Ron is having an amazing weekend. It is the fall equinox that makes my shadow chasing, stone calendar mapping husband happy. He is also on a river trip down the San Juan which he hasn't made time for all summer. So he is combining petroglyphing with rafting which is a big AHHHH for him.
This weekend I am at home instead of on the river. Since he actually left Wednesday and I have a new position in the district I just couldn't go. Over our almost 40 years together we have had our memorable moments on a variety of rivers. Some had their terrifying moments, some were miserably cold and uncomfortable, and some were just plain enjoyable.
I must admit that my honey being on the San Juan makes me more jealous than most rivers he could be on. This particular river has some rapids but also has its share of relaxing float stretches. Back in college the San Juan was one of the first rivers Ron and I ever went on together. Unfortunately, we went in February when it was frigid out and back then we didn't have any dry bags so our sleeping bags along with everything else we took was soaked. But my loving man took excellent care of me even under those conditions. We gathered wood, built a fire and rounded up a ton of the flattest rocks we could find and hefted them to our makeshift camp. Ron laid the rocks around the fire along with the sleeping bags to dry them out at least a little. Then when the rocks were hot he buried them under a bit of sand and we slept snuggled up together. I don't know if the rocks kept me warm or my love for this man who was determined to take care of us.
A couple other times I thought I would die from dumps on water that was way too big for someone who has never been a thrill junkie. But even getting flushed in Satan's Cesspool on the American River and getting tossed like toothpicks on the Stanislaus didn't manage to kill us. It did make me a believer in calmer, warmer river rafting. My believe is that if there are others floating a river on an inner tube with a cooler of beers to keep cool then I am on a float trip that I will enjoy.
Not that I regret any of our river adventures I am proud to have survived each and every one of them. But I have no desire to get my blood flowing by the terror of big water ever again. You might think it is due to my 50 something age. The truth is I only braved it out to be with my Ronnie B. even back in my 20s. But you can bet next summer I will be back in my inflatable kayak floating down the Chama on a not-too-intense stretch here in New Mexico with my man.
It still brings a smile to my heart that he took such good care of us back in our youthful trips. But I am grateful for dry bags, dry clothes and bedding. Grateful that I know he is probably reminiscing about the chilly, magical night so long ago, as he lays under the stars on the San Juan tonight.
In Him,
Joyful
9-22-12
This weekend I am at home instead of on the river. Since he actually left Wednesday and I have a new position in the district I just couldn't go. Over our almost 40 years together we have had our memorable moments on a variety of rivers. Some had their terrifying moments, some were miserably cold and uncomfortable, and some were just plain enjoyable.
I must admit that my honey being on the San Juan makes me more jealous than most rivers he could be on. This particular river has some rapids but also has its share of relaxing float stretches. Back in college the San Juan was one of the first rivers Ron and I ever went on together. Unfortunately, we went in February when it was frigid out and back then we didn't have any dry bags so our sleeping bags along with everything else we took was soaked. But my loving man took excellent care of me even under those conditions. We gathered wood, built a fire and rounded up a ton of the flattest rocks we could find and hefted them to our makeshift camp. Ron laid the rocks around the fire along with the sleeping bags to dry them out at least a little. Then when the rocks were hot he buried them under a bit of sand and we slept snuggled up together. I don't know if the rocks kept me warm or my love for this man who was determined to take care of us.
A couple other times I thought I would die from dumps on water that was way too big for someone who has never been a thrill junkie. But even getting flushed in Satan's Cesspool on the American River and getting tossed like toothpicks on the Stanislaus didn't manage to kill us. It did make me a believer in calmer, warmer river rafting. My believe is that if there are others floating a river on an inner tube with a cooler of beers to keep cool then I am on a float trip that I will enjoy.
Not that I regret any of our river adventures I am proud to have survived each and every one of them. But I have no desire to get my blood flowing by the terror of big water ever again. You might think it is due to my 50 something age. The truth is I only braved it out to be with my Ronnie B. even back in my 20s. But you can bet next summer I will be back in my inflatable kayak floating down the Chama on a not-too-intense stretch here in New Mexico with my man.
It still brings a smile to my heart that he took such good care of us back in our youthful trips. But I am grateful for dry bags, dry clothes and bedding. Grateful that I know he is probably reminiscing about the chilly, magical night so long ago, as he lays under the stars on the San Juan tonight.
In Him,
Joyful
9-22-12
Those river trips sound like they are filled with memories, mostly good and a few dangerous.
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