Water and Me (2)

Some years on I found myself again in Australia, this time with my daughter, in Queensland. We had driven from Brisbane to Cairns on the inland road (oh, how wonderful that was - but that's another story) and now we wanted to book white water rafting experience. Perhaps it would be fair to tell you that I am old enough to have my buss-pass. And my daughter is a woman old enough to have children, though she is far too sensible for that! I am a grandmother, however, so that might set the scene for you.
We wandered into an agency that sold 'Experiences'. The woman at the counter was friendly and pleasant and got out a folder containing some choices. We booked a balloon trip and then asked about the whitewater rafting. She explained that there were several grades of rafting, running from 2 (what,no 1?) up to 7 or 8. Looking at me she recommended a 2. I asked whether 2 was the easier end of the scale and she admitted it was.
So we chose a 7. Somewhat stunned, but not wanting to lose custom, the salesperson sold us our tickets and told us where to turn up for the transport the next day. We spent that day bumming around by the water at our hotel and got more excited as the day wore on.
The rafting was high in the rainforest, where, surprisingly enough, it was raining. All the runs were full; there was lots of water. We were fitted with lifejackets and instructed to listen to our individual instructors. The dangers were explained. Then we were allocated to great big orange inflatables and marched down to them.
My fellow raftees looked at me a little askance! They were all even younger than my daughter, and I must have looked to them like their own grans. We cast off (or whatever the term is for starting a rafting trip), and were soon bowling down in the current between rocks and over little falls. I have never had so much fun. We all screamed a lot, were never dry all day, and each time a stop was called (our skipper was the safety bloke) we jumped into the water and played in it.
The very last drop that we negotiated was about twenty feet straight down into a foaming pool. Our skipper told us to get together in the front of the raft and hold tight. This way, he promised, we would not fall out. Though the logic escaped us, we did as we were told. The drop came, we held on in the front and lo and behold - we stayed in the boat. Our skipper told us to watch as the others came. Those who had annoyed their skipper, or who weren't paying attention would fall out of their craft. Sure enough, about half of the crews exited their crafts on the way.
I'll do it again - before I'm 80, I hope. Maybe there are rules for older people - who knows? I'm young yet, and will definitely be having another go. Join me?