Bruised but Invigorated

I always thought sledging meant something that was done at a cricket match, not something done in rapidly moving and freezing water. But this was before I visited Rotorua in New Zealand’s north island. Nor did I know what Rotorua was pronounced closer to hot-to-roo-a or that the smell would be so overwhelming (to the point where I was woken in the night by a bad smell of sulphur). It was with some trepidation I arrived at the white water rafting and sledging headquarters of Kaitiaki. Sledging is like white water rafting but without a boat and only a body board type contraption to be used like a kickboard. My travel companion and I walked up to the counter apprehensive of our ability to not drown or seriously hurt ourselves, I pictured the front page of the local newspaper proclaiming ‘tourist drowned in extreme sport’. Our confidence was further shattered when the receptionist told us that sledging was harder than she expected and too hard for her.
We donned ill-fitting wetsuits, flippers, life jackets and even more ill-fitting helmets and piled into a mini-van to head to the river. A safety briefing followed warning us of the dangers of eel mating season (may have been a Kiwi joke), the importance of stopping after each rapid to learn how best to tackle the next and how to roll safely without ending under the water like an upside-down turtle.
After the 10 minute walk to the beginning of the rapids in full gear with a 10 kilo board I was ready to call it a day. But an hour of flying uncontrollably down rapids and almost dying on more than one occasion was to follow. We each took turns diving into the (did I say freezing?) water and demonstrating our ability to roll completely over.
My fear of eels (during mating season mistaking my wetsuit covered leg for a mate) and either drowning or getting stuck in a whirlpool kept me alert and alarmed for much of the hour. Each rapid was tackled as a group with our team of Kiwi’s ensuring that we were heading in the right direction and not about to be pulled underwater or get whisked off downstream by a current we couldn’t see. It was all thoroughly invigorating and terrifying at the same time.
By the end I was exhausted and couldn’t paddle my feet any faster. My arms were aching and I was full of adrenaline. And it wasn’t until I headed home that I discovered a rather spectacular collection of bruises up the back of my arms from hitting the board as I came over the rapids which I didn't notice getting at the time. Given my travel buddy did not have these – it may have had something to do with my questionable technique.