Excerpt from Tornado Alley Fever

Tornado Alley Fever, the third installment in my series, is working its way toward completion. Here's a scene from a whitewater trip that our main character is on...


Nothing in Sixth Weather Squadron prepared me for this pell-mell rush down a wild river. Nothing in Army Combat Diving prepared me for the tornadic torrents of water. Swimming a half-mile in the surf off Coronado Island in California did nothing to prepare me for the Middle Fork.

Outwardly, Chris could not tell a thing. I am glad he could not hear my heart pounding or my lungs straining to capture more fresh air.

“You’ve logged in another five miles!” Chris yells. “Get ready for the last biggee on Day One: Pistol Creek Rapids. Ben calls it Russian Roulette—you don’t know which chamber is going to get you.”

Sufficiently forewarned, I began running the famous Pistol Creek Rapids with heightened awareness and a quick prayer. It doesn’t matter.

“Stay away from the inside!”

We accelerate into a lower S curve, Chris’ warning dissipating in the swirling waters. I jump into the oar to guard against striking a house boulder on my near left. I head straight into the three huge rocks looming in midstream on the right, but remain in the middle of the S curve. I crank the oar blade madly to the right for forty feet and then madly to the left, so I can ultimately sail parallel to the homicidal granite obstructions. I steer for the outside—as if I want to kill myself on those huge raft-killers—but at the last minute, the main current catches me and sharply sweeps me laterally left. Feeling like I might pass out, on a parallel course, I shoot past the Pistol Creek rocks going by my near right shoulder.