Four boats slipped almost silently into inky black water. The river’s mirror-calm surface reflected bright yellows, blues, and reds from our life jackets and warm layers as the current carried us gently around the first corner. Thickets of alders arched their twigs over the water, and matted grass paths tunneled among them.
Despite a bright sense of anticipation, we barely spoke—and then in whispers—and tempered every movement with caution against sound. We accepted the liquid music of canoe paddles dripping; the rustle of sleeves; and the breathy imbibing of sweet fall air.
