Getting into the raft proved tricky enough, but once we were all in, I felt like we were set. I handed the oars of the raft to our twelve year olds and relaxed in the back of the raft. Within a minute of launching, the raft turned 180 degrees and we were going backwards.
I grabbed the oar from one of the boys and soon learned that I didn’t have any better control. The oars came in handy only after we had run into a rock or tree—I’d use the oar to push off so that we could go to the other side of the river and run into yet another tree.
I was so confused! I had been on guided raft tours before, and we always stayed in the middle of the river. Why weren’t we staying in the middle of the river now? It wasn’t like we were trying to crash! Why did I feel like we were in some kind of slow motion pin ball machine?
At the end we approached a huge rock, sticking about fifteen feet out of the water, and it looked like we were going to run right smack into it. “We’re going to hit the rock everybody! Oh no!” I yelled. A few teenagers, who were perched on the rock, looked at us with amusement.
“Oh no!” I said more loudly. “We are going to hit the rock!” They just kept looking at us as if we were the most boring thing that had happened to them all day.