Rafting on Port Jervis
River photo from our trip to Portland.
This weekend we were four miles up-river, short two paddles, and losing daylight fast. We were rescued by a mountain man in star-spangled shorts who told us that if we didn’t get “rowing, and fast”, we would be in big trouble. Let me tell you how this happened.
The trouble started at the registration cabin. There was a girl, probably in high school, who had a very long Polish last name nearly identical to mine, and she took a liking to our group. She was very nice and it seemed like she was doing us a favor when she told us we could go farther than the sign said was advisable, and still make it back on time. “Oh, you won’t get charged anything,” she had said, “As long as you don’t roll up in here around eight p.m. (said with disdain), you’ll be fine!”
It was right around seven p.m. that the mountain man came to our rescue, gliding quickly and silently in his red one-man canoe, aviators and hunting cap firmly in place. He told us we’d be lucky if we got back before nightfall, and that it would take us a LONG time to get back to the beach rental from that point.
He yelled at us, “You have four miles to go. Do you even know where you are?” We didn’t.
We had not realized that rafters ought to have lots more paddles than we’d taken, or that we should have been rowing faster than we were for the first four hours of the trip. We were all a bit bewildered, wondering how this could have happened. I mean, we didn’t stop and get out of the boat very much, certainly not for more than two minutes at time. We assumed it was the girl’s fault back at the registration cabin, and we plotted things we would say if they tried to charge us extra for sending out a rescue helicopter or a fleet of army men in search for our bodies.
We started rowing.
I remember looking at our friends’ faces and wondering if it would get so dark we wouldn’t be able to see each other in the boat, let alone the rocks and bends in the river water. It might have been an exciting venture for some, but I was getting tired of sitting on the rubber seats, barely moving, and wondering when we’d see the elusive “second bridge” that signaled we would be nearing camp.
We got a bit nervous and giggly. The situation was either dire or not that bad, and we really couldn’t tell which. Regardless, with the aid of extra paddles from the mountain man, we got serious about paddling forward in a straight line. Portions of the river were very slow, seemingly still water that took effort to pass through. We held it together quite well, and picked up more speed as it got darker.
At that point, the only rafts and kayaks we were passing were either capsized or punctured… not a good sign, in my opinion. Our arms were aching. We switched seats a few times to try and figure out why we kept spinning in circles once we got our momentum going. The bugs started appearing in larger numbers, biting our legs or buzzing in our ears. The beer cans were empty and floating inside the raft along with discarded flip flops and a soggy bag of BBQ potato chips. We rowed and rowed and rowed, but things really didn’t look good.
Suddenly we saw another party with the rafting company slogan across the side. The kids were up on the cliffs, jumping daringly into the river below. The parents were yelling that they’d have to make their last jump, since it was getting dark. They seemed to know what they were doing, and Rory mentioned that after the jumping site came the second bridge and eventually the place we had parked our car.
We had made it. I felt like we were superheroes. In fact, when we got back our car was among about twenty others still parked at the beach. (Now that I think about it, many of the cars could have belonged to staff members, but that doesn’t matter now.) Other rafters and kayakers were rounding the bend and would make it in later than us. The crew said nothing about our being apparently extremely late, and we shuffled to the car in a daze, soaking wet and oily from bug spray and sun tan lotion.
I fell asleep in the car while Rory and Dan debated our late dinner on the drive back.
I am still tired, my palms bruised and forearms sore, but I feel pretty great. It was nice to go out and do something physical, surrounded by nature, and in the company of fellow city dwellers; drinking cheap beer out of oversized cans, and not caring where we were until we were yelled at by a grizzly adult wearing patriotic swimming trunks and speaking with an affected backwoods accent.
Who can ask for anything more?
Wow! That’s really an adventure!
Glad you guys made it back ok and had a fun time!
I think I would have been someone who started crying.
I feel that you are definitely a superhero… and I think I’ll get you a cape.
Adventures are good for the soul!