Last summer, I completed my bucket list, and I didn’t even kick the bucket.
My goal has been to go whitewater rafting on every continent except Antarctica, where there are no rivers — at least not yet.
I had one continent left to complete, Africa, and I headed to the Zambezi River at Victoria Falls.
“The Zambezi is considered as one of the best whitewater rivers in the world,” Sue Liell-Cock, secretary general of the International Rafting Federation, wrote in an email. “Highlights are the massive volumes of water in huge rapids creating big hits and down times. [That’s] unusual because, although it is so big, it is also very forgiving. There are very few fatalities since the start of rafting there, considering the huge numbers who go down there.”
Few fatalities. I like that.
My son Jeff and I went rafting in August on the first day of the low season. High season runs January through July. When the river is not too dangerous to raft in high season, outfitters still avoid the first 10 to 13 rapids, depending on the water level. We chose an ideal time to tackle the nastiest, most gut-wrenching rapids that the Zambezi had to offer.
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Rivers are rated from Class I to Class VI, with the highest classification too dangerous to run commercially. The Class V Zambezi features rapids with names scary enough for a heavy metal band, such as the Devil’s Toilet Bowl, Gnashing Jaws of Death and the Overland Truck Eater. (For comparison, the Youghiogheny River in Fayette County boasts Dimple Rock, a Class III or IV rapid depending upon water level.)
The most remarkable aspect of a Zambezi River trip is the setting. We embarked at the bottom of Victoria Falls, one of the seven natural wonders of the world. I have rafted from Maine to Alaska; the Apurimac River, source of the mighty Amazon in Peru; four rivers in Nepal with the Himalayas for a backdrop; a man-made course off the Danube where the Slovak national kayak team trains; and down the rain-forested Tully River in Australia. With the possible exception of rafting in the Himalayas, no setting quite matches the majesty of Victoria Falls.
Victoria Falls plunges 360 feet at its highest point — about twice as high as Niagara. As I stepped precariously down a metal staircase so steep that it seemed at times more like a ladder, I could appreciate the name that the natives have given the falls — Mosi-oa-Tunya, “the smoke that thunders.”
The mist rises about a quarter mile above the falls, which crash like an orchestra of cymbals.
Our group broke up into two rafts — a paddle boat and an oar boat. We rode with a young man from Korea, two young Welsh women, a guide in training and Philani Moyo, our guide and the owner of Shockwave Adventures. Mr. Moyo, nicknamed MD for “Master of Disaster,” assigned Jeff and me to the oar boat with Jeff in the bow and me in front of the guide in the stern — presumably so that he could better keep an eye on the codger.
Mr. Moyo has been rafting the Zambezi for 21 years but says he’s never bored.
His most unusual experience: A passenger fell out of the raft. When he pulled her back in, the Zambezi kept her pants as a souvenir.
The Zambezi forms the border here between Zimbabwe and Zambia. At the bottom of the falls, the river zigzags through a series of chasms before entering the magnificent Batoka Gorge.
I soon grasped how the Zambezi, deceptively placid above the falls, unleashes such a wild ride below. Unlike most fast American rivers, there are few rock hazards in this section of the Zambezi. Its power comes from Victoria Falls squeezing a 1.1-mile-wide curtain of water into a narrow gorge only a couple hundred feet wide. During the high season, anything floating below the falls must look as if it were being shot from a water cannon.
Our first rapid is the Boiling Pot. The bodies of hippos, crocodiles and other unlucky creatures sometimes swirl here after inadvertently tumbling down the falls. We did not see the remains of any unfortunates that day.
Later, we saw a 4-foot crocodile basking on a rock and a black-faced vervet monkey playing on the shore. Mr. Moyo explained that this croc probably fell over the cascade as a baby and survived. Because of the nearly sheer walls and the danger of falling over the falls, there is little wildlife in the gorge except fish and birds and monkeys and baboons.
We passed a snake-shaped painting of the river god in the gorge. Mr. Moyo said Bushmen may have painted it thousands of years ago.
We rafted through five to 10 rapids rated as high as Class V and portaged over potholed rocks around a Class VI rapid. Aptly named Commercial Suicide, it was a foamy white streak of terror as long as a football field.
“As far as the water and the waves go, the rivers we’ve been on previously are like Kennywood, and the Zambezi waves are like Disney World,” Jeff said. “It’s like Charley, our 80-pound dog, jumping into my lap.”
We rafted through more than 25 rapids in about 15 miles. Riding a wave train and getting bashed by a wall of water gave me a real rush of adrenalin.
Our raft dropped nearly 18 feet into a 12-foot wave at Stairway to Heaven. Soon came Gulliver’s Travel, the most technical rapid, with 30 to 45 seconds of whitewater. The guide steered us between some rocks, angled right, straightened the boat and plowed into the waves.
In the afternoon, the raft approached two rapids named the Three Sisters and the Mother, the latter a Class V with a series of 12-to-14-foot tall waves. Mr. Moyo taunted the Mother as if it were alive.
“We’re not scared of you, Mother,” he said. “Hey, Mama, I kissed your daughter last night.”
We successfully negotiated Double Trouble. But behind us, a big wave lifted the paddle boat and spilled its occupants into the river. We rescued one passenger, and the other swimmers returned to their raft.
We had conquered all the rapids without our raft flipping or a passenger falling overboard. Our tense muscles relaxed. Our alertness waned. Suddenly the raft lurched, and five passengers, including Jeff and me, were dumped unceremoniously into the river.
Our guide accepted responsibility. He didn’t want his clients to come all this way without a chance to enjoy a swim in the Zambezi.
And he was right.
“I finished my bucket list with Philani,” I told the outfitter’s videographer. “Had an unexpected splash at the end.
”Tasted the Zambezi — it would make great beer.”
Bill Zlatos is a Pittsburgh-based freelance writer: billzlatos@gmail.com.
First Published: December 27, 2015, 5:00 a.m.
