Paddling hard, I'm still lagging behind. I'm glad my lifejacket is firmly fastened. We round a sharp bend and glide past bean fields inundated with floodwater. A peculiar crooked-elbow shape wings across the gray sky over my head. And we paddle on through flooded woods, ducking trees that normally rise far above our heads.
Raindrops begin to patter, then pour, then slacken again to a gentle drumming.
In this dim light, the towering trees along the riverbank are luminously green, and it's easy to imagine that we are the first humans to enter this new world. I'm overwhelmed by verdure and the sound of rushing water. We make the bridge at Piperton in record time, buoyed by high water and optimistic spirits. John hops out, in a funereal suit and tie, waves enthusiastically and shouts something that we can't hear. I shout back.