All of a sudden, I can't help myself. Everyday I think of another story or idea I could include on this silly blog thing. The encouragement from my sibs didn't help at all in tempering my itching little fingers from clacking away at the keys either. I guess I just have interesting things to say.... Just kidding. Kinda. I just make myself feel better with the reminder that at least when I am "blogging", I am not wasting my life with checking FaceBook. I need to get out more.
Alright, the story that came to mind today, Tuesday, September 4th, 2007 is one of my rafting adventures from the summer. I work as a commercial whitewater rafting guide for Wilderness Aware on the Arkansas River. I love it. And the joke about 'how do you know when a river guide has walked into the room? They'll tell ya.' stands true for me too. I seem to find ways to mention what I do for a living in just about every conversation I have: the clerk at the grocery store hands me my change.... "hey, thanks man. No, I can carry my groceries to my car. You see, I work as a river guide in the summer and pretty much have these huge arms.... thanks though." Its pretty bad.
Alright..... the story. Working in a 'high adventure' industry like whitewater rafting is interesting. You get all types on your boat. You have the people who had never considered doing anything as dangerous as rafting until a boyfriend mentioned that he has wanted to go since he was 8 years old and watched Maryl Streep on TV, and frankly the idea of floating down a raging river brings their lunch back up their pipe. Then there are the guys who think the life jacket is cute, but unnecessary because they served in the Navy and are super good swimmers. (Nothing against the Navy, Bess). I have taken boat loads of people down the river. Literally. But a few individuals manage to stand out in my memory. Here is one such group of people.
It was a three day trip down the Ark. It was a typical trip: nice people, good water, great weather. The first day and night passed uneventfully. Even the second day with the rapids was pretty chill. We got into camp the second night and after surviving the afternoon heat and setting up tents and the kitchen area, we all settled in for a fun evening of food and relaxation. I must tell you a bit about the group. There were six people. Two couples from Las Vegas who were professional, well traveled and fairly well heeled from what I could tell from their conversations. The other two were a father and son from Oklahoma. The dad was a Pastor of a Vineyard Church and the son was a non-social, silent 12-year-old. The group mixed well considering the different backgrounds and interests.
The toilet facilities we use on overnight trips are very sophisticated. We have a fabulous plastic container that we line with plastic bags and top with a toilet seat. We affectionately call it the "groover" because back in the olden days of rafting, before the invention of plastic, we used old metal rocket boxes that would leave "grooves" in your bum after sitting on them.
We set up our groover behind some thick bushes and Cottonwood trees for privacy. After dark, Ginger decided she couldn't hold it anymore and enlisted Ira to go with her into the deep, dark woods to find the groover. Ira, being the compassionate and loyal friend that she was, went along to hold the flashlight. After the two ladies traipsed off, John, the pastor, turned to Dan, Ira's husband who was innocently reading a book and said, "hey, this is your chance to really scare the girls." Dan just shook his head and adamantly said he would not be a part of any mischief concerning the women. John walked to the banks of the river, picked up a fist-sized stone and walked back. He hurled it as hard as he could into the trees. It clattered through the branches and sounded like an animal running through the brush. We all held our breath around the campfire. There was silence for a moment, then murmuring and then Ira came tearing around the corner carrying the flashlight. She had left Ginger in the dark. Ginger, all alone and terrified, pulled up her pants mid-stream and came running after Ira crying "I'm peeing my pants! I'm peeing my pants!" The rest of us tried to contain our laughter, but could not. The girls immediately blamed Dan and were shocked to find out that the Pastor, was in fact, the one to blame.
When the trip awards were being handed out the next day during the van ride back to the office, Ira was given the most loyal friend of the year award. Ginger was given the best sport award.
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