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Saturday, April 8, 2000
One year ago: Pike Market Ramble
Two years ago: Schubertiad
First order of business this morning: inflating the raft. This raft is a 12-person rubber job, good quality. Jack bought it through a deal arranged by his father, who always seems to be wheeling, dealing and arranging things. Jack, his father, the two kids, and assorted neighbors and dogs, all participated in opening the huge cardboard box it came in, laying all the stuff out on the lawn, and inflating the raft with the shopvac.
In addition to the normal inflatable boat that you sit in and paddle, Jack also acquired a frame that got fastened to the back end of the raft. It's made of metal pipe, and has a seat, and two oar locks. (oo, nautical lingo!)
Am I going on the raft? I was dubious. I know Jack would like me to do this. My experience with white-water rafting is two group trips to the New River in West Virginia, back when I lived in the DC area. I have one of the pictures they take as part of the trip package -- my face shows a mixture of terror and glee. But those trips had professional guides! When Jack started talking about this raft thing, I thought to myself, "Isn't it enough that I'm riding on the motorcycle? Must I do whitewater rafting too?"
I felt better when Tracey arrived. He's a former raft guide who now guides fishing trips (and maybe some hunting?) on the Klickitat. He knows the river intimately. I decided to join the trip. (Jack's dad gave me a motorcycle helmet, to protect my head in the unlikely event that I fell in. That helped, too. And no one made fun of my qualms, which was kind of them.)
Who else will be in the boat? This was a minor crisis. Jack wanted his daughter H---- along, of course. Tracey had his son along, a sturdy lad of thirteen or so. But Jack's mom had gone to pick up the two children of Jack's sister. They wanted to raft, also! Jack's nephew A--- wasn't allowed because of his youth, and because his mom wasn't around to explicitly give permission. So how can these two other kids go? Lots of heartburnings and hurt feelings later, all the kids would go except the youngest. This isn't what Jack had in mind for the first raft trip! And it meant that Jack's dad couldn't raft with us -- no room. The whole situation was aggravating for Jack.
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I insisted on stopping to buy some suncreen at the little store in town, on our way to the put-in spot. But there wasn't any on the shelves! (It's not really the season yet.) The clerk dug around underneath a counter and found some expensive kid's sunscreen -- a bright purple. I took it, since I didn't want to fry.
Tracey was a very good guide, calming, clear (when commanding us) and cheerful. I think you have to be good with people to succeed in his line of work! The weather and scenery were beautiful, and there was time to look at an otter, and the birds. The waves weren't really that bad. I was able to enjoy myself. We had a few fun bumps, and got about an inch of water in the floor of the raft -- my shoes were soaked. The kids behaved (they were three across in the front of the raft) and Tracey's son cooperated. He sat beside me -- rafting is old hat to him, but he went along anyway. We needed him as a paddler!
Jack was very pleased with the whole thing. I went back to the house and took a nap, while he did a practice session on his own, putting himself in the command seat and putting in at a calmer part of the river. I heard his father bellowing from the upper deck of the house to one of the kids, "Go LOOK from the BRIDGE and TELL ME when you SEE HIM!" How glad I was that I could just turn over and continue my doze.
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Our turkey dinner was very tasty -- it had been roasted over a low fire on the gas barbecue. We discussed future rafting trips -- maybe we'll do an overnight trip on the upper Klickitat, with Jack's parents and Tracey and his wife.
Jack's mother brought out three sacks of paperbacks that her daughter had passed to her. Would I like to look them over? I found a few that were interesting to me. (Most were Grisham-style thrillers or mysteries, not my style.) I selected Seduction and Betrayal, which despite the exciting title was a collection of essays about women writers (I knew this when I picked it), and Death in the Fifth Position, a mystery by Gore Vidal, written under a pseudonym.
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