought the rafting was the highlight of the journey, but it had to be this scene.
“What the…” Gaylord said.
“That’s Blue,” Kendra realized.
“I doubt he’s doing PI work with Amy right now,” Grayson said, chuckling.
“He’s a character,” Kendra said.
They had to keep paddling, but they kept casting glances back. The grizzly ran up the tree partway, and Blue headed up higher on the one-hundred-foot tree.
“Ha! The grizzlies can climb a tree if it has heavy enough ladder-like branches to hold their weight. The black bear's claws allow him to climb quickly up a tree with smaller branches or no branches at all,” Gaylord said.
“Speaking from experience?” Grayson asked.
“Yeah. Going after honey was a big thing for me when I was a teen.”
They laughed. “When I was a cub, my twin brother and I would go after honey like that. As smaller grizzlies, we could race up trees like black bears can. Maybe not as fast because your claws dig in like ours can’t. As we grew bigger, it was harder.”
“But give us some sturdy branches, and we can go up aways,” Kendra said.
“And we can shake a small tree as adult grizzlies too,” Grayson said, as he got splashed again in the rapids.
The raft launched over the first standing wave, pitching them into a brief, ecstatic weightlessness, then crashed down, bucking and spinning. Each rapid was a maze of massive boulders and churning holes.
When the river bent sharply left, Gaylord barked, “Back paddle! Hard left!” and they dug in, blades slicing backward to pivot the boat just in time to avoid a jutting, sharp-edged piece of granite. The water hammered at the rubber, turning the raft and soaking everyone to the bone with blasts of frigid spray.
They braced their feet, hunkered in the cold, and yelled out with surprise and excitement through the wildest stretches, their muscles burning with effort and expressions contorted in the combined ecstasy of adrenaline and excitement. The guide whooped from the back, his voice equal parts command and celebration.
Together, they paddled with ferocious intent, straining against the river’s chaotic thrusts, each stroke a communal act of survival and wild delight.
When they reached the end of their journey, the raft, heavy with their laughter, water filling the bottom, creaked as they pulled it onto the rounded river rock. They got out of the raft and enjoyed the cold water. Gaylord took photos of them snuggling.
For a second, they lingered on the riverbank, fighting the current’s grip.
Then they started moving the raft onto the shore, where the staff was grilling steaks for dinner. They removed their life preservers, pulled their towels out of their dry bags, and dried off. The grill master flipped a steak with a practiced flick, juices hissing on contact, the smoke curling up from the grill.
The sky was still light, azure blue, with drifting clouds reflected in the water, while people began filling their plates and moving to the picnic benches to eat. Grayson and Kendra found a spot at a wooden bench painted blue—he at the end, she beside him—plastic plates precariously loaded with steak, potato, and salad. Their knees brushed under the table, a private heat that warmed them as the hot daytime air began to cool. Though they were still cool from the dip in the current.
Grayson sawed at the meat, the plastic knife squeaking in protest with every stroke, though it was tender. He took a bite of the well-seasoned steak and chewed, feeling his body shift from river-weariness to the pleasure of devouring the succulent meat. The conversation coursed across the picnic tables as everyone recounted their own version of the day. Someone told a story about falling out of the raft and swimming for dear life, exaggerating the pull of the current until even the guides were smiling and chuckling.
