River Tubing

The experience of tubing and rafting in the mountains of Tennessee, North Carolina, or Georgia has taught me an innate definition of COLD river water. In fact it has become the default setting for my mind when trying to plunge into any water, be it pool, ocean or stream- to tell myself, "It can't be as numbing as a North Carolina river!" and in I go. The Toccoa, the Ocoee, the Chattooga, Nantahala, Hiawasee, -all local Southern rivers, Indian names as well, names that conjure any number of cold water adventures. 

Today, in this tradition, 6 of us donned our gear and drove to Blue Ridge, Georgia for tubing on the Toccoa River. We first chose a cloudy, overcast day after unseasonably chilly weather throughout the South, causing a temperature of only 71, mid-day. After risking directions from a kindly octogenarian named AJ, we persevered beyond his tiny hand-drawn map to locate the tubing company located in the National Forest. Bright pink tubes welcomed us, the only customers. We saw this as a warning, but intrepid enthusiasts, we plunged in; or rather I desperately hoped to not plunge, as the occasional breathtakingly cold splashes sufficed to elicit gasps and chills enough.

Ahhh, the wonder of being one with the river, hearing its tumbling waters, floating safely on my tube, and gathering fodder for future tales. We may have searched and hoped for the rare glimpse of sunlight for awhile, but the rhythm and speed of the river soon took all our attention. 

There came the bend where I was somewhat alone, tho' still in view of the others. Seeing much frothy water ahead, I aimed to the right bank,  paddling furiously with my one green Croc, and too late noticing the drop-off ahead of me!! I grasped overhanging limbs and held myself there, waiting and deciding how to best proceed to avoid a bailout. The looming boulders grew larger, the eddies swirled faster, dropping deeper. My sons with a measure of frivolity noticed my undue distress, and to their credit, all followed to my rescue.  I was certain of disaster, but as I released my stalwart branch, while firmly holding to one son's hand, I  threw caution aside as we sailed over the rapids, relieved and believing for more. With each dousing, growing wetter and colder, I also grew braver 'til at the final huge, boulder-strewn drop, I just held on and laughed. How else to be one with nature? How else to impress my family, but with the bravery of my modest wilderness skills?