Rafting (Where I'm from Imitation)

I am from T-grips,
   from NRS and neoprene.
I am from the pump shed.
   (Dank, broiling hot.
    It smelled of mildew.)
I am from the slick-rock algae,
   the pervasive moss,
   the tree limb strainers
   that beckon with death.
I'm from swim beer and throw ropes,
   from Big Rick and Crazy Ray
I'm from combat rafting,
   stolen paddles and whistle blasts,
   signals to tighten up and roll.

From "Don't stand up in whitewater,"
   and "Get your feet up!"
I'm from Earl the river deity,
   and being humbled by hydraulics.
I'm from Hartford and Big Creek.
   Hasty sandwiches and orange juice.
From the finger that Clark lost,
   to a man named Moose;
   the beating Isaac took.
In the outpost are computers,
   pictures of every trip,
   frightened faces awash,
   recalling forgotten runs.
I am from those moments-
   before the waves crested,
   a ropes throw from brothers.