One of the favorite things I have done in the past was white water rafting. First time was on the American River in N.CA, early Spring, circa early 80's, when the water is running fast and high. No, I was never in charge, always went with an experienced guide. Seven person paddle boats, guide in back and the other six of us humping and responding to his loud commands while in the rapids. It was a weekend, seasonal thing. Had to work and pay the rent the rest of the time.
The second time out, the raft flipped in Haystack Rapids, and all of us went into the water, cold mountain snow run off! We were instructed before, if such happens, (and we were wearing life jackets), just point your feet down river so you can kick yourself off the rocks with your feet. We also all wore "sneakers" of some sort, not with bare feet. I still remember swallowing a lot of water!
What I loved about it was that it felt like it mirrored my soul. There would be beautiful and serene lulls, as the broad river moved swiftly, but without bounce, and one could just stretch out and look up, at the hawks, and the eagles, and the river banks and mountains beyond, and the blue sky, the amazing stillness and soft motions of wilderness. All of us would be quiet, just enjoying such serenity, even maybe a bit dozing off.
Then ahead, we would hear a sound, the sound of water, and it would soon get louder and louder, as that serene and placid river began to enter a narrow and steep canyon. It was time to put our life jackets back on, pick up our paddles, and get ready for what was about to happen. And it was often just plain downright insane crazy, the adrenaline pumping, and I would find myself laughing, the amazing experience of figuring out how to manoeuvre a suddenly madly crazed river that seemingly wanted to consume us all!