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The trip to New York and the move.
Though it wasn't often enough for my adventurous spirit, I tread in some of the most dangerous waters and falls this nation has to offer. Never once, had there ever been an incident, either. Well, other than a few scrapes and bruises.
Barkley Expedition loved me for keeping their insurance rates down, and they were good to me by requiring a guarantee from all male customers: that no one comes in contact with any other male within four days of departure. This ensured we had no bluedick incidents.
Prior to working at B.E., I did the same kind of work, but as an intern for a two-bit vacation company out of Wyoming. I witnessed, on several occasions, how someone stricken with bluedick interrupted things during an expedition. That two-bit company always sent a girl with every expedition, to be available if needed, rather than ensuring it would never happen in the first place.
Most of my tours were weighted with more males than females, but my latest one was all men, six of them. A Class V journey (finally!!), with over forty miles of rough and fast waters. It had been some time since I did a challenging tour, and these guys were experienced.
I introduced myself when the six men met with me at the preparation location. "Hi, I'm Pauline Simms," I said. "I may look small in stature, but I'm big on experience. I promise, if you follow my instructions, everything will go smoothly."
"Hi, Miss Simms," said one of the larger men. "I'm Keith Henry. We spoke on the phone. The boys from Watershed raved about you."
Watershed was a small IT company, consisting of a group of guys that got together annually, to drink hard and raft soft. They were always a hoot, but not near as adventurous a tour as these men were going on.
I explained to everyone that they could all call me "Paula", as I got the rest of their names. They all seemed physically fit, mid 30s to early 40s, wealthy divorcees. I discovered half of them worked for the same trading firm, and the others were in closely related fields. I could already tell, I liked the personalities from Watershed better. These guys seemed a bit cocksure and bloated. Still, I was ready for a hard run.
Not this kind of hard, though.
By the time we arrived at the water and got set up, we only had about three hours of rafting. This part of the trip was the easiest. An enjoyable coast over smooth waters. There was a landing spot, near a rocky beach, where we would camp for the night, and prepare for a much harder and longer journey the following day.
I, being the only woman in the group, brought my own tent, while the men shared two between them. The group was more boring than offensive, I discovered. Of course, after a couple beers, a few of them made inappropriate comments about my curvy body, but I was well used to that from these kinds of groups. They knew there would be no drinking the next day, so I let them have their fun, anyway.
It was bound to happen. The agreement our male customers make has always used the honor system. It's simple: don't physically touch any other male, over a four-day period, prior to our departure. It's like following instructions on not eating prior to having surgery. It's inconvenient, but easily achievable. Apparently, not this time around. One of them had broken that promise. Otherwise, he would have known he had the virus before we left. The incubation phase only lasts two or three days.
After a good night's sleep, and eager for the hard run, I was packing up my tent when the leader of the group came running to me. "Miss Simms, Miss Simms, there's been an emergency!" Keith yelled.
Instantly, my reflexes took over, hours and hours of training kicking in place. I always keep a first aid kit on hand and snatched it up, before turning to the man. "Where? Let's go!"
"It's Chuck Wendell.