Adventures in Tubing

Finally, I've come to tell you a little story about a tubing trip. The Tubing Trip of Death. Yeah, that one. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you need to go catch up first, here, and then here.

It happened on our second day in the mountains. We finished up gem mining and headed toward Bryson City, NC to find a place called Deep Creek. We'd been told (by a random stranger at the Pisgah National Forest visitor center) that this place would be loads of fun for our four little girls. Tubing? My friend, Lori, and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Sure! Sounds like fun. What's not to love? Floating down a beautiful wooded mountain on a bubbling creek...everyone will be refreshed in the cool water...the kiddos will be entertained by the novelty of it all. Yep. Perfect.

We stop near the entrance of the park to rent our tubes for the day. The tube guys quickly strap the six floats to the top of my van with blinding precision. Lori and I nervously stood aside trying to memorize their movements, knowing it would be us doing this very same act at the end of the day (only while wet, exhausted and inexperienced).

Inside the park, we had another picnic lunch under the green canopy of the forest, and then set out with our tubes down the trail.

We were told to follow the trail up the creek. There were supposedly two main spots for entering the creek. Entering at the first one brings you down the calmest section of the creek. The second one, we were told, contains some whitewater and is more exciting.

Hmm. Calm water? Boring. We walked past the first section, eyeballing water so shallow that numerous people were standing up and walking because their tubes were getting stuck. Surely whatever was upstream would be more fun. We rationalized that the kids would only make the walk to the top section one time, and the rest of the day we'd be stuck on the baby stream. Let's go for it now!

Noodle began to complain. "I'm tired! Can't we just get in the water? When will we get there? My arms hurt! I can't carry this tube!" The tubes were pretty heavy, but I was already carrying my tube and Hopers' tube. Noodle was crazy if she thought I was going to balance hers on my head like an African water-bearer or something. The other girls slogged their way up hill with little comment. But not my Noodle. She's never been afraid to help others share in her pain. She cried and belly-ached her way up the trail. Once, she threw her tube to the ground (strange how she found the strength for it!), and two times she threw herself to the ground with arms crossed and face set in an I won't go another inch! expression. Twice, a boy on a bicycle passed us and asked, "Are you sure you don't need help?" I, feeling sure there was some life-lesson on endurance lurking here, told the boy thanks but no thanks (although I'm not sure if the endurance lesson was for Noodle or for everyone else having to endure her antics).

One mile of trail, and we finally made it to the second jump-in point. We settled the girls into their individual tubes and began our float.

The first bit of whitewater started the trouble. If we had held it together better, we may have had a completely different trip down the river... but we didn't hold it together. Arms, legs, tubes, and flip-flops went a-flyin'. I had my hand on Hopers' tube ahead of me. It dumped her over the 3 foot drop and landed on top of her. My tube didn't even make it to the drop before I was diving out of it to rescue her. I had enough time to stand up, toss her back in the float, catch her shoes, and maneuver myself back into my tube for the next stunt.

(Yes. What the heck were we thinking. That's what I was thinking, anyway.)

The next bit of whitewater left Lori and me scrambling to rescue more children from the shallow but rough water. I lost my tube and had stumble and lurch my way down the creek (in front of many strangers) in an embarrassing manner before catching it and a couple children. The stones under my feet were deceivingly slippery and impossible to walk on. OUCH. Bruised ankle. AGH! Scratched toes! Every step left me looking like a drunken circus clown.

One, two...three. I collected Gwen, Jo, and Hopers at the edge. Then a fourth empty float. Then I began scanning the water and people for Lori and Noodle. After several minutes, they rounded the bend together in one float, Noodle crying out to the world, "I CAN'T DO THIS! I DON'T WANNA DIIIIIIIEE!"

That's my girl.

Without giving you the minute by minute of Noodle's drama down the creek, I will tell you that after a lot of screaming and crying, she eventually chilled and even enjoyed herself. However, between Noodle's death cries and the first "waterfall", Hopers went from super-excited, to tearful and afraid for the rest of the way. She was so worried there would be more waterfalls no matter how much I promised her that the water was getting calmer every minute. Six-year-old Jo was the bravest of them all--gritting her teeth against the rapids and staying ahead of the group, not wanting to hold anyone's hand. She surprised us with her courage. In the end, she even wanted to go back for more. But even more surprising than that.... Noodle wanted to go again! Will I ever understand that child? Sheesh.

Lori wanted no part of another trip down the river. She had just suffered a broken toe while trying to catch Noodle's flip-flop as it disappeared into the tumbling water, never to be seen again. Her toe was already swelling into something that looked like a purple grape. It was up to me to be the leader of the second trip. I managed to get Noodle, Gwen, and Jo down the "baby" section of Deep Creek one more time with only minimal crying from them.

Then. THEN. (I know, this is a long story.) We found a spot beyond all of the scary rapids where the creek branched. A boyscout troop had created path in the water with rocks that was just right for our group of girls to ride their tubes down, hop up, and ride down again.

Over and over.

And again.

And again.

Everyone contentedly played and floated and even did some rock stacking. It's irresistible you know.

Our earlier troubles floated peacefully away on the stream.

Except for Lori's purple grape toe.

And my bruised and scratched feet.

And Hopers' deep seated need to stay far, far away from waterfalls forever.

Other than that, we were great. I want to go back again next summer. Yeah! And camp there! Yep. I'm crazy. That's what I'm thinkin'.