How I Accidentally Said “Yes” to White-Water Rafting Hells Canyon - Snake River
How It All Began - Famous Last Words
It started innocently enough. Brett’s friend Jason D’Arcy, the charming best man from our wedding, and his equally lovely wife, Whitney, suggested a group vacation. “Let us plan it!” they said. I naively responded, “Okay, I’m in.”
Then came those terrifying words, “White-water rafting and camping.”
I immediately shifted gears. “Nope, absolutely not. I’m OUT.”
But Whitney, the sweetest soul alive, knew exactly what buttons to push. “It’s basically glamping! The guides do all the rowing and cooking. And Jo, the food is supposed to be fantastic.” She had me at, “Food.”
I googled the expedition company, Hells Canyon Raft, and the rave reviews about their gourmet meals won me over.
I wavered for a second, but...
Good food? ✔️ Check.
Less work? ✔️ Check.
After Brett booked flights and paid the deposit, reality sank in.
No electricity?
No Wi-Fi?
No showers?
No idea why I agreed to this?
And I’d have to do my business in a porta-potty? Panic set in.
But there was no backing out now.
Arrival in Cambridge, Idaho • Dinner for Six, and One Entrepreneurial Dog
On June 16th, Brett and I boarded our flight in Fort Lauderdale, meeting Jason and Whitney in Atlanta before jetting off to Boise, Idaho. There, we linked up with Brenda and Mark, who, as expert campers, looked way too excited for comfort. My anxiety spiked immediately.
From Boise, we piled into a shuttle for a two-hour drive to Cambridge, Idaho, population - 353 humans and one extremely business-savvy dog named Buck (we'll talk about Buck later). Our shuttle driver, Khareem, casually mentioned he was originally from Afghanistan. When we asked him why, of all places, he chose to move to Idaho fourteen years ago, he replied cheerfully, "Because Idaho’s scenery reminds me so much of Afghanistan." Wait!! Hold up... You mean I'm about to go camping in Afghanistan’s doppelgänger? No Way!
Ohhhhhhh....but we did.
Dinner that night was at Li’s Chinese Restaurant in Cambridge; owned and operated by a one-man show named Mr. Li. Seriously, Mr. Li seated us, took our orders, cooked our dinners, and served us. We were literally the only customers there. That should've been a warning sign, right? But the quality of food was actually authentic (remember I'm half Chinese) and it was tasty.
Mid-bite into our surprisingly delicious General Tso’s chicken, Mark dropped a casual bombshell.
“Oh, by the way,” he said with alarming calmness, “there are no porta-potties. Just a bucket with a toilet seat called a Groover.”
I laughed nervously, waiting for someone to tell me it was a joke. Mark wasn’t laughing. “He’s messing with me, right?” Nope. He was dead serious. I sat there, chicken in midair, realizing that in less than 24 hours I'd be squatting over a glorified bucket in the wilderness. Heaven help me.
After dinner, I needed a distraction, so we headed to "The Office," a cool little bar in the middle of town. That's where we met Buck - a sweet-faced dog who’d perfected the art of hustle. He’d casually trot up to your table, sit politely, and stare at you until you forked over a bill. Didn't matter if it was $1 or $20 - Buck wasn’t picky. He’d gently take the cash in his teeth, deliver it straight to the bartender, and exchange it for a doggy-treat. Within minutes, Buck hustled me out of five crisp dollar bills. Honestly, I admired his entrepreneurial spirit.
That night, we checked into the
Frontier Motel. Let's pause right here and emphasize the M. It was a MOTEL, folks - not a HOTEL. It definitely wasn’t the Marriott, but hey, it was clean and charmingly retro, and the staff was incredibly nice. At least it was one last night in civilization, complete with porcelain toilets, hot showers, and absolutely no buckets in sight.
Day 1: Rapids, Tears, and the Groover Revelation
The next morning, the expedition team pulled up to the Frontier Motel at 7 AM sharp, armed with hot coffee, breakfast, and waterproof bags for our belongings. Another two-hour drive later (because apparently, Idaho adventures require LOTS of driving), we finally reached our launching spot on the Snake River in Hell’s Canyon - the deepest gorge in North America, dramatically spanning Idaho, Oregon, and Washington.
The scenery? Absolutely breathtaking.
The rapids? Exhilarating…okay, fine, terrifying.
Brett was the first casualty, promptly going overboard into the rapids, while I attempted kayaking just long enough to realize it was definitely not my hidden talent.
But the real drama unfolded when we arrived at our first campsite. Our tents were already set up (shoutout to whoever arranged my cot - I can’t easily rise from ground level due to past injuries - so I didn't have to sleep on the ground... oh lucky me <tongue-in-cheek>). Then reality hit - Mark wasn’t pulling my leg about the bathroom situation. There was actually no porta-potty… just the, now-infamous, "Groover," a bucket with a toilet seat, strategically placed in the great outdoors, offering a scenic, open-air restroom experience.
I can’t believe Mark was right. I stared at the bucket in disbelief, felt my heart sink, and let's just say that night ended in tears. Actual tears.
But Brett, my sweet but slightly delusional husband, whispered reassuringly in his sleep, “We’re totally out of our element, but this is good for us, honey.” Deep down, I knew he wasn't wrong but, at that precise moment, paddling back upstream (bucket-free) sounded like a far better plan.
Day 2: Dish Soap Baths and Wi-Fi Withdrawal
When we arrived at the new day-two campsite, our tents were set up in a fresh, picturesque spot, which meant sleeping, and grooving, in an entirely new location. Renee set up her satellite connection to check in with her husband and three other kids she left back home in Houston. Tempted as I was to dive into emails, I resisted, knowing full well my track record - I’ve worked through a massive-stroke in a Seattle hospital (laptop open, recruiting candidates for clients) and heart failure in Detroit (in the hospital bed, writing a full consulting plan). Give me a Wi-Fi connection, and I’d turn this peaceful river-raft into my floating office.
Instead, Brett and I braved a freezing river bath, proudly using our biodegradable soap - only to discover it was also designed as shampoo, body wash, and dish soap. You read that right - I bathed with dish soap.
Glamorous? No.
Effective? Surprisingly, yes.
Dinner, however, was fresh tacos - nothing short of incredible. Five stars for the tacos, three cautious stars for the dish-soap bath, and zero stars for the groover.
Day 3: Finally Enjoying My New Normal
By day three, something unexpected happened - I was actually having fun. The people made all the difference:
- Jason & Whitney - supportive, kind, funny, and endlessly encouraging; they had me laughing through my trauma.
- Brenda & Mark - expert campers who practically coached me through outdoor survival.
- Renee & Noah - a tough-as-nails doctor from Houston and her sweet 12-year-old son, making precious mom-son memories.
- The Storm Family - Sarah (dog & cat veterinarian), Jason (large-animal veterinarian & farmer), and their teenage sons Mason and Jackson - kayak prodigies catching fish left and right. (Mason caught a five-foot sturgeon, while I cheered from the sidelines with exactly zero fish of my own.)
Sarah patiently taught me how to fish (which was incredibly sweet of her), and both she and her husband, Jason were so encouraging the entire trip. I laughed a ton and finally admitted to myself - these camping addicts might just be onto something. I mean, we were camping with four incredibly intelligent and successful women who absolutely loved the great outdoors. Clearly, there HAD to be something glorious about this camping gig!
It reminded me of those moments in business when I stubbornly resisted a new strategy or technology, convinced it wasn’t "for me" - only to discover later that opening my mind was exactly what my business needed to level-up. Maybe embracing camping is just another lesson in embracing bold, new ideas - sometimes you’ve got to drop the skepticism and reel in the unexpected wins.
Day 4: Beachside Cots, Midnight Rain, and Porcelain Dreams
Night three, we slept on a beautiful beach framed by mountains (imagine sleeping in a postcard). However, my cot had other plans - it collapsed halfway through the night, leaving me propped awkwardly at a 45-degree angle with my feet touching the tent floor. Every gust of wind felt like someone gently tapping my feet…oddly comforting yet slightly creepy.
As if my awkward cot-yoga wasn't enough midnight excitement, the heavens decided to open up, unleashing a surprise rainstorm. Our guides sprang into action faster than a NASCAR pit crew, swiftly covering our tents with rain fly sheets, ensuring we stayed cozy and dry. Honestly, Hells Canyon Raft's hospitality was beyond impressive. These guides anticipated our every need - whether it was overhearing Brenda casually mention she'd love peanut butter and honey on her bagel (and magically delivering it moments later), or performing this midnight rain rescue. Hospitality on steroids is an understatement for this excursion company.
But, despite this five-star wilderness service, by morning, I was more than ready to reunite with porcelain toilets and hot showers. Thankfully, Brett had brilliantly scheduled a couples massage once we returned home. Seriously, Brett - total genius move.
Life Lessons from Rapids, Groovers, and Dreaming Again
On our last day, we all sat around at the table sharing the highlights of the trip. Most people were all about the rapids, the fishing, or the incredible food. For me? Easy - it was the enforced Wi-Fi detox. No emails, no texts, no LinkedIn notifications.
I honestly had no clue how badly I needed to disconnect until I literally had no choice. Stepping outside your comfort zone isn’t just good - it's necessary. (Especially when your comfort zone includes 24/7 access to Wi-Fi.)
But it went way deeper than just putting my phone away. Without constant digital distractions, I could genuinely focus on being present - laughing around campfires, marveling at the stars (seriously, who knew there were THAT many stars?!), truly tasting those amazing meals, and embracing new friendships. Instead of glancing at my phone every five minutes, I watched eagles casually soaring overhead, listened to the roaring river, and felt more alive than I have in years. Who knew disconnecting would actually help me reconnect with myself?
All this reminded me of David Goggins, the retired Navy SEAL turned ultramarathon runner, who's famous for preaching about embracing discomfort to push yourself forward. In his book
Can't Hurt Me (which is seriously phenomenal - go read it!), Goggins famously says,
"Get comfortable being uncomfortable."
After surviving the Groover and four Wi-Fi-free days in the wilderness, I think I finally get what he meant.
And something else totally unexpected happened - after seven solid years of ZERO dreams (seriously, I was starting to think my brain just quit that function altogether), I started dreaming again. From the second night in Hells Canyon onward, every night brought vivid dreams. I don't know if it was the fresh air, the lack of screens, or that bucket in the woods (please God, not the bucket) but, something about this trip reawakened my brain's dream factory. Who knew camping came with hidden perks?
First-World Re-entry Shock (AKA - Send Help & More Tacos)
Today, back at my desk, I'm faced with over 500 emails, hundreds of texts, a deluge of LinkedIn messages, and 12 back-to-back meetings on day one alone. Clearly, I need another vacation just to recover from my vacation.
But here's the kicker - as horrifying as the Groover initially was (and trust me, it was horrifying), and as much as I spent months dreading every moment leading up to this trip, I'd absolutely, without hesitation, I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
Maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome setting in (let's call it "Groover Syndrome"), or maybe there really is something magical about stepping outside your comfort zone - even if it means bathing with dish soap and being politely mugged by a dog named Buck.
So, if you're reading this and debating an adventure that's totally out of your comfort zone - DO IT. Pack your courage, your biodegradable shampoo/dish soap, and definitely some extra cash for Buck the adorable canine con artist. Trust me, it’s worth every moment.
And if you want to go the extra mile and smuggle in a porcelain toilet, I won’t judge. In fact, call me - I'll help you carry it.
Now, excuse me while I go handle these emails (or start planning my next escape - shh, don’t tell my calendar).
With Grace, Grit & Newly Discovered Camping Skills,
Jo
