Every spring, the valley down the road from my house floods with water, and like good Tom Sawyer want-to-be's, my siblings, my cousins, and I trudge down with a few makeshift "rafts" and ride the river.
When we were very young, we first started going down to the "The Flats" to wade in the freezing runoff wearing only shorts and crocs. The water was so cold that our legs would go numb and turn red. Now we are a little older, and a little smarter, and suit up using waders to stay dry.
Additionally, we have upgraded from makeshift rafts to using ad hoc rafts, turning Jet Sleds into kayaks and using sticks and punting our way along the shallow river.
A few days ago, while cruising along the river, my brother called out to warn us that there was a waterfall up ahead. We docked, moored our boots on the bank, and climbed out to see if we could run the rapids. After assessing the situation, and debating our white water rafting skills, we decided that none of us was certified to run these Class VI rapids and so we chickened out. Well, most of us chickened out, that is...
Me, being the dullard that I am, disregarded the tangle of logs that these churning rapids disgorged and decided to try and shoot them. I started going down the waterfall, all was going well and good until the water took me into a fallen tree. My raft started to sink and I scrambled out and onto a tiny island in the middle of the rapids. I poked around with my stick and the water around the island was about 5 feet deep and was rushing so fast I couldn't wade to shore. After a few failed attempts to get off the island, my siblings and cousin got bored of laughing at me and left. There I was stranded on the tiniest island you ever saw. Alone. Forsaken by family and friends, while the river churned around me. Finally, after a while, I worked up my courage, jumped to a shallow spot, where I scooped up my raft, and ran after my traitorous family.
Thanks for Reading!
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