Breakdowns to River Sends: A Journey of Unlikely Friendships & Self-Discovery

By: Tash Orellanos

The week before the rafting trip began, I was traveling through Colorado, scoping out possible towns to move to in the coming years while feeling the itch more and more to break out of the bubble that is my hometown of Miami. Admittedly, some things went awry in Colorado (to put it lightly), and I was left alone, panicking, and for the first time, breaking down in tears to my mother on the phone, who was over 1,000 miles away. I couldn't even begin to fathom how the next coming days would be some of the most cherished in my life.

I arrived in Utah two days before the rafting trip commenced, with plans to meet up with fellow scholarship recipients Leo and Kasia, total strangers. Our plans would be to camp out and hike for two days before meeting the rest of the group. This would be the second time I'd bring myself into close sleeping quarters with people I had never met. By nature, I'm quite the l paranoiac who always has a Plan A, B, C, and D for all possible outcomes. But having new-to-me companions after what felt like a downward spiral in Colorado truly was exactly what I needed. 

I broke down so I could start anew. 

The drive from Salt Lake City Airport to Dinosaur National Monument is not exactly a stone's throw away, but it gave me time to reflect on how I wanted to approach this trip. I had been dreaming of it for months since receiving the phone call from The Summit Scholarship. I decided to leave behind the mess and start with a clean slate.

Before this adventure, I had only camped twice. It showed in my restless itch to find a real shower and in my hesitation to lay in a seemingly flimsy tent, so easily penetrable by far too many predators (mostly made up in my mind). I was already becoming worried about how I would react once we were camping with everybody else on the rafting trip. I took baby steps with the support of Leo and Kasia, for whom I'm grateful, and by the second night, when we finally met all the other trip members, my worries had begun to fade. I could feel a little bit of social anxiety creeping up as we played an Icebreaker game of Where The Wind Blows, not seeing many ways I could find myself relating to these people. Boy, oh boy, was I wrong. 

Two other trip-goers, Isaac and Joel, opened up their hotel room so we could use their shower. I guess I reeked not only of pungency but of desperation, and they were so graceful as to host us and lend a bit of comfort to me. For that, I am grateful. 

Now, onto Day 1 of the actual rafting trip. I found solace in bonding over my father's birthplace, Bolivia, during the drive to the launching site when I learned that T (who is The Venture Out Project’s Volunteer Coordinator and also a fellow trip-goer) had visited. They spoke so eloquently about the country's beauty, and it gave me something to grasp onto, an opportunity to rebuke my doubts on whether I could fit into the group of people who seemed too cool for me. We all began to ramble off about our own passions to one another, and suddenly, we were all friends. Maybe I was enough to be a part of this group.

Once the rafts hit the water, there was an opportunity for two people to jump onto the inflatable kayaks, which were so perfectly dubbed as duckies. Still unsure if I fit in with the people who rode in the other van, I decided to play it safe from a distance and observe, from the ducky, of course. I paddled in between rafts, picking up conversations here and there, but was undeniably intrigued with our guide Em's facts about the landscape we found ourselves in. As they spoke, I found myself trying to paddle closer and closer to pick up on every itty bitty detail but not trying to look desperate, as silly as it was.

The river is a mystical place, not only bringing strangers closer together but also bringing one's self closer to oneself. I found tranquility and childlike joy from the simplicities of getting splashed by the cold water, listening to the birds singing, and the breeze that rang through my ears. I felt that I was right where I needed to be, and the social anxiety dissipated. We all deserved a place in these canyons. 

Once we made camp for the first night, we had dinner that was more yummy than I expected and company that made me feel more welcome by the second. We all sat in a circle, and Perry (The Venture Out Project’s Executive Director) had us go into detail about what we expected from the trip. For the sake of confidentiality, let's just say we had the privilege to show our guts to one another. I had the honor to speak among other trans folks about things we have all experienced/are experiencing, something that I'd never had before. Surely, I have opened up to close friends, but these people sitting in a circle with me have lived through what I have lived/am currently living. 

I felt validated in more ways than one. I felt heard. I felt seen. It was a first for me. 

It wasn't until I retired to my tent for the night that I allowed tears to roll down my face and really began to process what a blessing this trip had already turned out to be. The following days felt like months in the best way, and these once strangers now felt like my village as we continued building off each other’s joy and goofiness. I can't remember a time when I laughed with such abandon with people I didn’t know just days prior.

I think it's necessary to panic about your life here and there to really value it. And yes, I definitely panicked and valued my life on this trip. A quick example: There was a large boulder that sat in the middle of the river in front of our second campsite, which offered relief from the current as an eddy formed behind it. However, it didn't quite register in my mind the first time I attempted to reach the boulder and completely missed, nervously swimming upstream in retribution. There was a moment when I thought the current had claimed me, and it reminded me that we are simply subjects to the raw power of Pachamama, or Mother Nature. I was having fun and, in that, was momentarily blinded to the possible dangers of the beautiful place we were temporarily calling home. Of course, in retrospect, the guides would've probably scooped me up easily, but it was an eye-opener nonetheless. It reinstated an integral respect I had for the outdoors. That said, I kept at it relentlessly afterward, but the experience never left my mind. It was probably my favorite part of the whole trip, feeling (but not really being) close to death and coming out more alive than ever. I managed to climb the boulder a handful of times, first with the help of my friends and later on my own. It was sweet, sweet bliss, solving the problem with grit and support from the others.

One thing I still struggled with was not having a real shower. My neuroticism was poking through, wiping off every grain of sand possible, compulsively thinking about the next time I could be fully ridding my body of dirt, but as a previous Summit Scholarship recipient wrote in their blog, "sometimes allowing yourself to be dirty is, in fact, the kindest thing you can do for your body." Once I could let go of that irrational pursuit of maintaining cleanliness, I felt free. I felt closer to nature and, thus, myself. I felt at peace. What really did it for me was once I had just finished my second river bath and was calculating every move to put on a clean pair of underwear without soaking or dirtying it, and not a second after poking my second foot through the hole, I lost my balance and fell back into the river. I couldn't help but laugh at myself, at how silly my strive for being clean and dry out in the wild was. I just started splashing the water around me, breaking down the barriers in my mind that did not serve me. I couldn't have been more happy at that moment.

I have to give appreciation to our guides, Abby, Drake, Em, and Justin, who were not only knowledgeable and professional within the bounds of their job but also exceeded my expectations in connecting with the entire group. It was easy to connect with them, as they were in their mid-20s, and the majority of the group was, too, but they went above and beyond by allowing themselves to be their goofiest. My favorite interaction with them, albeit more indirect, was the one night they solely communicated in meows to cook dinner. And let me tell you, they committed to the bit, Abby in particular. Of course, it was Abby's idea in the first place, but man, the determination was like no other. Despite only having meows as a unit of measurement for cooking for the whole group, the dinner came out, “meow, meow, meoooww.” Apologies if you don't speak the language.

All in all, because I could certainly keep going on and on about this trip, it was like nothing I have ever encountered, and I am still trying to adjust to regular life after such a life-altering experience. I could not properly express my gratitude to The Venture Out Project (Perry and T specifically) and The Summit Scholarship Foundation for allowing me this unforgettable opportunity. 

The feeling of community that I received from every single person on that trip goes unmatched, and I only hope that I gave community back to them as well. They reminded me of the importance of my place in the world, of my goals for my life, and of who I truly am and what I am worthy of. 

I plan on keeping in touch with The Venture Out Project now that I know of their existence and hope to pay it forward as a future volunteer with them! Thank you, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart.