How This Grandmom Spent Her Summer Vacation Rafting
BY ROBERTA ALLEN
This is a cautionary yet celebratory tale for older grandparents.
Looking back, at forty-three, grandparenting seemed as effortless as floating down a lazy river.
Thirty years later, taking my husband, son, and grandsons, 10 and 12, on a three-hour power river rafting trip did not seem like that much of a stretch. Not that strenuous
My major concern was having enough agility to clamber in and out of the raft.
Rappelling down rock faces was not nor had ever been one of my fantasies.
First, I discover that even exiting my son’s new mini-van is a feat. Next, comes the COVID precaution of entering the bus to the river from the back. The step ladder provided has a precarious top step with a giant gap between that and the bus floor. I fear even attempting. I must enter from the front, the only one thus singled out
Rappelling down rock faces was not nor had ever been one of my fantasies. I had anticipated a pier not a nearly perpendicular 8-foot descent over treacherous stones that are anything but level. The nylon rope had too much give and was poorly positioned as something to cling to.
Without my hearing aids, I hear barely any instructions.
Somehow, I make it and climb over the meter high splashboard. Hurdle’s anyone?
I discover there are no seats. We are to perch on the inflated sides.
Without my hearing aids, I hear barely any instructions.
My nose begins to gush. To staunch the bleeding a tampon from the first aid kit is offered as packing.
With the first rapid I hang on for dear life. The water smacks me like a sturgeon tail right along the right side of the face. My sunglasses splinter and scrape my face missing an eye by a millimeter.
My nose begins to gush. To staunch the bleeding a tampon from the first aid kit is offered as packing. An old rugby trick I am told, My frozen fingers are already too wet to open the plastic. The guide must help. If I ever garnering the attention of a buff rugby player had intrigued me, this was not what I had in mind.
In my girlhood tampons were hardly acknowledged, unmentionables. Now, I have made a spectacle of myself with one hanging from my nose. Not a great look. Worse river water swells what doesn’t fit in my nasal passage into marshmallow size. Ratchet up the embarrassment. Did I mention all my fellow rafters are male?
The flotilla of other rafts geared to traverse together is all held up by my mishap. Still, there is a little consolation that this tumble has way more cachet than the last when I slipped– on an acorn. The bleeding does subside.
Hence I adopt a weird yoga pose of clinging to the rope between my legs and canting the rest of my body at an opposite angle. Despite the spectacular scenery and less violent rapids, I wonder how much longer the trip will be, silently reverting to the childish “Are we there yet”?
There, at last, at least, has an actual beach but an uphill trudge to the bus with sand weighting every footstep.
Takeaway #1. There are limits to active senior living. Be realistic. Ask questions. Research.
Takeaway #2 Renoir posited that the pain passes but the beauty remains. The beauty for me was, even without my glasses, the looks of pure joy and the utter delight on my grandsons’ faces.
NOTE; NONE OF THE IMAGES IN THIS ARTICLE ARE OF THE AUTHOR OR HER FAMILY. THEY WERE ADDED TO GIVE COLOR AND FUN IMAGERY ONLY.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR – ROBERTA ALLEN
Roberta managed various non-profits. With her husband of fifty-plus years, she has three grown granddaughters and two—surprise! — grandsons. She loves whimsy, fresh ideas, writing, beauty, and chocolate.
Published books include The Solvency Struggle and The Recipe Retrospective
Read more from Roberta in GRAND