Rogues, Roguettes and Raids (Rogue River part V)

Two young rogues are with us - Dan and Chuck - and one roguette, Laurel, who is quiet on the face of it but proves to be a wickedly adept paddler in the ducky. A ducky is a deceptively named inflatable kayak that requires quick hip action, deft paddling and fast reactions. She surprises us with her nerve, taking on the best the river has to offer with aplomb, earning our admiration, making it look like she's born to it. Dan and Chuck, two immortal young daredevils who fling themselves off the highest climbable precipices overhanging deep pools of the river have boundless energy. Dan tops all feats with a towering backflip from a 45-foot-high slab of volcanic rock. Gasps, shouts of encouragement and applause echo off the cliffs.

We carry weaponry aboard our rafts. We are Americans after all. These consist of large day-glo orange and yellow machine-gun-shaped water rifles that shoot fairly accurately up to 15 feet away. Other rafts wield water cannons, pump-action single-shot blasters very accurate at the same distance. Bucketsful of water and oar swats are other options.

Skirmishes are short and strategy consists of filling a gun in a quiet moment and taking aim. Mostly, attacks are quick, 15-second blitzes followed by screaming, laughing and entreaties for peace.

On the fifth day, we are becalmed, drifting.  A nearby raft presents a big fat opportunity, a sneak attack. We grab our machine gun and fill it with river. Pumping quickly, a lucky couple of well-aimed squirts hit their mark and we high-five. Dan, riding in Chuck's raft has no countering weapon aboard. Feeling immensely superior, we float on. Suddenly, flying nearly overhead and to my right, Chuck leaps from his raft to ours. Shit! (river speak for "where did he just come from?') 

Landing like Spiderman on the forward section, the dastardly pirate grabs our gun. Damn! Before we can react, he is gone and we realize we've been stripped clean and are now sitting ducks. Chuck shouts and waves the booty overhead, and the other boats applaud his daring raid. Summoning our pride, we wait for an opening and heave a bucket of water on Dan. Oops, maybe this is a mistake. Nailing the cliff-diving daredevil with 2 gallons of cold river water without warning - well, now there's provocation. He smiles, feigning surrender, appears nonplussed. It proves to be the smile of the fox plotting to raid the hen house.

We float on. I try to imagine myself leaping from raft to raft like Chuck the Pirate but realize my vest (aka puffy orange corset) would render me sausage-like and unable to do much more than an awkward splat from the side of our raft into the river. 

We forget the incident and begin to look for a camp.

Mistake!

Dan has slipped silently into the water and slithers like a snake to our raft,  just like a commando, with a fully loaded machine gun of water. Chris is caught off guard and seems confused but - turncoat! - admires Dan's daring raid.  We take our punishment full force and are soaked to the bone and hoist the white flag. There is no contest. Youth prevails and we limp away like drowned rats.