One afternoon I was down in an unfamiliar area, and got swept away by the current. It carried me along, almost to a little cataract, but I managed to grab a low-hanging branch as I went under it, and pulled my head out from underwater. A friend was finally able to reach me, and together we worked our way to shore. As we sat, gasping for air, muddy in the sunshine, we looked in amazement at each other, unable to speak, dazed with a new awareness of the power of this great water. I cannot predict anything- actually taking the first step into moving water is an act of faith, a surrendering of control to a force I do not know.
Further apprehension comes from the possibility of snakes.
Be it a copperhead or a menacing twig, this response is invariable. For some reason the sight of a snake stops my stomach, floods my brain with blood, and causes me to hyperventilate. I was so overwrought that concerned friends decided to take me home. Thus it is with a sense of trepidation and ungainliness that I approach the river each time. Once I have found my balance, however, and scanned the area thoroughly for life forms, I am at peace.