Summer days, drifting away...

Tomorrow is my last day here at the ranch. I cannot believe how the time has flown. It's been a strange summer, to say the least...irritatingly unpredictable. For someone who craves routine and structure, it has certainly been trying at times. Add in the emotional roller-coaster of a hasty summer romance which has left me with more questions than answers, and it becomes more and more apparent that my departure to Alaska in two short weeks may be nothing short of theraputic. I need something I can throw myself into headlong, which will consume my mind and body thoroughly enough to cleanse any outlying "what ifs" from my system. Between a cataclysmic move and beginning my first official year as a full-time teacher, I think that pretty much covers all the bases.

As I reflect on the past two months, now that I am nearly on the eve of my departure, I am able to recognize the time I've spent here as a time of needed introspection and personal growth. Also, it has been a forced detachment from my family and familiar surroundings which, although not quite as extreme, will certainly prepare me for what is to come in the not-so-distant future.

Bittersweet as much of my personal growth and learning has been this summer, when I view it in full I am left with a feeling of accomplishment. I put myself out and took risks like I never have before. Sometimes I landed on my feet, sometimes I fell flat on the ground, and sometimes I was left unsure about what was up and what was down. But despite the outcome, through each new experience I have gained a greater sense of self and an enhanced confidence in who I am and what I am capable of doing.

I'm not quite sure what tomorrow will bring, or the day after that, or the week after that, or what my life will be like just one month from now, but I do know there is one thing I can count on: when I wake up tomorrow morning, I will still be me, and I am happy about that.

My first float down the river (or, How I almost died in 2ft. of water)

The South Fork of the Clearwater River

Looking Down River

Looking Up River

Well, I have had quite a few interesting adventures here at the Ranch this summer, and a week ago today I had yet another to add to the books. Anyone who knows me well knows that I am not exactly into water sports. I am an excellent swimmer, but my crippling fear of sharks, sea monsters, fish, and other unknown creatures of the deep keeps me from going any further than knee deep into bodies of water that are not man made and chlorinated. I've also never been a big lover of boats.

HOWEVER, as of late I have embraced the life philosophy of 'trying things', which is why last Thursday, as Chuck, Lana, and I were setting up party central down by the river for Anderson's and my friends who were coming in on Friday, I offered unhesitatingly to man (woman?) the freshly inflated boat/raft thingy down the river from the barn (where it was currently living) to our party site right above the island. You can see the head of the island in the first picture above. I thought it would be fun to have the raft down at our party site so we could drag it out into the river, anchor it or something, and then lay out in it and get some sun. Wishful thinking, perhaps, on my part.

So, after Chuck got the raft inflated, he came down to the party site to get me, stating that "the Titanic was ready to sail." I maybe should have taken that as a bad omen, but let's remember, I am trying to think positively about everything. So we drove back over to the barn in the 4-wheeler, dragged the raft down to the river, and got ready to launch. I was thinking that Chuck and I were going to navigate the river together, but he assured me that I could do it solo, no problem. Bolstered by false confidence, I boarded the craft, and after brief instruction and reassurance that I could definitely keep my shoes on, Chuck shoved me out into the river.

Per Chuck's instruction, I was to make for the left side of the river, because there were fewer rocks and the landing site was on the left side. Seemed easy enough from the safety of the shore, but the river had different ideas. And as I was launched from the right side, attempting to traverse to the opposite shore became that much more difficult. My futile attempts to 'row' resulted in little more than spinning me in pathetic circles, and I quickly succumbed to the will of the current.

I basically traveled the worst possible course down the river. If there was a rock, I hit it. If there were rapids, I was in them. As soon as I cleared the rougher patches and reached the calmer waters before the island, I started rowing for shore like my life depended on it. Which in my mind, it pretty much did. I knew what came after the island (a narrow canyon with nothing but white water), and I knew that if I didn't get the raft to shore and soon, I was screwed.

Even though I was paddling with all I had, the forward motion of the swift current swept me right past my landing site. I waved to Lana who was standing helplessly on the shore, and shouted a resigned, "Well, I guess I'm going to Stites!" (the next town down the river). Chuck had made it back to our party site, and as I began to float down the left side of the island, about 10 feet from the shore, he yelled at me to get out and try to drag the boat to shore. I had just been wading in the river hours previously, and I knew the water was only about 2 feet deep here, so it seemed like a good idea. I swung my left leg out and tried to plant it on the river bottom. My hiking boot bumped and slipped along the rocky bottom, and barely even slowed the raft's progress down the river. Seeing I had no choice, I dragged my other foot out of the raft and tried to plant both feet on the river bottom. Holding on to the raft by a rope, I began to panic because while I was now fully out of the raft, we were still traveling down river at an alarming rate. I was wet up to my waist and still could not gain purchase on the slippery, algae-coated rocks lining the river bottom.

Then, the thing I had been dreading happened. I lost my footing completely, landing on my butt and dunking me up to my chin, and the unrelenting current continued to drag the raft and me down river. I knew I ought to give up at this point - let the raft go and worry about saving myself - but I am just stubborn (or stupid?) enough to get it in my head that I HAD to save the raft. I had already lost my paddle in my struggle to keep my feet - if I lost the raft too, I would never hear the end of it.

I dug my feet in for a last ditch attempt, somehow managed to regain my footing, and using all of my strength (aided by panic adrenaline) I flopped and floundered and dragged the raft (which felt like it weighed a ton as the current pulled on it) step by slogging step into shore. I flopped onto the rocky beach with all the drama of an old-timey sailor who has not seen land for months.

My legs were shaking from the effort, I could hardly walk, I was soaking wet and more than a little embarrassed, but I was alive and the raft was ashore. Chuck even managed to recover the lost paddle.

Once I got back up to the house and the adrenaline began to abate, I discovered that I was covered in emerging bruises from ankle to knee on both legs - souvenirs of my battle with the rocky river bottom.

As far as my 'trying new things' lifestyle goes, most of the time the result is positive. However, I think my first time floating the South Fork was also my last...well, at least for now :)