Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
— 22 —
Down the Not So Lazy River
LET ME SAY TWO WORDS
: Family reunion.
Let me say five more: Four boys, plus a spare.
This ain't “The Waltons,” folks. This is the Carlsons, from Cordova, Alaska, we're on a
river rafting trip during our 2001 family reunion, and we take no prisoners. Especially boy
prisoners, we've got enough of them already, so many that my cousin, Hank, says upon de-
parture, “You boys better hang on, that falls up ahead is called Dead Man's Falls,” and
someone else says, “Dead BOY'S Falls,” and nobody argues. Cathy even says, “We might
have to sacrifice one to the god of the falls,” and Matt isn't quite sure if she's kidding.
Allow me to introduce ourselves. There is my Aunty Pat, my mother's sister, and her
oldest daughter, Chris, who have opted to remain on dry land. There is Joanna, Chris'
twenty-one year old daughter, who is riding up front in what our boatman calls the “thrill
seeker seats.” There is Cathy, Chris' younger sister, her husband, Bob Bryan, and their
sons, Matt, Mike, and Mark. There is Hank, Chris and Cathy's brother, his wife, Deb, who
is staying home with their four-year old daughter, Annie (the age limit for the trip is six),
their son, David, and David's friend, Laif Stavig.
And then there is me, representing the Stabenow side of the family. I'm in the back of
the raft, also known as the “ejection seats” because of their tendency, upon the hitting of a
rock, forcibly to launch the occupants into orbit. “One hand for the boat,” Mom always said
when we lived on the Celtic, and while it is difficult to take notes while maintaining a death
grip on the raft, it is not impossible.
The adventure begins at Mudhole Smith Airport, thirteen miles north of Cordova, at
Alaska River Rafters log cabin office, where we climb onto a bus driven by Robin, an at-
tractive young brunette who is tickled at the preponderance of Carlsons on this three-hour
