The Grand River, which I own, was up for a float trip.
In this file photo dated August, 2013, Lis loaded up our tubes into her Jeep. At that time, the river was so shallow that we gave up the idea of a float trip. This year, we aired up our River Run float tubes and stuffed them into her Toyota that she got to replace her gas guzzler. We set off to the access point to the north, just up the road a ways. We thought it would be a little outing, taking a couple of hours to float back down to my beach. After all, how many wide curves could the river make? We were to find out.
At two-thirty, we slipped down the muddy bank. Lis was holding my trusty tube. The current looked a little swift as I stared down into the muddy water. Lissa reassured me it wasn't fast at all, which turned out to the be the understatement of the day. The river was still shallow. Splashing into the nylon mesh seats of the tubes, we launched ourselves for a relaxing afternoon's float.
The sky was deep blue with interesting cumulus clouds constantly changing shape. High in the sky were bald eagles. The water was warm. It was pleasant to drift with the current. After a while, we realized we couldn't be napping, because there were branches sticking out of the water that were not good to impale our tubes on. We had to keep paddling with our hands to turn the ever-rotating tubes so we could see where we were going. Then we had to paddle away from the limbs.
After some time, we floated under the double bridge where the interstate highway crossed high above us. There were many swallow nests on the underside of the bridges. Swallows were drinking and bathing at the water's edge. The flying birds were thoughtfully keeping the mosquitoes in check for us. It was no doubt their life's work on the off chance some humans would drift by underneath their mud nests.
We took no cameras or cell phones, on account of them not being waterproof. The day was hot and mostly sunny. I regarded my pale legs stretched out to the sun and hoped the spray-on sunblock we'd used was waterproof. Soon, my wish for a cooling rain shower was granted. It was refreshing but I no longer had any dry cloth on me to wipe my glasses. My sun visor helped a bit but became rather heavy when it was saturated. I retrieved my white handkerchief from my shorts pocket and found it brown and sodden.
The trouble with uncharted waters is a person doesn't know when they have reached the halfway point of the trip. We expected to arrive at home a few hours into the journey. Each wide bend in the river was followed by another one. I checked the position of the sun when it was not covered by clouds and breathed a sigh of relief. We had hours of daylight left.
Lis spotted a beaver slipping into the water, and pointed out a coyote along the shore downriver. We saw deer and many Great Blue Herons. The birds let us get a certain distance away before flying off. Probably they never saw a soul visiting their fishing spots. The river is not navigable. We saw a couple of water snakes, who looked at us with curiosity. I believe they swam off to check a reference work to identify us. No doubt they looked at pictures of our species and decided, yes, those were two females, one in its grey phase. Extraordinary!
Sometimes, we got off the tubes and waded or kicked with them as floats. It would have been better if we'd been wearing swim flippers instead of mesh tennis shoes. Lis pulled my tube's rope while she waded. Every hour or so, one of us would think we'd walked that far upriver last year when the water was low. "Isn't that where we came upon that dead deer?" I asked about a dozen times.
Our shoes became full of wet sand and had to be emptied out every now and again. Lis stepped on a big catfish or a turtle, that wriggled out from underfoot.
The scenery reminded us of boating up the Inside Passage to Alaska. There was water and there were trees on both sides. The only difference was the availability of something to eat while on board. We'd brought only a bottle of water each.
"It's around this next bend," we said so many times it became a joke. When I said I didn't recognize some rock formations, Lissa said it wasn't helpful to mention it.
The river, which I thought was supposed to get deeper or bigger as it flowed, inexplicably got more shallow. Possibly it was evaporating in the heat. With an eye toward the lowering sun, we found it expedient to get up on the sand bars and carry the tubes until the hard surface ended. Lis said she had to get out of the water occasionally because she could feel her body starting to decompose.
The sun sank lower. Yet another bend was around the last bend in the river, and yet another. The sluggish current seemed to be barely moving now. It took rather a long time to move from one long bend to the next disappointment. I wondered how long we could keep going around the bend without going around the bend.
One of the things I was holding my breath about was the seaworthiness of our craft. True, the water was only waist deep in most places, but floating did give us a break from walking on sand or wading in water in sand.
My arms are a little short for paddling the big tubes, but I had a new concern: darkness. I paddled enthusiastically, trying to remember to keep my fingers together and wishing I had some ping pong paddles.
My fingers had become pruney after the first couple of hours.
Because we had no flashlight, I imagined us floating on through the night in the quiet dark country, unaware that we'd missed our stop.
After six (yes, six!) hours, Lis said she was starting to get tired. I was, too, but didn't want to admit it. I felt the need to make her laugh, so I said, "Well, we'll just have to turn back."
Then we saw the power lines crossing above the river. There are power lines a ways upriver from Fishing Beach. At that point, we heard voices and the sound of a pickup truck, so knew the bridge by my place had to be close. Unfortunately, the terrain under the power lines didn't look familiar. More floating was in order, and we could swear the river was deliberately standing still by then.
The sun had set and the light was fading, but they were the right power lines and the bridge was ahead. Lis deflated the tubes at Fishing Beach (my fingers were too pruney to unscrew the caps) and we went up the path through the woods to home.
Shaking hands, we congratulated ourselves on our first float trip success. It was not your typical Mother-Daughter Outing. Before I drove Lissa back to her car, we hosed off and then had most welcome hot showers before getting into dry clothes.
Not in the least restful, but fun, we proved we could be troupers. We'd been on the river for six and a half hours, had kept our senses of humor and had not resorted to cannibalism.
Ironically, the next night a good rain brought the river up and gave it a little pep. I emailed the pics to Lis so she could have a good laugh.
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