Chuck had recently adopted what many at the time considered a way-outside-the-box technique; but one that I found elegantly seductive. It required almost no paddling, and consisted of centering oneself in the current and floating passively-without forward momentum, sometimes backward-into the heart of the maw, come what may: dancing with the waves, weirs, widow-makers, tubes, holes, cataracts, rocks, and whatever the river threw in one's path, while dynamically responding to shifting conditions and adjusting one's angle for best advantage. The prospect was nerve-wracking, but I was stoked.

Except for the occasional floating tree, and Chuck's insistence that we "have fun" dropping into and surfing reversals, our first half-day was uneventful-until we arrived at "The Falls." Not an exceedingly difficult run-it has a steep and narrow, but straight slot at far right-the approach to the Falls is complicated by a gnarly rapid immediately upstream: the "Pre-Falls". Blow the run above, and disaster awaited below.

Scouting both rapids from a respectable distance upstream on the right bank, we discovered that the river, at this water level, had changed. Unable to contain the volume of water in its banks, the Verde had cut a new channel on the right, creating two channels divided by an island. However, that new channel was useless. Clogged with rocks and obstructed by strainers, it was impassable.

To make things worse, there was no way to row the raft left from our scouting vantage point to avoid the new channel, then right for the run through the pre-Falls rapid, and then even farther right to catch a tiny eddy in order to set up for the Falls' slot. So we decided to line and portage through the verges of the new right-hand channel-a task marginally superior to lugging a loaded palanquin over greasy dragon's teeth. It was then that we first saw the Deliverance Boys on the opposite bank, upstream.

There were four of them, in two canoes, with cowboy hats-about all we could make out at that distance, but enough to trigger warning alarms. Shouting, waving, and gesturing for them to stop finally got their attention. They pulled over. Although the opposite bank was steep, it was safe and passable for a carry past both rapids. The right shore-where we were-though gentler, dead-ended in a cliff below the Falls' downstream turbulence and upwellings. A nearly impossible portage.

Wrestling our hippo over the river's edge's obstacles, we paid the canoers no more attention. Our plan was to plop the raft into the tiny eddy above the Falls and then run the slot. After portaging the raft, Chuck and I went back to our kayaks to run the pre-Falls rapid-luckily, without a hitch. We caught the eddy where the raft was parked and decided Chuck would run the Fall's slot first-to provide rescue for the raft in case of a mishap. Norton nearly panicked. This was his first serious run piloting a raft. A courage pep-talk from Chuck steeled him.

Perfect runs all around. Regrouping at the outwash below the Falls, we met up with the canoers as they were completing their portage. We got a good look at them and their outfit- all spic-and-span, navy surplus duffel bags, orange crates, guns and all.