After an epic series of grunts and profanities, it happened. Our bus was finally gaining traction in the sand and on its way home from where it dropped us. We were at the put-in of the Karnali River, in Nepal. It had taken us a day and a half of bumping around in the back of that rickety bus to reach this remote Himalayan waterway that’s only run 10 times a year.
The 21-day trip would be the final exam in the first year of the Adventure Guide program at Thompson Rivers University. The program is one of the most thorough job interviews around—instructors have two whole years to watch a student’s performance on wilderness trips and whitewater to determine whether they’re a good fit for guiding.
In the year leading up to the trip, I’d been pushed so hard that the territory outside my comfort zone was starting to feel like home. Nepal took everything to the next level; it was our longest trip yet and in an utterly unfamiliar setting.
Though my 10 classmates and I had swapped gum-stained desks and true or false questions for kayaks and high-volume class IV whitewater, this was definitely still an exam.
The river’s first test came almost immediately. Sitting in an eddy by the first rapid, taking in the mountainous Nepalese landscape, my nerves went haywire. It only took one unexpected surge to send me into the water. Sheepish and annoyed, I dragged my kayak to shore, blaming the jet lag, the new boat and the days of rattling around in the back of a bus.
The learning continued through the untouched jungle of the Karnali. Eddy hopping was no longer just for scouting lines. It was the quickest way to reach shore for emergency bathroom breaks that couldn’t wait until the end of a rapid—the intestinal turmoil of international travel followed us all through the biggest whitewater of our lives.
Camping was a whole other adventure. The banks were dotted with villages and within 20 minutes of setting up a tent the entire youth population of the nearest village was standing outside, their smiles as mischievous as their intentions, as they waited for any opportunity to investigate our belongings. Armed with a Nepali vocabulary of only ‘hello’ and ‘thank you,’ the rancid smell emanating from my gear was my only defense.
As the trip went on, I realized the challenges we continually encountered were perfect guide training tests—they inspired reflection on whether or not I was prepared for a life on the river. If I wanted to translate my passion for paddling into a career, I would have to get used to this stream of ever-changing challenges.
As we paddled back to the bus, three weeks and 113 miles later, the familiar relief of passing an exam washed over me, but this time it was different. For me, completing this test meant that the challenges of the Karnali River would be the first of many. CODY NYSTROM
This article was first published in the Spring 2014 issue of Rapid Magazine. 
