Whitewater rafting – put out about putting in

My two sons and their sons just got back from a rafting trip up north down the Ocoee. And it was all this: “It  was the greatest one ever (because of all the rain we’ve had).” And “How about when we did this …” And “Oh yeah, and what about when we did that …”

They went as part of a group with the church my oldest is a member of, and it got me to one, feeling left out, and two, missing the times our church used to do this every year. We stopped because we felt like we had conquered every challenge Georgia had to offer – aka: “We got old” – but the longing got me to, as well as the longing to do it again.

Hmm. But how best to make it happen? (See: Us church folks got old.) I know. I’ll arrange a trip with my coworkers at The Houston Home Journal. It’ll be an easy sell. 

Not quite.

Anonymous coworker one (you know who you are): “I can’t swim.”

Me: “You’ll be wearing a full-on lifejacket. Huge lifejacket. Almost as big as the raft. You won’t have to swim. Well … except maybe that one spot where the water turns to a Zen-like calmness and the alligators come out. Wait. Come back. I was just kidding.”

Anonymous coworker two: “I’ll fall out.”

Me: “No, you won’t. Okay, you might. I’ve never fallen out. That’s out of at least a dozen trips. I came awful close once. I was airborne even. But our guide, with cat-like reflexes, reached out and grabbed the back of my lifejacket around the collar area (true story) and saved me from plunging headlong into those dark, sinister waters. I mean, saved me from taking a nice, peaceful dip into the sea of tranquility.

“Seriously. I’ve seen people fall out before. We were on one trip when my son’s girlfriend (she’s no longer his girlfriend, but I don’t think this had anything to do with it) fell out. She couldn’t swim. She was sitting at the very front of the raft. It was one of those where we had just come out of a set of rapids. It appeared all the danger had passed when ‘whump’ we hit a rock. It stopped us on a dime, as they say. ‘Us’, not her. I remember how big her eyes got as she was gently laid to rest in the small but snappy surf. She recovered, so see. It’s no big deal.

“You do not have an appointment to get your gall bladder out. You are not having brain surgery. You are not having heart surgery. You are not allergic to water. Come on.”

Another one bites the dust.

Anonymous coworker three: “Oh no you don’t. I know where that is. That’s where they filmed the movie ‘Deliverance’. I’m not going down some river where there’s any chance I’m going to become some man’s pig ‘and’ a poke.”

Me: “Why your ignorance about such things just makes me ‘squeal’ with delight. Let me educate you. Those guys are slow. They might run along the bank throwing out all kinds of redneck invitations – the siren call – but they’ve never gotten any takers. Well … Except for that one raft, but I think they were all New Yorkers anyway.”

And another one goes.

Anonymous coworker four: “It looks scary.”

Me: “I promise you it’s not as scary as it looks. Yes. There’s that one spot where there’s like a 30-foot, almost straight down, drop but other than. (True story. The first time we rafted the Olympic course, we saw said spot from our bus windows. It also happened to be the first time my wife went. She saw it. She said: “We’re not going down that, are we?” I, trying to calm her already off-the-chart nerves, said: “Of course not!” But inside, I was like: “We’re not going down, are we?” We didn’t. We pulled the raft out, went around and ‘put in’ [rafting term – see headline] down below it. “Thank you, Jesus!”)

“Plus, there are scarier ways to die. Parachuting out of a perfectly good airplane. Bunjee jumping off the side of a bridge. Climbing up a sheer cliff. This is far less scary than that. (You would never, ever, ever, ever catch me doing any of those. Truth be told, I’m a coward at heart. This, riding the Batman at Six Flags and driving 32 hours straight from the tip of Maine to Warner Robins with three toddlers are the scariest things I’ve ever done.)

“Seriously though, the beauty of it all is amazing! The scenery, the wildlife, the unspoiled earth (i.e. stopping on a beach for lunch that borders a waterfall you can walk under), breathtaking! A sight to behold! So, what do you say?”

And another one goes. Another one bites the dust.

Looks like there’ll be no rafting trip for The Houston Home Journal. Perhaps a bird watching tour?