With the summer suddenly approaching August and my first year in Idaho Falls coming to a close, I still had a significant gap on my outdoorsman résumé.

Camping in northern New Jersey, floating down the Delaware River and pretending to know the perfect remedy to keep a fire alive were all among my previous accomplishments, though nothing has rivaled last weekend’s experience.

A coworker invited me, with her crew of 17 others, onto the Snake River for whitewater rafting. On the ride through Bonneville County and over the Wyoming border, I heard tales of rapids like Big Kahuna and Lunch Counter, as if they were supposed to mean something to my inexperienced ears.

Ten hours later, I relayed the information back home as if I were General George Washington himself, braving the waves, inching closer to the proper Idahoan I hoped to become during the day-long adventure.

“Far as fun goes, I’d say that was pretty fun,” both of the rafts and surely neighboring parties heard reiterated all afternoon.

As a comfortable swimmer and roller-coaster enthusiast, the nerves were low. How tough could this be? I know my way around a kayak and a paddleboard; the oars should be of no difficulty.

“Do you want to sit in the front, middle or back of the raft?”

“Oh, I don’t mind either way, whichever you think is best.”

“Well, do you want to get wet and work, or just enjoy the ride?”

“Um, both, I suppose?”

Not even five minutes into the first of two 90-minute treks east down the Snake, I nearly lost my oar to a whirlpool. Signal No. 1: It’s time to pay attention.

Seconds or minutes or an hour later — it’s tricky to tell time when you’re focused on keeping a leg tucked inside the raft and a steady row going — we hit the first of numerous eddies. Signal No. 2: Avoid the eddies.

As our captain doled out instructions — “LEFT! RIGHT! BOTH! TURN IT AROUND! HEY, WE WANT TO HIT THIS WAVE!” — I thought little of our direction and more so of the advice seared into my brain in the car: “When we go down, do. Not. Stop. Paddling.”

Engrossed in not being “that new guy” who held up the fun or helped steer us the wrong direction, I followed orders robotically, never even entertaining the thought of second-guessing the captain and his experienced mates.

When quickly approaching a slice of rocks, sure to crash into them and pop the raft, I could not help but think, “Wow, it looks like we’re going to hit these rocks.”

We did not. In fact, it did not require any effort, either. Those wake-formed V’s guided us right where we wanted to go, which, it turns out, is into the belly of the beast.

Any time a rapid emerged, or one of those legendary ones such as Big Kahuna or Lunch Counter showed up, the goal was simple: attack that thing and ride it until we can’t.

The madness and nervous yet adrenaline-induced laughs died down while heading for a docking station. Well, it was not quite that formal. However, there was a cliff, one whose narrow, rocky walkway up and 20-foot jump down were on my outdoorsman checklist for the day.

Naturally, our companion’s raft rode right into us, sending us down the Snake and away from that desired destination.

So what? We’ll get it the next time.

And we did get there the next time, an easy “Yes!” from me and everyone else who was not nearly satisfied with only one eight-mile trip.

On the second try, we arrived smoothly. But there would be no cliff-jumping that day.

When we docked, a young man lay flat on his back; a silver sheet hid his body from the sun; and the roars of excitement had diminished to quiet, unsure murmurs.

The young man had attempted a double backflip off the cliff, landing on his back and neck. His friend and coworker, whom we took back on our raft, told us he made it out of the water, but soon went into shock from his recent injury.

His neck was held in position for 45 minutes. A rescue boat eventually arrived. He could wiggle his toes and fingers. We heard no word of his visit to the hospital.

In the midst of the panicked wait for help, a mere whisper cut some of the tension:

“Well, at least you’ll have a story to tell.”