This is the way I remember it. The year was 1975. The starting point was Austin, Texas. The destination was a tube ride down the Guadalupe River at Gruene, near New Braunfels. Only one of the four of us had tubed the river before, and I can speak only for myself—I hadn’t had any conversations with someone who had warned of danger. We were blissfully ignorant that sunny, cool early spring day as we set out in oversized inner tubes attached to plywood, none of us wearing life vests.
Pretty quickly we encountered small rapids that bounced us easily past them, buoying our spirits. We laughed and joked. It’s been a long time since that day. I guess we had at least a little retrieve of fairly calm water, maybe even another tease where the water bumped us along. There had been a lot of rain. Soon, the scene changed. It happened so quickly that all I could register was white fright as I saw myself quickly approaching rapids that I knew, even in my non-experience, were dangerous. Quickly I was pulled into the vortex, and before I knew it, my tube had flipped, and I was under it, swallowing water so fast as to take away my breath. I was being hammered, held captive, working against myself. A poor, inexperienced swimmer to begin with—although that might not have made a difference—I struggled to keep my head above water.
Suddenly I was free of the tube, shooting down the river and still taking in water. I had no doubt that I would die. The thought that raced through my mind—“we wonder how our end will come, and this is my end”. I gave into it. Almost as quickly the water calmed, although I continued to be carried rapidly on my back. I tried to catch hold of limbs hanging over the river, but all I accomplished was to strip leaves from the branches. Now I wasn’t ready to give up. Suddenly, the waters became peaceful, and I was able to make my way to the bank. I reached for a limb that held and struggled out of the water. When I tried to stand, my legs simply would have none of it. Somehow, my friends were there, but on both sides of the river. Someone helped me up. There was much laughter as they recounted the experience with the rapids. One of the friends, who was visiting from Ft. Worth, lost his spectacles, on which he counted for everything. All I could think about was how close I had come to death.
I was changed forever that day. I don’t remember my experience being any big deal to anyone. Later I did tell my parents, who lived northwest of Houston. My mother was a born worrier, but I don’t remember anything exceptional about her response. I’ve recounted that experience on the Guadalupe a few times over the years. Shortly after it happened, our group of innocents discovered that the river was particularly treacherous that day, according to experts, and we also learned that drownings on the river were not unheard of. The last time I told about my experience I was participating in team training for Episcopal Cursillo. We had been asked to tell about an experience where we had felt especially close to Christ. My day on the Guadalupe came to mind, but not because I knew that day that Christ was watching over me. What I did know and accept was the reality that I would die, that I might be aware of it as I was dying, and that I would accept it peacefully. I knew God that day on the river, and I felt safe.
River Experience—Normangee, Texas (February 7, 2008)
R. Harold Hollis
Pretty quickly we encountered small rapids that bounced us easily past them, buoying our spirits. We laughed and joked. It’s been a long time since that day. I guess we had at least a little retrieve of fairly calm water, maybe even another tease where the water bumped us along. There had been a lot of rain. Soon, the scene changed. It happened so quickly that all I could register was white fright as I saw myself quickly approaching rapids that I knew, even in my non-experience, were dangerous. Quickly I was pulled into the vortex, and before I knew it, my tube had flipped, and I was under it, swallowing water so fast as to take away my breath. I was being hammered, held captive, working against myself. A poor, inexperienced swimmer to begin with—although that might not have made a difference—I struggled to keep my head above water.
Suddenly I was free of the tube, shooting down the river and still taking in water. I had no doubt that I would die. The thought that raced through my mind—“we wonder how our end will come, and this is my end”. I gave into it. Almost as quickly the water calmed, although I continued to be carried rapidly on my back. I tried to catch hold of limbs hanging over the river, but all I accomplished was to strip leaves from the branches. Now I wasn’t ready to give up. Suddenly, the waters became peaceful, and I was able to make my way to the bank. I reached for a limb that held and struggled out of the water. When I tried to stand, my legs simply would have none of it. Somehow, my friends were there, but on both sides of the river. Someone helped me up. There was much laughter as they recounted the experience with the rapids. One of the friends, who was visiting from Ft. Worth, lost his spectacles, on which he counted for everything. All I could think about was how close I had come to death.
I was changed forever that day. I don’t remember my experience being any big deal to anyone. Later I did tell my parents, who lived northwest of Houston. My mother was a born worrier, but I don’t remember anything exceptional about her response. I’ve recounted that experience on the Guadalupe a few times over the years. Shortly after it happened, our group of innocents discovered that the river was particularly treacherous that day, according to experts, and we also learned that drownings on the river were not unheard of. The last time I told about my experience I was participating in team training for Episcopal Cursillo. We had been asked to tell about an experience where we had felt especially close to Christ. My day on the Guadalupe came to mind, but not because I knew that day that Christ was watching over me. What I did know and accept was the reality that I would die, that I might be aware of it as I was dying, and that I would accept it peacefully. I knew God that day on the river, and I felt safe.
River Experience—Normangee, Texas (February 7, 2008)
R. Harold Hollis
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