KEY POINTS:
There we were, bouncing through the chaos of fast-moving white water, like a cork in a toilet on full flush. The raft flexed and folded through humps and dips, crashing into boulders and plunging down abysses backwards and spinning in whirlpools.
It was scary, it was adrenalin-spiked and
although it felt out-of-control I came to realise the guide, Gaza from Canterbury, knew each of the 60 rapids on the 13km of the Tongariro River.
The river begins in the valleys between volcanoes Ruapehu and Tongariro. The river gathers water as it rushes to Lake Taupo and where we join it, just below Waikato Falls, it's white and angry. Gradually, steep spots turn into sweet spots where trout linger.
The stretch we raft is three out of five on a scale of difficulty: exciting but not usually life-endangering. Gaza primes the five of us on this adventure, in a dry run on the riverbank, sitting in the raft, helmets on, paddles in hands: ``There are a few important instructions; paddle forward, back paddle, left, right and hold on. And when you hear my voice rising, like I'm feeling stressed, that means get really serious with paddling or we all get tipped out.'
The water is melted-snow, shrivelling, gaspingly cold and tipped out is not what we want to be so, yes, we nod in agreement. Rule number one: obey Gaza.
The first few rapids are benign, giving us time to synchronise paddling, to learn to work as one which, says Gaza, is the key to bigger, bolder things to come.
The scenery is stunning, the cliffs on either side freshly scarred where earth, boulders and giant trees have crashed into the river, almost making dams and leaving tree trunks and piles of rock for the water to push through.
There isn't time to soak up the ambience, as rapids follow each other fast and thick. The more memorable rapids have names: Crystal finishes in a beautiful clear pool, we shoot though Leg Breaker without incident and Grandad's Old Green Underpants includes a fast-moving rocky staircase. In the later half of the journey, the river widens and deep-water pools slow the pace between rapids.
It's a joy to kick back in the soft slow gaps and peer at trout lounging on the edges of deep green pools. The quietness, after an hour of the relentless swish, hiss and fizz of massively moving water, is uncanny and I notice the twitter of fantails.
The last few rapids are kind, the need to frantically paddle has gone and so have most of Gaza's instructions.
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