I just love being alive. And on vacation. Tuesday was a great day. I woke up and cooked Debbie some eggs and sausage and watched her off to work, then collected my gear and headed for the river. I’m skirtless so Leigh Ann let me borrow hers (thanks!), but around noon I was on the road in the crisp midday air, a sky impossibly blue. Scout went the whole way with her head and tongue hanging out of the window, smiles on the faces in cars we passed. Drove on up and over to the river, and it was at the perfect level, good to run, even better to play on. There was only one fellow there, a guy named Eric who I’d paddled with before. The water was so cold. I just outfitted my kayak with foam padding two nights ago, so I fit snugly and watertight. The water was at about three feet, plenty of whitewater and a nice foam pile on Five-O, the great park-n-play spot I adore. I spent a while getting warmed up, just side surfing in the roiling, frothing hole. As I got acclimated and the water worked its way into my skin I started getting’ jiggy, pulling blunts, enders, cartwheels, and surfing the entire wave. What a great day. The air cool and clear, water rushing by symphonic in intensity, the whirl and play of a small boat in big water. Yes. Scout stayed on the beach and barked, periodically getting up enough nerve to try and cross the river, but once she hit the first wave she’d balk and turn back no matter how much we yelled her on. She used to swim over every time, but I think she’s been dunked one too many times. When I got out to rest and sit on the rocks chatting with Eric and his girlfriend Jody, Scout would run in mad circles in the sand across the way, pausing only to dig a frantic sand pit and bark furiously at the water. Eventually Eric left and I was alone playing in the surf, watching the leaves fall in yellow splashes into the river. Occasionally a log would float by. No clouds at all. Finally a fellow named Tom Killian showed up, and his friend Mike. Soon we were all hitting the hole in succession, whooping it up and trying to get vertical, laughing along with the river. Rusty showed up, who’d been to see Widespread Panic in Huntsville the night before. And we surfed, until the sun was descending and the evening chill spread out across the water, making its way through our insulation, and one by one we climbed on the bank and watched the rest. Finally I had to go, my skin cold and my arms tuckered out. Scout and I loaded up and I headed back down the dirt road towards Blountsville, the music of the river rocking my mind into a moving smile.