Big Drop III
I acted like I’d rowed that section of the canyon hundreds of times. I wasn’t sure if my passengers could see through me, but I kept up the facade all the same. My heart was pounding as the water calmed into the next large eddy, and I pulled my boat to shore. I tied off, then climbed hands and feet over the massive boulders to the scouting spot. We had stopped just above Big Drop III, and Steve’s warning voice echoed in my mind from the warehouse yard, make sure to stop above the third one.
It was September, and summer was coming to an end. The months of sun had darkened my shoulders and freckled the backs of my hands. It would be much later that I would invest in sunglasses that would protect my eyes, and I spent the day squinting in the sun and spray from the rapids. My hands were blistered, but I wouldn’t realize until after the rapids were over and I had found a spot on the back of the flotilla in the shade of the sun-beat red rock.
The first time I had ever sat on a rubber raft was four months prior, and my eyes stayed wide with every bump and turn. I warned my boss that I was a poor swimmer, and he brushed it off. I eventually learned that anyone can swim with a life jacket strapped around their torso, but that didn’t keep me from paying the river my complete respect. These waves are stronger than man power could ever be. Learning to row meant learning how to use the currents to my advantage. John Wesley Powell had gone through this section of the Colorado River in 1869, but his boats were wooden and fragile, unlike our thick rubber rafts. He also had one arm. I had no excuse.
As I stood there with my fellow river guides, my excitement about getting through the first twenty-two rapids without flipping my raft nearly matched the adrenaline I had for what was to come. There were four first-year guides in our group, but only two row boats. Historically, the boys were always given the row boats. They’re stronger and can make last minute pulls on the oars if they need to, I was told. I argued that if I was careful to read the water, I wouldn’t need any last minute pulls. Tommy, our trip lead, was hesitant but finally surrendered to my and Sarah’s confidence. Sarah was admittedly stronger than I was, and as soon as the idea was conceived, she dug in her heels, committing to row. The boys were happy to hand the oars over to us – they knew they’d have plenty of opportunities to row when they returned the following year. We were grateful. Back when Steve, the owner of the company, started as a guide, no girls would even get to see this canyon, let alone row it. He eventually dismissed Sarah and me, assuming Tommy would have plenty of time to talk us out of it before the rapids came.
The night before, I laid awake, repeating the rapids in my head. Left then right on 5 to avoid the massive hole, straight through the wave train 10, just avoid the rocks through the maze of 13, 14, and 15. If the other guides hadn’t sensed my fear on the first three days we motored ever closer to the rapids, my rolling all night revealed everything. In place of sleep, I reviewed every turn and rock I could remember: Big Drop I is just a wave train, Big Drop II has a few hard pulls after Marker rock, and don’t forget about the line of rocks below. And then there’s Big Drop III.
I found a spot overlooking the river and watched as the water poured through the boulder field. I had three girls and their leader on my boat, waiting for a few more splashes, and definitely lunch. If I rowed the next few rapids like I had rowed the first few, they'd get just that, without the slightest consideration of the danger of the canyon, nor an understanding of why I feared the river so. They were from a Colorado ski town school district, and they explained that for most of them, this wasn’t their first choice of trips, but so far it hadn’t been as bad as they had expected. Most knew nothing but wealth, being only fifteen years old, and having lived in the same town their whole lives. At the time, their nicer-than-mine outdoor gear was strapped into the back of my raft, but I’d be retrieving it from the dumpster on the boat ramp at the end of the week. One of them told me she had seven bathrooms in her house, and guaranteed, the metal bucket used for bowel movements was an unwelcome surprise. Thankfully, it was day four, and the trip’s end was in sight.
I found my footing on the rocks, and clutched my life jacket straps, doing my best to ignore how my hands were trembling. My eyes followed the line the older guides pointed out: find the lapper wave, line up diagonally, pull a few gentle strokes back as the water pushes you forward, hold, hold, hold, then PUSH HARD, swing the back of the boat perpendicular to the drop, and plummet into the chute. I watched the water slam through the rocks, praying my raft would find its way into that narrow line. I mentally repeated the line on my way back to my raft, stopping every few yards to check back for the lapper wave, making sure it was still there. I stumbled on the loose rocks as my heart pounded in my chest, unsteadying me. As I coiled the bow line, I joked with my passengers, faking my confidence, and knotted the rope.
As I climbed aboard and situated myself, I checked both oars: locked in. I floated in the eddy for a minute longer, watched the boat ahead of me pull out, then started a slow, steady row backwards. One, two strokes back, assessing my surroundings. Three, pushing my hair out of my face. Four, five, six, using my legs to pull, assisting my arms in their rowing debut. I took a deep breath as I continued back, back, back. The passengers were safely situated, holding to the rope as I had instructed. They were talking amongst themselves, but I didn’t hear a word. We had reached the middle of the river. My eyes left the lapper wave for just a moment. I could only see calm water ahead, with a few large boulders jutting up on either side, but the sound of thrashing water painted enough of a visual. I checked back at the small lapper wave, pulled back to stay in line, and waited. The water seemed to slow into a frightening calm. The front left tube neared the lapper wave. I stopped breathing, all shakiness gone, clutching the oars with all the strength I had.
I stood up. Hold... hold... I pulled the oars up and back… and NOW. I pushed with all I had, swinging the tail of the boat in line, and yanked my oars into the boat. The nose of the raft dropped, swung left hard, then back right, boulders slamming us on either side. I braced and watched the girls in my boat scream in surprise, although I couldn’t hear them above the water engulfing us. As the raft swung perpendicular to the river, I saw several guides on the rocks above me, whooping and swinging their arms. The water sprayed us from all directions. I let out the air I had been holding into a full-diaphragmed yell.
A perfect run, straight into the chute.
I laughed in disbelief. The boat rocked as I scanned the water below. I let my oars fall back into place and pulled away from boulders speckling the river. My heart was still pounding, but I had broken into a wide smile. I pulled to the side of the river to watch anxiously as Sarah’s boat came into view. She pushed hard, and repeated my run - clean movements, and following the line we had been shown. I shouted towards her, celebrating our success and sisterhood. We had joined John Wesley Powell, hundreds of individuals, and yet very few women, in a clean run through Big Drop III.
The final boats pushed through, and my heart eventually slowed. We rowed easily through the last several miles, and I reveled in the joy of big, safe waves. Although my needs for the day were satisfied, those of my passengers were not. We pulled off at the next sandy beach to break out lunch.
The rest of the day was pure reward: sun pouring down on my shoulders, a cold drink, and a nap as the engine roared in the back of the re-strapped flotilla. That night, after dinner had been served and dishes had been washed on the river bank, I rolled out my sleeping pad. In the warmth of the deep canyon walls, I took my habitual inventory of the constellations. A full night’s sleep was to follow, but not before mentally repeating that same, clean line through Big Drop III. This time, it was mine.
That night Steve got a report from the satellite phone: Clean runs by all. Little did he know, there were girls behind the oars.
Shakespeare and the Power of Perspective
“The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light. But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness. If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness!” (King James Bible, Matt. 6:22-23). This biblical passage has warned mankind for centuries; men are driven by their focus, whether for good or for bad. A viewpoint on something negative can make the positive fall to the wayside. Shakespeare emphasizes the power of perspective through several of his transformative characters.
Macbeth began his story confidently and with appropriate optimism and vision. His hard-earned ministry in the kingdom gave him assurance in each higher position he acquired. We first meet Macbeth following his acquisition of yet another title, the title of Cawdor. King Duncan declared, “Go, pronounce his present death, / And with his former title greet Macbeth” (1.2.74-76). Though pleased to gain power and wealth, Macbeth still showed balanced control and poise. He scoffed at the initial idea of immediate gain of which the witches suggest.
“This supernatural soliciting
Cannot be ill, cannot be good…
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs” (1.3.143-145, 147-149).
Although he recognized the eeriness of the situation, his skepticism and well-rounded view did not last long. The witches' prophecies and predictions seeped into his mentality. His confidence became curiosity then determination as he began his downhill trajectory. He focused only on the possibilities of the future; greed overwhelmed his everyday, and he began to demand gain, even at the highest of costs, to reach his idealized future. Darkness ensued until agency was no longer exercised— Macbeth was convinced that he was destined to reign. The entire tragedy of Macbeth can be attributed to his disillusionment of reality.
In just one scene following his first nonchalant reaction, he began to ponder on how he could fulfill the predictions of the witches. Even from the start of his great tumble, Macbeth recognized in himself the darkness that began to envelop him. He cried,
“The Prince of Cumberland! That is a step
On which I must fall down or else o’erleap,
For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires;
Let not light see my black and deep desires” (1.4.55-58).
Macbeth lost all humanity as greed overtook him, for the prince became nothing but a roadblock on his way to kingship. His eye was focused on one negative point alone, which led him to loathing and violence. The bible warns of this blinding determination: “He that hateth his brother is in darkness, and walketh in darkness, and knoweth not whither he goeth, because that darkness hath blinded his eyes” (1 John 2:11). Alarmingly, Macbeth lost all situational awareness, and everything else became irrelevant. Coleridge explains, “He who wishes a temporal end for itself, does in truth will the means; and hence the danger of indulging fancies” (236). Macbeth did just that— his end goal crippled the processes of getting there safely. As a result, his trusted associates disappeared and his perspective narrowed. Surely Macbeth’s eye was focused on evil, and he was filled with clouded darkness, to the point of self-sabotage and eventual death.
These fatalistic views are often demanding and condemning. We see these patterns reflected in Lear’s ministry. In preparation to divide his kingdom, he requested an outpouring of superficial love from his offspring— a strait expectation without room for error. He, too, recognized the darkness in his demands. He declared, “We shall express our darker purpose.— / Give me the map there” (1.1.36-37). Once again, self-reflection was not sufficient for Shakespeare’s lead to reconsider his path. Lear knew darkness enveloped his actions. Though this realization may have caused him to pause, the stage direction does not show any evidence. He continued immediately: “Which of you shall we say doth love us most, / That we our largest bounty may extend” (1.1.51-52). From the first scene, it is clear that Lear needed a wider frame of reference. Goddard explains clearly, “Lear, at the beginning of the play… is a victim, to the point of incipient madness, of his arrogance, his anger, his vanity, and his pride” (533). Lear was concentrated entirely on dark attributes: greed and validation.
Only those who can transform their views from greed to gratitude, from entitlement to abundance, will find themselves content with life— not because their circumstances change, but because their focus does. Both scarcity and abundance exist globally, it is simply a matter of which mankind chooses to anchor themselves to. Though these dark feelings were unbalanced and detrimental for Lear, his focuses were not yet concrete. In fact, the subsequent scenes follow him through his transition from vision of loss, to a renewed and optimistic perspective that provided strength and stability.
Lear is not the only character who wrestles with perspective. Contrasting attitudes are displayed between Gloucester and his son Edgar. Gloucester, ignorant of what good the future could hold, attempted suicide, “O you mighty gods! / This world I do renounce, and in your sights / Shake patiently my great affliction off” (4.6.34-36). He was nearsighted in his perspectives, but by allowing him to jump, Edgar convinced his father, “Thy life’s a miracle” (4.6.55). Certainly Edgar was not in a better worldly position, clothed in rags, claiming only what the streets had to offer. However, he had the ability to appreciate the good in the past and use it to fuel his future hopes.
Following his survival, Gloucester’s dejected perspective remained. He moaned, “No further, sir; a man may rot even here” (5.2.8). Edgar replied, “What, in ill thoughts again? Men must endure” (5.2.9). Gloucester lacked vision, for his eyes and optimism were previously ripped away. However, his son sustained him, guiding him through warzones, both literally and figuratively. Edgar encouraged, “Ripeness is all. Come on” (5.2.11). While beneath the shade of the same foliage as his son, Gloucester finally recognized that if rot and ripeness can coexist in nature, the same must be true for humanity. In a moment of introspection he declared, as if almost to himself, “And that's true too” (5.2.12). Edgar showed Gloucester the importance of reflecting on the past. By looking back at all the good we have experienced, our determination can be renewed.
This is proven true beyond literature. During the second world war, racism for the Japanese reached an all time high in the United States, and over 100,000 Japanese Americans were placed in internment camps. Forced to leave their homes and belongings and live on meager plots of land, these citizens faced complete segregation from their white counterparts. However, when the U.S. military asked for additional soldiers, it was the 442nd Regimental Combat Team that stood up: a team made up of entirely Japanese Americans. Their poor treatment did not dissuade 18,000 young men from defending their country. Their loyalty did not stem from their current circumstances, rather they were able to reflect on their past experiences to reignite the love for their country. Their determination would go on to make them the most decorated military unit in the history of the United States, despite the then-current discrimination they faced (“Going For Broke”). They held to hope by relying on previous positivity.
Lear’s views were not so well-rounded. Though he surely had good in his past, he did not use it to fuel his future. Rather, Lear’s trajectory only improved as he was kicked from the cushioned life of the kingdom. His perspectives were challenged, and his new humbling circumstances allowed him to reflect and reevaluate. He discovered the “poor naked wretches, wheresoe’er [they] are, / That bide the pelting of [the] pitiless storm” (3.4.28-29). He began to understand want, a desire that made him realize the abundance he once had. He realized he was human. “The rain came to wet me once and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding… They told me I was everything. ‘Tis a lie: I am not ague-proof” (4.6.100-105). His suffering in the harsh elements and his aging frailty left him with eyes wide open to realize the comfortable and blessed life he once lived. He was required to develop a more resolute standing and the will-power to continue. Perhaps inspired by the warmth he once knew, Lear cried, “Pour on; I will endure” (3.4.18). Indeed, looking back with gratitude can elicit determination and hope to move forward.
This is not to say looking back is always beneficial. Several generations have yearned for the past “Golden Age.” Oxford Languages deems the Golden Age as “an idyllic, often imaginary past time of peace, prosperity, and happiness” (Proffitt). This golden age mentality is counterproductive. Yearning for something that never existed, or can no longer exist, does not motivate. Instead it slows progress and stunts growth. Yet mankind continues to look back. Often yesterday is safe, for life is understood retrospectively. However, human development and the evolution of time do not allow the luxury of past-living. Macbeth knows all too well: “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow / Creeps in this petty pace from day to day” (5.5.22-23). Inevitably, life will continue. Creaky old joints remind each elder of their “those days,” however, looking back is only valuable if it inspires future progress. Backwards romanticization merely retards growth.
The future can be romanticized as well. As I rode my bicycle home weeks ago, I found myself enveloped in the typical blueprints of “tomorrow,” visualizing my life months and years ahead, when suddenly I realized I had spent my morning learning from brilliant professors, passing time with close friends, and running several miles with ease— no nine to five, no weighty business or family decisions weighing on me. I realized the need to refresh my own perspective: Life is good here, today, right now! Like Macbeth and Lear, I became avoidant of the “now.” Macbeth’s forward view was extremely constricted, with no recognition of those around him or the consequences of his glory. For Lear, the future blinded him from the genuine love of his daughter and the already rich circumstances in which he currently lived, and in my case, the magnificence of the present was lost in the questions of tomorrow. Though it is common to yearn for somewhere we are not, these focuses can hinder us.
Rather than idealizing the past or the future, it is vital to accept the present circumstances and recognize the power of individual agency going forward. We are not due to a fatalistic end to which Macbeth surrendered, and the future is not hopeless like Gloucester assumed. Both of them lacked optimism and understanding that present decisions can affect the outcomes ahead. Suzanne McLaren and Pralhad Adhikari studied hope among older adults dealing with suicidal ideation. As they interviewed these individuals, they came to the conclusion that hope and higher perceived agency correlated with reduced suicidal ideation. Believing they had more control of their outcomes brought strength to move ahead, regardless of the desperation of their circumstances. Recognizing the responsibility in our future brings resilience.
Often, the actions of others can awaken us to this recognition, as in Shakespeare’s As You Like It. Expecting violence, but receiving none, Orlando stopped, surprised at Duke Senior’s warmth: “Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you. / I thought that all things had been savage here” (2.7.111-112). He sheathed his sword, apologized, and held a civil conversation with his new comrades. Orlando’s newness to the wilderness caused him to be on high defense, yet Duke Senior taught that a kind gesture could be the difference between savagery and civilization and that the world is not as catastrophic as it often seems. For Lear and Macbeth, their perception of the world determined the extent of their tragedy.
When Lear awakened to his daughter, surprised at his surroundings, he started back in his rigid thinking: “If you have poison for me, I will drink it.” (4.7.72). He recognized his faults, but immediately assumed his impending condemnation. However, Cordelia’s merciful reply taught the king that his fate was not set in stone. Indeed, she who was exiled for her demonstration of agency became a tutor to King Lear. “No cause, no cause” she replied (4.7.75). Lear finally began to understand: between failure and success lies grace and forgiveness. “You must bear with me. / Pray you now, forget, and forgive. I am old and foolish” (4.7.83-84). With a refreshed vantage point, Lear was able to alter his course. Though both considered tragedies, Lear’s conclusion was hardly grim in respect to Macbeth’s.
Alarmingly, Macbeth did not falter in his downward trajectory, and his closest companion, Lady Macbeth, only spurred him further towards ruin through her own darkness. She breathed, “Come, you spirits / And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full / Of direst cruelty” (1.5.47, 49-50). There was no Cordelia or Duke Senior to shatter his pessimistic mindset, nor Edgar to discourage his fatalistic thinking. Instead, he sought out the witches when in doubt, and he pleaded for answers: “Answer me” (4.1.52). “But one word more—” (4.1.84-85). He did not recognize his inability for satiation: “Yet my heart / Throbs to know...” (4.1.114-115). “Let me know!” (4.1.120). These internal anxieties condemned Macbeth. His obsession over what might happen overshadowed his ability to choose. In his finale Macbeth despaired, “Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player / That struts and frets his hour upon the stage / And then is heard no more” (5.5.22-29). He viewed his experiences simply as a predetermined plot, and this belief led to his demise.
In King Lear, however, Edgar continued forward in a course opposing Macbeth’s. He persevered with hope, despite the woes he faced. After a long journey together with his father, Edgar declared:
“His flawed heart—
Alack, too weak the conflict to support—
’Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,
Burst smilingly” (5.3.194-197).
Gloucester, although weighed down by the trials of mortality, found joy in the final moments of his life. Edgar and his father both recognized that holding grief was necessary. The hope they held did not excuse the sorrows they had faced. Edgar said, “Into a madman’s rags, t’assume a semblance / That very dogs disdained, and in this habit / Met I my father with his bleeding rings” (5.3.85-87). Despite these bleak circumstances, Edgar found balance. His father died with optimism, allowing Edgar to conclude the play in peace.
Lear also concluded mourning a death, that of his Cordelia. Although ending in sorrow, this finale is not a plain tragedy. Its complexity derives from the growth Lear made; the genuine love and healing of forgiveness is clear as he yearned for the very daughter he banished: “She’s gone forever.— / Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha!” (5.3.269). He no longer demanded validation, power, or a carefree retirement. Instead, he recognized the beauty of the past and realized his own role in his present and future circumstances. Even his colleagues sensed the change in King Lear. The Duke of Albany, who once gained from Lear’s madness, renewed his trust and declared, “For us, we will resign / During the life of this old majesty / To him our absolute power” (5.3.96-98). Light was restored to the king’s tearful eyes. Lear’s finale is that of grief, but also significant growth.
Perspective is invaluable, and Shakespeare’s works emphasize this point. Lear’s transformation proves that by looking back with gratitude then pushing forward with responsibility, we can finish in a better place than we started. Gloucester’s experiences teach that we cannot simply disregard the pain and difficulty of mortality, but having a hopeful perspective can offset the heaviness and hurt. Macbeth demonstrated how time will march forward for all mankind, but Orlando learned what Macbeth lacked: the world is not so rigid and merciless as we often perceive. Indeed, we are not destined to one final end— it is our vision that will determine our outcomes. The future is destined for detriment only if we view the past as preferable and the future as fatalistic, without the emphasis of agency. Edgar was right. In a seemingly rotting world, perhaps it really is as simple as looking to the next branch for ripeness.
Works Cited
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor. “Macbeth.” Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Notes and Lectures, E. Howell, Liverpool, 1881, p. 236.
Goddard, Harold Clarke. “King Lear.” The Meaning of Shakespeare, Phoenix Books/University of Chicago Press, Chicago, IL, 1960, p. 533.
“Going for Broke: The 442nd Regimental Combat Team” The National WWII Museum | New Orleans, The National World War II Museum, 24 Sept. 2020, www.nationalww2museum.org/war/articles/442nd-regimental-combat-team.
McLaren, Suzanne, and Pralhad Adhikari. “Hope and Suicidal Ideation Among Older Adults Living in the Rural Mid-Hills of Nepal.” Clinical gerontologist, 1-15. 26 Oct. 2023, doi:10.1080/07317115.2023.2274049
Proffitt, Michael. “Meaning and Use: The Golden Age.” Oxford Languages, oed.com/dictionary/ golden-age_n?tab=meaning_and_use-paywall#1261768850
Shakespeare, William. As You Like It. The Folger Library, 1997.
Shakespeare, William. King Lear. Penguin Books, 1972.
Shakespeare, William. Macbeth. The Folger Library, 2013.
The Bible. Authorized King James Version, Oxford UP, 1998.