Sticking with the theme of adventure travel inspired by Fran Gallagher and Dick Evans this week, I decided to tell you about my recent adventure experience. Last Sunday, I met a friend from college and her friends from work near Jim Thorpe, Penna., in the Poconos area, for a white-water-rafting adventure. And if there is one thing I can say about it with absolute certainty, I will never, ever go white water rafting again! The day was blazing hot, pushing 95 degrees. Our trip, which was suppose to be registered and ready to go by 12:15 p.m., did not even begin to congregate for the safety instruction until close to 1:30. The safety talk, which was more of a platform for the guide to practice his stand-up routine, was brief. Finally, we were on the bus and ready to go by 2:00. After a half-mile hike and a struggle over the rocks to get our raft in the water, we were drifting down the river, trying desperately to get our rowing in sync. Finally, we hit our first rapids and conquered them successfully. It seemed it would be smooth sailing from then on. Boy – was I wrong! We were approaching the third set of rapids and quickly flying down the river. Up ahead, three boats were all stuck on the same large rock and, with our speed gaining, there was no way to avoid the collision. I sucked in my breath and prepared for impact. Up we went on the side of the stuck rafts, we flipped over and quickly our entire raft capsized. I flew out onto a rock (keep in mind our only safety gear was a life jacket – no helmets) and quickly felt my friend, Beth,  land on top on me. After a struggle, we were flying down the river past other rafters and our guides, who were no help except to remind us to keep our feet up. The rapids were overtaking me and every so often, I found myself fighting to get my head above the surface of the class-three rapids. At last, a family in another raft pulled me to safety. I was shaking – I had never felt so unsafe in my life, or so scared. Finally, we hit the shore for our lunch break. There were six of us in our group and we all reconvened after being saved by separate rafts. Two other young women and I refused to get back in the raft after that experience, and we sought out the guides to find out our alternative solutions. I was dumbfounded by the reaction we received from the guides; there were two choices – continue down the river (and on to stronger rapids) or walk up to the bike trail for miles until we found a park ranger to take us to safety. At that point, with my head pounding and my knee swelling (from its collision with a giant rock), neither option seemed particularly appealing. I looked ahead at the river and I knew I was not getting back in that raft. So, after a two-mile hike in the sweltering heat, we found the park ranger and eventually got back to safety. The guide who accompanied us on our hike informed us that even in the case of extreme medical emergencies, this walk to the ranger was typical protocol. There were no radios on the river, no emergency services prepared to help in a speedy fashion. The emergency signal was paddles in the middle of the road, with hopes that the rangers would find you quickly. I was appalled – what if I had been seriously injured, hit my head so hard I passed out or with a broken bone. More and more, I was feeling at ease with my decision not to continue. After a long, hot day, I headed home, a little calmer and a little disappointed in myself for not continuing the journey. As we later found out, we never should have been on class-three rapids with no rafting experience. It was certainly a learning experience. Wiithout a doubt, my next foray into adventure trips will take place on solid ground. –Kimberly Krol, Circulation and Public Relations Executive