These kayaks were not as good as the one Mark had rented the previous day. They had no back support at all, and they had no inclination whatsoever to drift in a straight line. We would slide down a small rapid and pause in the paddling for a second, whereupon the kayak would promptly start a lazy spin until you were pointed upstream. This was convenient for watching other people go down the rapid you just traversed, but not so good for keeping an eye on the next rapid coming up. Thankfully, we avoided going down any rapids sideways, but keeping the boats straight was something we struggled with all day.
We had enough of a sunburn that we made some token effort to float down the shady side of the river, when such a thing was available. When we decided to stop for some food, we were looking for a shaded shoal we could beach on for a few minutes. We slid through a riffle and found an old rope swing hanging from a tree overhanging the river, and quickly decided that would make a fine anchor. Tim grabbed on to the dangling line, and we paddled the boats together and ran the line through the straps on the three boats and drifted in the middle of the river, listening to the rapids, eating sandwiches, watching other boaters maneuver the rapids, and hoping one of them would spill.
Although I was sad that everyone else felt tired or sore enough that they decided to skip a second day on the river, it was kind of nice just to have the three guys out there. We told stories and laughed together, and generally played like we were 20 years younger. We passed through the biggest rapid on the river, named Dead Man’s Curve, and beached on a rocky shelf just past the rapid. From there we stepped along rocks to one of the bigger drops and experimented with launching ourselves out into the current and being swept along with the flow, in the process learning where the hidden submerged boulders were. “Ow! Don’t jump there.” After about 15 minutes of this, we settled back to watch a group of canoers come through the rapids. Much like auto racing, the main point in watching is to hope for an accident. Sure enough, the fifth set of canoers, an elderly couple, took a spill right in front of us. I got to the far edge of the stream and grabbed the tip of the canoe, which kept it from washing into anyone, but didn’t do much more, as the rushing water filled the canoe and dumped everything out in a watery yardsale. Whoosh, there go the paddles; whoosh, there’s the cooler; whoosh, there goes a shirt. Tim grabbed a woman who was floundering in the water and dragged her ashore. I’m glad it was him, because the water was fast enough and she was hanging limp enough that I don’t think I would have been able to fish her out. He was worried about pulling her arm out of her socket, but she was just happy to be fished out at all.
After that bit of drama, we finally got back onto the river. Mark was sunburned enough from the previous day that he was laying his lifejacket over his legs to keep the sun off, and all three of us were beginning to feel the soreness of the second day of paddling, so we starting moving in earnest to the takeout spot, ready to be done for the day. We dropped Mark at his campsite and then Tim and I headed back to the motel for a brief nap before dinner.
After a shower, I was happy to find that a miracle had occurred and I hadn’t gotten much more sun, despite the clear, bright day. Whew, a sunburn averted.