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I was sucked under the black waters for what seemed an eternity. I could feel the pressure in my ears, my nose, the sockets of my eyes. My chest was bursting. Then once more an invisible hand plucked me out of the current and, just in time, drew me to the surface. I lifted my head, gasped for air — a lot of air — before I would be pulled back under. Far behind me I could see the mountain of rock receding. I couldn't believe it. I had passed it. But how? I didn't feel any pain. No, I was uninjured. It was a miracle.

The raft was in front of me not far away. The logs had become loosened from one another. I managed to climb up onto what was left of it. The leather straps were torn, and I had nothing to cling to. I knew that I had to get to the life raft. I mustn't lose the life pack, I couldn't survive without it.

I jumped into the water, and two strokes brought me to the life raft. Again I crashed into the stone walls of the canyon; only now I no longer had a wide, solid raft to protect me. The life raft was small and narrow. Every blow lifted it half out of the water. Once again I rammed into a rock, injuring my knee, but much worse than that, the precious life pack came loose and fell into the water. I grabbed hold of it just as it was about to float away, but it was heavy, and I was afraid that it would drown me. I tied the waist belt to one of the logs and hoped that it would hold. But I was wrong. One more knock, one more dive over a fall, and the precious pack was bobbing behind