After Essentials of Firefighting class comes Practical Rescue. The training academy's administration certainly has a knack for the snazzy course titles.

Class started last Tuesday, and when I arrived I found that I was the only person from my rescue company in the group. I recognized some faces from past classes -- "Hazardous Materials First Responder" or maybe "Blood Borne Pathogens" -- but I have no strong ties to any of them. This can be something of a disadvantage in a class where many of the physical tasks are done as a team and hard knocks are likely if no one is watching your back. In Essentials there were three other people from my squad who toughed it out to the end, and we took particular care of each other to the very last day. All my fellow Practical Rescuers are male, an unfortunate and oft-irritating gender configuration.

The first practical session was Sunday, and we headed out to the Potomac to work on river rescue skills. There is a power generating plant on the river bank in upper Montgomery County, and they divert a significant quantity of river water to cool the machines. Where this water rejoins the river, they've sculpted an obstacle course of rocks, barriers, falls, and other hazards in a lengthy whitewater course that serves as practice grounds for the US Olympic kayak team. Our class took place here, in the "flume."

It was a chilly fall day, and everyone was outfitted in wetsuits, PFDs and helmets. We started out by learning the use of throw bags -- 50 feet of rope loosely coiled inside a mesh bag that can be effectively heaved to someone in trouble. Then we took turns throwing ourselves into a frothy spot on the river and practicing the appropriate position for someone thrown into a river. In most situations in which you find yourself cast unintentionally into fast-moving water, you're best to stay on your back, looking ahead with your legs pointing downstream. That way you can steer yourself with your arms, and ward off obstacles like large rocks with your feet instead of your skull. Putting your feet down or trying to stand up can be a fatal mistake, as the current can catch your leg in a crevice and pin you underwater.

The flume's water, warmed by the machines somewhere up the hillside, was tolerably warm, but emerging again into the fall air was slightly unpleasant. I was glad that over the course of the day, further exercises (swift water crossing, spinal immobilization) kept us shoulder-deep in the river more often than not.

The final exercise was to run a section of the flume one at a time, bouncing through several sections of whitewater and catching eddies behind rocks whenever possible. Practicing here might also help insure that we would know how to keep ourselves out of harm's way if we were swept away during a swift water rescue.

Looking at the river from the bank does not reveal how enormous the standing white wave at the bottom of a drop-off will appear from water level. It felt like being flushed down a large toilet. I probably gained a pound of swallowed river water on the trip. I caught the sling across the flume at the bottom and emerged with wobbly legs on to dry land. The second time down, I managed to do a little better, and climbed up the bank more steadily.

The instructors announced that we could now, if we wanted to, individually run the entire flume, three times the length of our earlier runs. It was optional, and only about half the class expressed interest. I decided to pass. I was cold and tired, and surprised that the river had kicked my ass so effectively on the first run. Still, I felt a little bad about giving in. I knew I might not have the chance to do something like this again. I knew I was feeling a little afraid that I'd run into trouble in the flume. And my pride was dented at the prospect of allowing the river to get the best of me while others seemed to be unscathed.

So, as I watched the first person come down through the flume, his head vanishing in a pounding white wave and popping up again several yards downstream, I changed my mind. I headed back up to the very top of the flume and waited my turn to throw myself in. All along the course, instructors and other students were poised with throw bags in case anyone needed help. I was the last one in, and I was surprised how much fun it was. By that time I'd learned how to avoid having large quantities of water forcefully injected up my nose every time I hit a wave, and it seemed like my head stayed above water a much larger percentage of time than on previous runs. By the last tame stretches of rapids, it was just a fun ride. I would have run the flume again if they'd given me the chance.

Susan and I sometimes talk about when it's a good thing (even brave) to face what scares you, and when it's just a dumb and reckless. For example, we live in Washington when we all know it will eventually be the target of another terrorist attack. We know people who are making noises about moving to some place safer. Hard to condemn them, but I also don't want to have the kind of life in which fear makes the important decisions. It's really irritating to think I might lose my life because I think this town is a neat place to live. But then it sucks to think I might get killed as a rescuer, and that prospect has always been right there on the table. Maybe previous experience with doling out my mortality in exchange for interesting experiences leaves me in a good position to negotiate the present trials.