I remember a time in my life not too long ago when my family and I went white water rafting for the first time. We had been spending some of our summer vacation at a cabin in the Smokey Mountains, close to Gatlinburg, Tennessee. The next day we would experience feelings of exhilarating excitement, with a sense of suspense and anticipation as we rafted down the Nantahala River. I recall in vivid detail the scenery around us as we embarked on our perilous journey down the Nantahala. We arrived at the drop-off point in the early afternoon the next day. The sweet smell of fresh pine trees was floating in the air and a soft midsummer breeze was brushing against our faces. After receiving directions and safety precautions from our rafting instructor, we geared up, boarded our raft, and set out for our voyage down the treacherous Nantahala. Sharing the experience with me were my mother, aunt, uncle, and cousin; along with out rafting guide. We were all ready for a fun and safe ride down the Nantahala.As we started to slowly drift down the river, seemingly inch by inch, I began to have feelings of disappointment. I had been planning on a more hazardous and fast-paced ride. The water was crystal clear and almost as flat as a sheet of glass. There was only a very mild current and being as impatient as I was, it appeared to me that we werent even moving.Eventually, the current became a little stronger and the ride a little swifter. My feelings of disappointment slowly vanished and feelings of excitement and exhilaration took their place. As the terrain surrounding us became more rocky and rough, so did the river. It was no longer calm and clear like a mountain lake, but more white and frothy like sea foam and rough like a white squall. We passed many small falls, being splashed and soaked from all directions at the bottom of each one. The water was icy cold, cold enough to make you tremble to the bone. I dont think water surroun...
