Tubing on the Kennebec River in West Forks. Photo by Dee Menear

Summer has been unusually absent of outdoor adventure so when a friend invited me to float the Kennebec River in West Forks on a weekday afternoon, I excitedly confirmed.

I’ve whitewater rafted the upper Kennebec and have tubed a popular stretch further downriver but I had never played on the stretch in between. I looked forward to a lazy day on the river.

We arrived at the rental company and signed consent forms. As we were fitted into our PFDs, a woman let us know what to expect on our 6 ½ mile, 2 hour float.

We were instructed to put in on a left bank and immediately start working on getting about 20 feet to the right, toward the center of the river. We had a mile to do so, otherwise we might get “stuck” in Crusher Pool and it could be a challenge to get out, she warned.

Ever since I was a child, I had a fear of water. It was a fear I thought I’d overcome. In fact, the thought of being in the water hadn’t bothered me for years.

Until that day on the Kennebec.

I pushed Crusher Pool out of my mind as soon as the woman gave us our instructions. There were five of us and our tubes would be tethered together. How hard could it be for us to float 20 feet away from the bank?

I thought nothing of it until we were lounging in our tubes and floating down the river at a much faster pace than I expected … hugging the left bank.

I didn’t know what exactly Crusher Pool was or how it got its name but as we closed in on the river feature, I imagined it was so named because of its ability to crush rafters and tubers.

“This isn’t to the right! We aren’t 20 feet off shore,” I repeated frantically to my friend.

She shrugged it off, literally. But, I thought she was keeping her composure for the two young boys in our group.

“Fine,” I thought as I paddled at the water frantically with my hands, “This is how I am going to go, crushed in Crusher Pool.”

As if by magic, our little group floated to the right just as the mysterious Crusher Pool appeared.

We passed by a short rapid and then a large flat surface of water. As is usual, whitewater rafters were on the shoreline, having ended their trips that had started much further upriver.

“That’s it? I was afraid of that,” I asked?

“Yup,” my friend affirmed with a laugh.

Sure, it might be a challenge to navigate with a tube and no paddles but it wasn’t anything to be terrified of.

I had written off this portion of the river, and even envisioned an outcome, based solely on its name I deemed to be dangerous.

I had imagined the news headline and hoped it wouldn’t be a warden I knew responding to my demise.

Mind you, in the scenario played out in my mind, I was the only one who suffered. The rest of the group floated along merrily, even though we were all tethered together.

I found that, even with Crusher Pool behind us, I was unable to fully relax. My resurfaced fear was heavy on my mind.

I didn’t dare swim that day for fear of getting my foot caught in the rocks below the surface.

Ridiculously, I wondered if the sturgeon down in Augusta ever made an 80-mile trip upriver and over dams to jump in an occupied tube.

I made assumptions, jumped to conclusions and allowed my long buried trepidation to resurface.

The company was wonderful but for me, the entire trip was layered with an underlying and unnecessary uneasiness.

In the coming days, there will be another tube float on another section of the river. I am anxious but committed. I am hopeful I can squash this fear before it spirals out of control.

I believe there are situations that call for a healthy amount of apprehension. Caution, if you will.

It is highly more likely, I am told, that an overly fearful mind will make a dangerous decision. More importantly, and as I’ve learned, fear severely limits what can and can’t be done.

That kind of fear is not something I am willing to live with.