“Okay, over the side all of you and swim the first rapid”.

With a wet-suit, neoprene boots, crash-hat and life jacket on it was all I could do to imitate a Penguin as I bobbed merrily through the first rapid that, thankfully, was a grade one.

An hour ago I had been in the warmth of a Queenstown restaurant, now I was struggling to re-board the raft from the Kawarau river that was registering a mere two degrees water temperature. It was fast dawning on me that this was no Sunday-afternoon cruise, on this ride you’re crew and whether the boat over turns or not is dependent on how hard you follow the River Guide’s, instructions. Our attention was fully held as Glen’s safety-speech had begun with:

“Do as I say and you won’t die. “
Sixty minutes later we had cut our teeth on a series of grade two and three rapids. On route passing beneath the peaks of the Southern Alps and ancient suspension bridges leftover from the Gold Rush of the last century now used for bungee jumping. The Chinese Dogleg grade five rapid was looming around the next bend. This is New Zealand's longest-commercially-rafted stretch of white water and the crux of trip. Glen was scoring top marks bringing us to the point of sheer fear with torturous-tails of what a grade-five rapid could do to a human body.
Sounding like an express train approaching it was audible before it was visible growing louder as the river ran faster. The din crescendo’d as it came into view and the calm surface seemingly boiled, transforming itself into a violent maelstrom of corkscrewing white-water.
My own survival instinct was telling me to get down into the bottom of the boat but Glenn bellowed for me to get back up and keep paddling.

“Paddle for death”, Glenn bellowed from the rear. The only defence against the river was to dig in the paddles and attack, accelerating the boat towards the malevolent foam. Hitting the first wave the boat nose-dived into a trough only to be confronted with a second wall of water that towered over the raft and its crew, the prow riding the wave at full speed pitched the raft vertically giving me a view of the sky.

What goes up must come down but not necessarily together as the raft dropped away and I followed it down in what seemed like an eternity later but must have been micro-seconds to land in a undignified heap in the bottom of the boat. All I could do then was hang on while the raft teetered between staying upright and flipping the crew into the malevolent torrent. For four hundred metres we fought the elements any fear turning itself into pure adrenaline when finally the river suddenly calmed and a chorus of nervous laughter over powered the sound of the retreating river.

Half day and full day trips with Extreme Green rafting from NZ$69.