By Chris Oliver
The Sun Kosi river in Nepal or, "River of Gold", is rated one of the top ten kayaking river trips in the world. It rises near Shisha Pangma in Tibet and runs eastwards, draining the highest mountains in the world before emerging on the plains of India, where it joins the Ganges.
My journey was of 270 kilometres through some of Nepal's remotest regions, past pristine beaches, in surprisingly warm water and with the thrill of huge, challenging Himalayan whitewater.
The majority of the rapids were grade III/IV pool-drops with great surfing and hole riding. Ten of us paddled the river, escorted by two rafts and Nepalese safety kayakers. The group were old friends but the age ranged from 36 to 64 years – and two possessed bus passes. The age of the silver adventurer has arrived.
A good Eskimo roll was a prerequisite for this river. We took ten days paddling and the rapids had names like alcoholic shots or perhaps horror movies: No Exit, Meatgrinder, High Anxiety, Hakapur I and III, Jaws, Jungle Corridor, Big Dipper and El Wasto. The Sun Kosi is joined by many other rivers and doubles in volume as each new river joins.
One river is the Dudh Kosi, which drains Everest. I rolled at least half a dozen times in anger after being knocked over by five-metre waves, was twice sucked out of my kayak in huge boils, but was back-looped end over end just once. Huge standing waves and giant holes separate you between the Himalayas and the northern plains of India. After the confluence of the Tamur and Arun, the foothills dramatically and suddenly give way to flatlands of the Terai and the take-out point, Chatra.
My kayaking has been a journey through life. I started aged eight in the boy scouts, and got into long-distance and sprint competition, even paddling for the British team as a schoolboy. A short period at national slalom division two, then global whitewater expeditions to North America, Eastern Europe and India. Then some kayak coaching, spending the summer teaching in America and even one summer teaching on a nudist colony in France. Kayaking has jostled with my career, has fought for time with my roles as surgeon, husband, father, being on college council and recently chairing the membership in surgery exams.
After a ten-year break due to morbid obesity and a laparoscopic gastric band, my kayaking career resumed with a whitewater paddle in Bhutan two years ago and then the mighty Sun Kosi in Nepal in autumn 2010. I wondered if the gap would affect me, but – surprisingly – kayaking was still hard-wired, like riding a bike. The impetus to roll when upsidedown was fortunately still a brainstem reaction.
Fun in whitewater kayaking comes from the risk and danger of a committing river. The Sun Kosi is said to have the flows of all the rivers of Scotland in one river all at once, the volume is humungous. It’s dealing with the risk and consequences that thrills me. Now the children have left home and I have an empty nest, it's back to the risk-taking. I always did, so why stop now?
If there were no consequences to getting smashed on a hard whitewater river then it would not mean so much. Like surgery, fast-moving water commits you to making anticipatory good decisions: sink or swim, if not you get stuck in a hydraulic stopper wave or you are out of your boat gasping for air. It’s a delicate interplay between skills, complex decision-making and the enormous power of the river rapids. I had never paddled a river with such enormous flow.
At age 51, why do these crazy sports? Perhaps the reason is the river charges you up, reformats the neural hard disk and makes you perhaps a better person. A person’s passion may be worth its weight in gold. Being focused on the moment stays with you forever.
Mental mindfulness on a whitewater river is an utter inspiration to full engagement, very much like performing a successful surgical operation. Once started, there is no way out: you have to finish. Like performing surgery to your limit, it can be very exciting.
Then you try to apply the philosophy to everything you can off the river. I’ve found that as intense and meaningful as whitewater paddling may be, never mind how important kayaking is as your adventure sport, and no matter how far you push your skills, the hardest things you’ll ever do won’t be on the river. I’ve pushed myself very, very hard over the last three years since my bariatric surgery: qualifying as a rescue scuba diver, cycling Land’s End to John O’ Groats, competing in sprint triathlons, pedalling 100 miles in a day on a bike.
The hardest things I’ve ever done, however, weren’t on whitewater. They were being a busy trauma surgeon in the NHS, being a parent and coping with my mother dying and my father becoming hopelessly demented. Those are the hardest things I’ve ever done. The kayaking just helps.
– Chris Oliver is a consultant trauma orthopaedic surgeon at the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh. Read his blog..
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