You're Way Too Old Not To Give This a Try

You're Too Old to Spend the Rest of Your Life on the Couch: Let's Adventure!

Bonnie, Tracy and Don on the “Huck Finn” as more of our group follows

The limits we make for ourselves are largely our own

Dear Reader: I just finished my second trip on the great Rogue of Southern Oregon. This time I got to stay in the lodges-what a treat- with ROW Adventures. Our trip had aging or elderly parents (above) who got to ride safely through the rapids like most everyone else with the exception of one big Class V line where we all walked. We had all kinds of people with all kinds of challenges. Nobody forfeited any fun. That’s the whole point. More from this trip to follow this article.

Annette, 66, rolled over the edge of our raft and landed in the inflatable kayak bouncing right next to us. Not an easy move. Hard to be graceful, unless you’re one of the guides who spend their lives walking from one floating surface to another with relative impunity. And rarely fall in.

Once she righted herself, Annette took the paddle from her husband, Noah, and tentatively pushed away from us. For a few minutes, as all rookies do, Annette found herself swirling in circles as she tried to master the stroke. We all laughed good-naturedly as she struggled to figure out how to move forward.

Everyone does, the first time. Grinning, Noah called out encouragement. He’d already done plenty of kayaking:

Noah in the kayak in easy Class I waters

Behind us was technical Blossom Bar from the day before. Here the river spread out like an earthbound Milky Way, the early afternoon sun glittering on the light ripples. The sky was bright blue perfection, with a scattering of woolly clouds. It might reach 76.

Yet all wasn’t heaven.

Up ahead, just around the corner, were rapids. Annette- and the rest of us in the paddle boats-had thought it was all mostly flat waters ahead.

Since Annette, in her bright clothing and cheerful pink lipstick, wasn’t interested in getting dumped in the cold-ish waters of the Rogue, her kayaking excursion would come to an abrupt halt.

Unless she was ready for the rapids, called a guide, she might want to clamber back into the raft and wait a while. Even a gentle Class II is WAY too much for a total rookie.

Clamber back in she did. Our guide reattached the kayak, and we all paddled through the rapids.

Well, that was a brief adventure.

Let me back up.

I was with a group of people on a four-day rafting lodge-to-lodge trip on the mighty and magnificent Rogue River, operated by ROW Adventures. There were family members using this as a fun way to gather, a family with two young kids, and a few couples as well as a few singles, myself among them.

While this wasn’t the first trip Noah and Annette had done with ROW, I believe it was the first time she’d decided to try the highly-maneuverable kayak. For lots of people, just sitting in a paddleboat on the river is enough.

What’s even more fun- and a way to test your mettle- is to try out an inflatable kayak. They take a little getting used to. For the kids in our midst, the kayaks were perfect. For adults, especially once we inch past fifty, all too often we claim that we’re just too old.

My favorite fighting words. Because each trip I take I see plenty of people proving just how wrong these words are. Elderly folks, people with disabilities, lots of people that too much of society has decided need to stay on the sidelines while life passes them by.

These trips have allowed me to watch people of an age do things that their friends and neighbors might emphatically demand that they not do. Nick, a Brit with a charming accent, was one such surprise. Nick is a sweet-natured man who looks like someone’s happy Da’, with nothing better to do than sit in his chair, the collie at his feet warming his slippers, holding a cold pint, and watching footy (soccer).

That’s not Nick. Not at all. If there was a side adventure, Nick was all in.

At the historic Rogue River Ranch, Nick joined a few other brave souls to leap off a big rock into the swimming hole. I can’t speak for you, but that takes guts. It takes more guts the older we inch past fifty, when joints can ache more, and we become much more wary of taking physical changes.

He was there for every single hike, every exploration, every adventure.

Nick shared with me over dinner one night that it had finally occurred to him that if he was really going to live, he’d better get out there and do it now.

There Nick is, leaping out of the boat for a planned swim in Class Two waters, bouncing in the waves and spluttering, having the time of his life. Truth, Nick’s been all over. On various hikes, we found out how many places in the world we’d both been. Both of us, later in life. Both of us, at an age when too many folks choose to watch National Geographic, rather than go out and live it.

But let’s get back to Annette.

It was the very last day and her very last shot at doing this thing that she’d been brave enough to try. One of our guides, Keith, had appropriately felt that the upcoming low rapids could be a little spicy for someone with two minutes’ kayaking experience. Once were past them, she was game for another try.

It took her a few moments to get her bearings and find a stroke which largely got her going in the same direction we were all heading. The mighty current will take you towards the Pacific Ocean no matter which way you’re facing.

While you can trust the river to get you there, you really want to face forward, because, rocks. And downed trees. Other boats full of people.

Noah and I were in the front of Anna’s (the guide) safety boat, watching. Annette found her rhythm. We were cheering her on as she meandered quietly down the broadening river as we slowly approached Foster Bar, where we would all get out for the trip across the mountains and eventually home.

But the river wasn’t finished with Annette. Not yet.

For while there are plenty of named rapids, rapids technical enough to require significant guiding skills to safely maneuver, even on the flat there are places where the ripples and the rocks beneath the water can make enough waves to bounce a beginner all over the place.

You can hear them as you approach. Noah watched his wife as she entered what would be considered Class I (moving water), but for her, they may well have loomed large. She paddled, wobbled a bit, her face determined, with a few drops of glistening river water on her cheeks.

Noah, left, watching Annette on the flat

Then, suddenly, she was through. The look on her face was nearly worth the trip. I know that feeling well: OH MY GOD I DID IT.

I DID IT.

Noah was delighted. He was even more delighted that for a few more sections of bumpy river, his wife stayed in the kayak and kept right on paddling.

She was beaming. So was Noah. Everyone was. As a group we wanted her to succeed, the same way we wanted anyone to succeed when it was clear that someone’s choice felt like a risk.

At dinner each night the lead guide, Ryan, had lifted a toast to all the people who had taken chances that day. It’s a fine reminder to lift a glass to ourselves every time we take a chance, on or off a river.

Annette finally rejoined us in the paddle boat. Not long afterwards, we all pulled up to Foster Bar. We climbed out of the boats for the final time. Perhaps not so eagerly we all helped unload all the bags for the long, winding trip home over the mountains back to Morrison’s Lodge, where we had all met just a few days before.

Perhaps not right away, but certainly over time, the chances we take for fun end up rewriting not only our history but also our futures. When people like Annette and Noah and Nick, well past fifty and at the point were society deems us too old for “real” adventure go out and do it anyway, that changes the internal narrative. Once rewritten, the new narrative can’t be undone.

Yes, you can do this.

Annette has every reason to be proud of herself, to celebrate what must have felt like a big win. It was a big win. At any point, a hidden rock or a hole could have flipped her into the cold waters of the Rogue, even in Class I.

She did it anyway.

Nick has every reason to be proud of himself, taking all the chances every time there was a rock jump into the cold river, a planned swim, didn’t matter. Nick was all in.

While I most certainly do these adventures for my own joy and edification, I also do it because of stories like Annette and Nick’s. They are the constant reminders that everyday folks who aren’t super active, super athletic, of some imaginary “perfect age,” can engage in the kinds of thrilling experiences that allow us to rewrite our version of who we think we can be.

And while yes, there are some conditions which simply will not allow someone to do a rafting trip like this, the truth is that the experience, with all its exquisite memories, is far more accessible than many of us believe.

We can do that.

You can do that.

Let’s play.

Thanks for taking the time to join me on this journey today. I’ll be sharing more about some of the participants whose personal stories moved me deeply, people I had a chance to listen to, watch and admire deeply. I hope you’ll join me. Above all I hope you read along. If you had fun reading this please consider

If you know someone who might be inspired to play on the water, please also consider

Either way, let’s play. Now.