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2. Rafting in the Cascades
A true story about confronting sexism
I was guiding a group of men on a two-day white water rafting
trip on the Upper Klamath River near the Oregon border. This
wild, isolated section of the Klamath slices through the rugged
Cascade Mountains of southern Oregon and northern California.
With its unparalleled wilderness beauty and over 30 major
rapids including Hells Corner Gorge, it is one of the west's
finest Class IV-V river trips. I’ve included a paragraph
from one of the rafting company’s brochures below.
This is a challenging river run. Paddling class IV or
V rapids is an athletic event and a team activity that requires
a prolonged, strenuous effort. You must be physically fit,
have good stamina and be a competent swimmer. A distinguishing
characteristic of Hell's Corner Canyon is its old west flavor:
High buttes crown the canyon rims. Abandoned settler's cabins
are visible on the banks. We float past lava caves once used
by Native Americans, and toward the end of the run antique
log bridges span the river. This place has remained unchanged
since covered wagons creaked nearby along the Oregon Trail
in the 1800's.
Our run started with a five-mile section of easy water (class
II & III) and then entered the gorge for about 8 miles.
Approaching the gorge the river disappears from the horizon,
dropping into Caldera, a boulder-choked chute of solid white
water. This is was serious rafting consisting of lots of class
IV rapids and a number of class IV+ becoming V at higher water
levels. The names of the rapids are indicative of the respect
the guides have for them such as, Caldera, Satan’s Gate,
Hell’s Corner, Branding Iron, Dragon's Teeth, Snag Island
Falls, Ambush, Scar Face and Ole’ Bushwaker.
My group consisted of 11 men aged between thirty and fifty.
My helper was a competent young guide called ‘E’
who had not guided a commercial trip on this river before.
I’d kept him close to me as we negotiated the tricky
class IV+ rapids in the gorge. It turned out that we had a
very successful run through the gorge and even played a significant
part in a rescue involving two other rafts. One of the other
boats had flipped and several participants were injured. After
the rescue I took several of the injured in my boat and placed
two of my strongest paddlers in each of the weaker boats with
instructions to ‘follow my lines’ in the gorge.
Although I’d had a lot of experience in the gorge and
ran it regularly throughout summer, I was quite tense about
the situation. I’d lost four good paddlers and replaced
them with two injured passengers. The men I placed in the
other rafts had extensive rafting experience so I told them
to steer the boats from the front since the guides were struggling
in the bigger water. Consequently we had all experienced the
level of bonding which occurs in some danger sport activities.
I could not have been happier with the performance of the
men I’d put in the other boats. They had done well and
followed my lines perfectly!
As we drifted on the calm waters leading to our pullout
we were happy, tired and content. This was rafting and companionship
at its best! At the pullout we transferred the injured paddlers
and said goodbye to the other rafts. For them it was mostly
easy water for the remainder of their trip. Our group would
be meeting our driver to be transported back to the head of
Hell’s Corner Gorge where we would camp the night. In
the morning we would run it again, this time as paddle boats
without oar assist. I would be using a guide paddle and would
not have as much control in big water but would have to rely
more upon the paddling ability of the crew. This was a both
a reward and acknowledgement of their excellent assistance
in the gorge.
After a short wait we met our driver and began the slow climbing
trip back to our campsite. As we prepared the evening meal
there was a lot of boisterous boasting and story telling as
the men recaptured the excitement of the gorge. I remember
thinking what a great day it was and how much I loved my job
as raft guide. What a surprise I was in for! After a while
I noticed that the men had launched into serious drinking.
As I listened to their joking it dawned on me that this was
a stag trip! They were here to celebrate the impending wedding
of one of their members. Soon the evening activities became
debased and crude. They passed around pictures of women engaged
in degrading sex acts and other sorts of porn. The jokes had
a demeaning sexist tone to them. I felt uncomfortable and
wanted to remove myself from the group, but was obliged to
stay until I had fed them all.
Like any group of men at a ‘stag’ party they
wanted to include me in their activities. They kept pouring
me drinks and laughingly implied my ‘Aussie image’
would be reduced if I refused to join them. This was very
hard for me. I had got a lot of mileage from my ‘Aussie”
image; it had opened many doors for me in America. Also I
liked the men; we had shared danger together and had been
generous in the rescue of the other rafters. Any refusal on
my behalf to join would also brand me an outcast, a ‘wus’.
My heart pounded as I realised I was up against that old male
tribal thinking which said “We’ll accept you,
protect you, but now you must do as we do, you will not go
against the traditions, you must follow the rules of the tribe.”
I checked in with myself and decided to talk to them. Summonsing
all my courage I told them that since I did gender awareness
work in the schools and with men in the wider community, I
could not condone this behaviour. I knew that demeaning sexist
behaviour ultimately supports sexual assault and other forms
of violence against women. I explained how this tore at me
since I liked them as a group and wanted them to enjoy their
rafting trip. I suggested they have fun and celebrate the
impending marriages without having to demean women. By this
time they had downed a number of hard drinks so my speech
was appeared futile. Some of them indicated I was being a
spoilsport! Unfortunately E, the young guide joined in with
them, but I could hardly blame him! He had neither the maturity
nor the education and understanding to do otherwise, he was
just being one of the boys.
As soon dinner was over I moved my bedding up river out of
earshot from the group. I’d rather be amongst the bears
than be involved with the debauchery but I had the usual sick
feeling in my gut when I heard women being degraded. It reminded
me of my of my youth in rural Australia when I’d had
to choose between supporting women and any aspects associated
with the feminine or being included in the dominant male group.
When I’d tried to resist the group I’d been teased
but if I went along with them I felt dirty and in betrayal
of the women I loved. As I sat on my bedroll I felt alone
and sombre in contrast to the laughter floating up the valley
from the ‘party’. I took a deep breath and tried
to let the bad taste leave my body. I rolled back and laid
there looking up at the stars trying to connect with nature
and to calm the confusion I felt. Eventually I began to feel
grounded and fell asleep to the sounds of river and the animals
of the night.
I was in camp early the next morning to get a strong brew
of coffee going. We had some very serious rapids to run and
I did not want any of the group to be hung over. They needed
to be fit and alert. The men filtered down to breakfast one
by one but surprisingly appeared bright and energetic. These
guys were obviously conditioned to solid drinking sessions.
After hash browns and pancakes I went down to prepare the
rafts. I was shocked when I saw that both rafts had a life-size
blow up doll lashed to their bows. Oars and paddles had been
crudely shoved into any orifice and the effect was grotesque.
I was in shock. I had hoped the evening’s activities
would be forgotten. I normally loved the mornings on the river.
It was my quiet time, a time to connect with nature and prepare
for the day.
I really had no choice, another showdown was imminent. I
gathered the men who were giggling like schoolkids. E was
carried along by their antics and was not much help to me
as I made my stand. I asked that they remove the blow-ups
and stated again that I was not happy at the disrespect to
women. I suggested that these attitudes might be carried into
their marriages. One man argued vehemently against me. He
was the Vietnamese son of an American GI. He had in the past,
led some of the group on trips to Vietnam where they visited
prostitution houses. Last night I’d heard them laughing
and boasting about what they’d done to women on their
last trip.
We faced off, I was alone and some of them were large strong
men. I wondered where this might end. I told them that once
again I was compromised. I had to walk my talk on sexist issues
and yet that was hard because I felt bonded to them. There
was some nasty arguing mostly led by the brothel trip leader.
Eventually I insisted that if the blow-ups were not removed
the trip would end there and we would all have to walk out.
I did not like making a stand like this at all and wondered
how it might affect our rafting ability if we got on the river.
Eventually the men agreed and we spent the next hour working
hard to break camp and tie everything into the rafts. They
were muttering amongst themselves and I felt I was the butt
of their joking. I was confused and felt leaden. I had little
energy! Camp is usually a serene environment. Our trestle
tables are set up facing the river and it is common to see
bears feeding in the evening and early morning, while we prepared
our meals. It was all I could do to focus on the task ahead.
My fingers fumbled and it was clear that the events had affected
me deeply. I asked E to double-check everything I did so that
our safety was not jeopardised.
I breathed a sigh of relief as we pushed off into the current.
I could focus on being a river guide again. We all had a chance
for a new start; in fact it was necessary to put our problems
aside and be present to the rapids ahead. The next moment
took me by surprise. Four of the six men in my boat turned
to me, looked me in the eye and thanked me for having the
courage to make a stand as I had. They explained they had
wives, sisters and women they loved at home, that they also
felt compromised by the group behaviour. Individually they
had struggled with breaking male traditions, upsetting their
friends or spoiling the fun!
I was astounded! I wondered if the majority of men in the
other raft felt the same way. I guess I’ll never know!
Copyright by Pip Cornall. This is a
true story and may be used with permission from the author
to further violence prevention work against women. It shows
the difficulty men experience when they confront their peers
and illustrates the code of silence concerning entrenched
male behaviours.
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