Floating the White River in Arkansas
Miriam and I plan to visit as many Arkansas State Parks and other outdoor venues as we can each spring and fall — too hot in summer and too cold in winter. So far this spring we have been to Petit Jean and Mt. Magazine State Parks. Our most recent trip was not to a state park but to a beautiful “resort” on the White River in north central Arkansas. We stayed in an area on the river just down from the confluence with the Buffalo River (a National River Park).
The White is known for its fabulous trout fishing. We don’t fish. But we do enjoy sitting on the porch swing watching the river flow by. We also wanted to kayak, which neither of us had ever done before.
The White River is wide and shallow, crystal clear and bordered by high bluffs and thick forest. It is in the Ozark Mountains. So, Miriam and I started out in mid-morning and began our float some seven miles down to the cabins. We were told it would take three to four hours. The flow was calm, mellow in fact. We took pictures, chatted, snacked, and mediated as we let the water carry us along. Birds of all types kept us awake. The sun on the water sparkled like fireworks on the 4th of July.
There are motorboats on the river but no larger than 20 hp is allowed. Most are Jon boats for fishing, but they are noisy and much speedier than me and my kayak. At one point I noticed Miriam getting further and further behind. Finally, I saw she had put her oar down and was almost sitting still in the water. I thought she might be in trouble and turned my kayak around and paddled back upstream. As I got closer and yelled out to see if she was okay, she responded that she was fine and just (as John Muir might say) sauntering on the water. I thought “why am I in a rush?” So, I joined her and we sauntered along the White River together.
As I get older, sauntering — like the tortoise — slow but steady is more and more my choice. The days of “full speed ahead” are in the past. Now I prefer meandering and mediating — “peaceful, happy, and light.”
As the morning became afternoon and the sun became warmer, we picked up our oars and paddled for the cabin and a well-deserved lunch and relaxation on the porch swing.
In the words of George Castanza’s father, it was “Serenity Now!”
