"What am I trying to say? The same as before--everything. Nothing more than that. Everything implied by water, motion, rivers, boats. By the flowing..."
--Edward Abbey, "Down the River"

Floating down the calm lower portion of the Kennebec River in my raft yesterday afternoon, guide stick resting across my lap, I was once again overcome by the beauty of this river. By the rocks and trees, the waves and the holes, the pools and eddies, the ospreys and moose. By the thrill of the ride through the rapids I now know by heart. By the good fortune of having my friends on board to share the experience and provide an unending stream of laughter and cheer, brightening up even a rainy day like this one.

The Kennebec River is a very special place. And fourteen years after learning how to read whitewater and paddle a raft, I have not tired of running it. Running rivers is an addiction I will likely never find a cure for.

Thank goodness.

Because I will always want to feel the knot in my stomach as we put in below the dam at Harris Station. Feel the dark walls of the Kennebec Gorge looming over me as we float into the rapids. Hear the roar of the water as we sweep down through Big Mama and Whitewasher and Big Kahuna. Feel the excitement build as we slide carefully toward the big haystack that signals the start of Magic, then smacking the diagonal wave that pushes the boat left into the hole for that famous double hit. Whoosh! Wham! Splash! The screams from the crew of paddlers, and the bug-eyed face of the occasional swimmer overboard, taking the ride of a lifetime. To revel in the cameraderie that only a small raft on a big river can bring.

It's all there... on the river. Just like Ed said.

The Kennebec River from the raft.

Above the bar at the Marshall Inn in The Forks, on the banks of the Kennebec River.