that sucking sound

If I was a part of a river I would be the sucking gurgling drowning sound part that comes with a whirlpool.

I keep picturing myself at the bottom of the river in toilet bowl rapid on the N. Umpqua.  On the bottom, under the water it was perfectly quiet except for the gentle swishing sound my hair made going in circles.  I hung there for a moment not panicked, just thinking about the situation.  I knew I was fine, but I also knew what was happening above me.  I knew I had to go up and deal with it.

I stretched out my legs and felt the round rocks on the bottom and pushed myself up.  When I broke the surface the world exploded again. It was so loud. There were people screaming with laughter and a little fear, guides were yelling to be heard over the din, my own voice directing a kid to the safety of the bank, the splashing of my limbs propelling me forward into the madness.  The most vivid sound was the whirlpool I had just come out of.  The sound pulled at every noise around it demanding it journey down to the bottom of the river, where it would have to be quiet.