This is a shorter post that will precede a longer post. There’s just too much to talk about – Rib Country restaurant with BBQ pulled pork, ribs, roast beef, BBQ chicken and the two ten year old boys who were so fat they needed their own table, Cora and Grampy’s log house in the mountains, Contra dancing at the Folk School (yes, Jock participated!), driving to Tennessee, Georgia and North Carolina in a matter of twenty minutes.

But the pressing story is the one where my grandparents took us on a non-guided white water rafting trip with “8 Miles of Fun on the Nantahala River” with the Rolling Thunder River Company Since 1977! with Grade III rapids.

When the guides did a roll call before the rafts took off, I noticed that we were the only ones without a guide – out of the 85 people there. I looked around at our group – Grampy (78), Cora (a few years younger than Grampy) – not that age really has anything to do with this, but bones do become slightly more fragile at a certain point (apparently, not where Cora’s concerned though)- Jock (had done one guided tour in Africa on Grade VII rapids where he got thrown out of his raft 9 out of the 15 rapids they went through, trudging water) and me (had one experience in Aspen, CO – again, with a guide). Let’s put it this way – none of us were qualified to steer the raft.

However, we were assured that we’d be fine and once we got our brief lesson and decided that Jock would be our captain, we began to feel more confident. Within the first five minutes, Cora and my head nearly got knocked off by a large branch jutting out into the river, but besides that and getting stuck on a rock for a few minutes, we sailed clear for a good two hours, through many rapids and passing many other boats. Jock proved to be a stable and commanding leader and although there were times when his British quietness rang deaf on older ears, the other raft guides complimented our seemingly learned expertise.

Then, the group leaders pulled every raft to the side of the bank. It was the last five minutes of the trip. This was the big one, the big rapid, kahuna, so we were instructed exactly how to go forward – keep raft facing straight ahead, secure feet under seats in front and if we happen to fall out in the 48 degree F water, look immediately for a rope and keep your nose and toes above water.

Surely we wouldn’t need that!

We follow closely behind the raft that we’ve been following the entire trip before a blue boat sneaks in front of us. They aren’t with our company and I quickly point out that they don’t have a guide on their boat either. I instruct our leader – whether he wanted it or not – to watch out for that boat, they seemed to be all over the show, and the guy steering in the back doesn’t have the patented steering motion down at all.

 The first big bump approaches and we pass over it with flying colors, except Jock nearly gets thrown overboard (but I didn’t feel a thing) - this is NOTHING!

 The second part comes up, we watch as three rafts go over roughly, but intact. Then, the fourth one – the blue one – starts to go over. And they STOP. They don’t go over the rapids, but get stuck on one of the rocks directly over where we’re headed. I look back at Jock, he shrugs his shoulders indicating there’s no where for us to go. I look forward and that’s the last thing I remember seeing.

The boat tips, I get flung off and submerge headfirst into the freezing water. The only thought of mine that I remember is: Of course. Of course I am the one who gets flung out of the boat. Here we go. 

The cold knocks the wind out of me, my head bumps the boat and it seems like hours before I come up for air. The water is swirling and pushing me fastly forward. I can’t regain my composure. Finally, I hear “ROPE! ROPE!! GET HER THE ROPE!!” I fling my arms around, forgetting about the toes up part of it and splash around like butter on a frying pan until I feel a rope, then the rope goes taut, and I hear “GET OFF THE ROPE!! YOU’RE IN A BOAT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? GET THE F*&% OFF THE ROPE!!!”

Apparently, the blue boat that we were able to push off the rock, grabbed the rope intended for me…or CORA. I suddenly see Jock and Grampy pass by me in the boat and no sign of Cora. I feel like crying. I’m fine being thrown out, but CORA? Finally, I grab a rope intended for me, get pulled to the shore. One of the guides says to me in her southern drawl, “M’aam, please move to the side of the shore.” But I can’t move. I am frozen and in shock. “M’aam, it doesn’t do you any good standing there, please move on over to the side.” My legs aren’t moving, and I notice Cora is still floating down the river – she remembered her nose and toes!

When she finally got pulled out and we are reunited, all we can do is look at each other soaked from head to toe and laugh. We laugh and laugh and laugh. We might shake a little still, but we laugh. Poor Grampy and Jock – they lose their birds to the white waters and here we are just peeling over in laughter. Cora is definitely a tough lady!

Here are some pictures to better describe or click here for a slide show