The white noise of rushing water would almost certainly lull me into a nap if I were reclined under a riverside tree. In this case, however, the sound is hardly soporific: I’m belly-down on a riverboard, hurtling toward the only boulder found in this section of Clear Creek near Golden, Colorado.

Clear Creek starts as a trickle off the snowfields above Golden, but it gathers strength as it tumbles down from the Rockies. By the time it flushes through town, it’s a rowdy, bucking-bull kind of river — and it’s propelling me toward the boulder like a dart to a bull’s-eye.

My finned feet are supposed to be my rudder; my hands grip the front of what looks like a kid’s snow sled. But I’m a rank newbie at this sport, and my frantic kicks don’t seem to be steering me off my boulder-bound course. The rock looms ever closer, and I yank in a sharp breath as its gray mass rushes my face like a fist.

Watching a river flow is like meditating with your eyes open. The water gurgles along its course in a mesmerizing stream, constant and silky. Even when the water isn’t smooth — when it’s foaming and erupting over boulders and ledges — it still has a spellbinding quality. Who hasn’t felt the urge to join the current and go with the flow when standing on a riverbank?

That’s precisely riverboarding’s appeal. Instead of riding atop the water, as you do in a raft, canoe, or kayak, you’re immersed in it, swimming in the current and facing whitewater at eye level. Not only does riverboarding let you become one with the moving current, it also offers a great sense of freedom — no boat, no paddles.

Riverboarding developed along dual paths in the U.S. and France in the late 1970s and throughout the 1980s, but it’s just now catching on in a big way in the States. River-rescue teams have adopted the buoyant, maneuverable boards, and recreational riverboarders are cropping up on popular rivers such as the Arkansas in Colorado and the Ocoee in Tennessee. Guided riverboarding trips are now being offered by a handful of outfitters, including RipBoard, a Colorado-based riverboard manufacturer.

RipBoard’s president and CEO Shane Bolling discovered the sport while vacationing in New Zealand, where it’s called sledging, and quickly became a convert. His interest soon grew from a purely recreational passion to a commercial one: He began importing riverboards from New Zealand in 1999 and began manufacturing them in a Denver factory in 2004. One of the sport’s most enthusiastic proponents, Bolling travels to whitewater festivals across the country, offering riverboard demos and generating new interest for the activity. He also guides the uninitiated like me down the Class II and III rapids of Clear Creek, which runs through downtown Golden.

Along with several other curious adventurers, I’ve signed up for Bolling’s half-day intro package. Clustered on the grass of a park beside the river, we wriggle into the shin guards and wetsuits Bolling has provided. Lying belly-down on the grass, we practice the flutter-kick and the one-legged frog kick we’ll use to steer. We also learn to dodge boulders and other river obstacles by rolling over, performing a 360-degree roll that starts and ends on our bellies.

After 20 minutes or so, Bolling declares it’s time to strap on our fins, grab our riverboards, and take to the water. That’s another point in riverboarding’s favor: It’s far less technical than kayaking, which requires mastery of precise paddle strokes and the Eskimo roll to right a capsized kayak. By comparison, river-boarding is fairly easy to pick up, with a speedy learning curve that allows whitewater greenhorns like us to run Class III rapids that would require considerably more skill in a kayak.

We step backward into the river like divers so we don’t trip over our fins. Then Bolling leads the way as we set off. At first the water is flat and calm. Looking around as I lie on my board, I get a frog’s-eye view of the world. With my eyes just inches above the surface, everything seems bigger and taller, from the trees lining the river to the boulders that jut above the water line. And the foot-high rapid I’m drifting toward would barely jiggle a raft, but it seems pretty mighty to me on the little patch of plastic I’m gripping like a shield.

As such, the board does its job well. It keeps my abdomen and upper legs from glancing rocks; the knee and shin pads I’m wearing guard the rest. It’s my face that takes the brunt of the force, and I’m left sputtering as the rapids subside. Bolling taps his helmet — the “OK?” sign — and I tap my helmet in return. In fact, I’m more than OK — I’m exhilarated. The sensation of being propelled through the rapids is similar to riding ocean surf, but the fun lasts much longer as we pass through another set of rapids, and still another, until Bolling signals the end of our first run and steers for the riverbank.

Passersby stare in perplexity at our unusual equipment as we carry 15-pound riverboards up the bank and stack them in the back of Bolling’s SUV, which will shuttle us back to the start for another run. We’re giddy from our introductory adventure, but if Bolling feels like whooping it up with us, he keeps it to himself. Our guide isn’t a backslapping kind of guy. He’s friendly but focused; his smiles fade quickly into a thoughtful, straight line. But as he slides a helmet over his head and steps into the river for round two, he breaks into a grin. “Ready for more?” he asks.

The approaching boulder looks capable of crushing my little red riverboard, and as plastic and rock grind together I imagine Bolling watching my blunder with pursed lips. But then I whirl the board skyward and roll over like a fighter pilot dodging missiles, until I’m belly-down once more. It’s the same evasive maneuver we practiced on the grass, but here in the river I can hardly believe I actually did it — and that it worked. My adversary fast receding from view, I glance downriver at Bolling. Only his head is visible above the water, but on it I can clearly see a smile.

“That was awesome!” he cheers, and for the moment I believe him. Sure, he’s riverboarded through Class V rapids and leapt 20-foot waterfalls. But my little victory on Clear Creek’s rapids feels plenty thrilling, too. And later, when Bolling signals the end of our last run of the day, I’m reluctant to steer out of the current and hoist myself from the water. How much nicer it would be, I think, to keep going with the flow. “You’ll just have to come back and do it again,” Bolling says, reminding me that for all its running, the river isn’t going anywhere.

WHERE TO GO
From mid-May through early September, Shane Bolling of RipBoard offers guided riverboarding trips on Clear Creek in Golden, Colorado; June offers the highest water and the biggest rapids.
866.311.2627
ripboard.com

Extreme Snowboard and Ski offers guided riverboarding on North Carolina’s French Broad River, two hours north of Charlotte.
828.898.7669
extremenc.com

In the Sierra Nevadas, riverboard the South Fork of the American River with Beyond Limits Adventures.
800.234.7238
rivertrip.com

Montana River Guides leads riverboarders through the Clark Fork River’s Alberton Gorge, 40 miles from Missoula.
800.381.7238
montanariverguides.com

Bring your own gear to the U.S. National Whitewater Center in Charlotte. It’s open to riverboarders Monday to Wednesday.
704.391.3900
usnwc.org

GEAR UP
Riverboard manufacturers include RipBoard (ripboard.com) and Carlson (pacific pacificriversupply.com). You’ll also need a helmet, fins, a personal flotation device, shin guards, neoprene gloves, and a wetsuit.

Kelly Bastone writes about outdoor sports and travel. Her work has appeared in National Geographic Traveler, Runner’s World, and Backpacker. She writes from Colorado.