| On our first trip we
spent a day on that put-in sandbar, waiting for the entire group to gather.
It was spring; the river was moving fast with spring runoff. None
of us had any river boating experience whatever. We had been assured
by friends who had run Glen that what lay ahead was without significant
rapids—"little riffles," they said, "and all in the first few dozen miles"—and
what we would see would be magnificent beyond any magnificence we could
anticipate.
Nevertheless, that river looked fast. And it roared, too. The roar was from twigs dipping into the water from the nearby banks. It looked very fast . . .
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