Whitewater CowboyBy Jonesy,  aka Maury Jones


The grandkids called me up one day,
And said, “to the Snake River” they were headed to play.
They urged me get off my pony and come,
To join them on their raft and have lots of fun.
Well, I been workin’ quite hard, and could use a break,
Saddlin’ horses and buckin’ hay were making my back ache.
So, against Grandma’s advice, I decided to go,
“Come on, Grandpa Jonesy!” they pleaded, I couldn't tell them no.
So I met them at West Table Creek, according to plan.
Every one of them wore swim togs and a beautiful tan.
My western shirt and jeans seemed quite out of place,
My cowboy hat and boots they said they'd replace.
From the trunk of their car they found a t-shirt and cap,
Which sort of fit, but, on me, looked like crap.
But try as they might they couldn't find shorts,
But insisted my Wranglers were quite out of sorts.
So I took out my leatherman and cut above the knees,
My lilly-white legs could now feel the breeze.
And what a sight they were, having never seen sun,
The shade of Mayonaise! The grandkids poked fun.
I insisted my boots would have to stay on,
A mighty tough argument, but I finally won.
Now somewhat decked out in rafting attire,
I was ready for anything, no matter how dire.
They unloaded the raft, it didn't have no saddle,
“Where do I sit?”  They said I must straddle
One of the “chambers”, a big tube that went round
“It don't look safe to me!  What if I drown?”
“It’s perfectly safe”, they lied through their teeth,
Just wear this life jacket then you won't go beneath
the water if you fall out of the raft.
I'm starting to think these kids are plumb daft.
They hand me a stick, instead of some reins,
I'd quit right now if I had any brains,
The flat end of the stick is meant to propel
this raft down the river,… or straight down to Hell.
They shove off the bank, the feeling is weird,
It’s spongy and bouncy, just as I feared.
They teach me how to “row” this goldarned contraption,
I think I've got it, I'm ready for action!
The first bouncy wave gives me quite a start,
My bowels contract and let out a fart,
The kids yell “Grandpa!” but I blame it on the raft,
“This tube has a leak!” I blamingly gasp.
Past Station Creek rapid and Blue Trail wave,
Floating past Dragon’s Back, I try to be brave,
Then a mile long calm stretch they call Gauging Straits,
My heart finally rests from its palpitates.
They warn me what’s comin, up around the bend
The Giant Kahuna, a wave that will send
you straight to the bottom, if you don't hit it right,
Their warnings are dire, they give me such fright.
I have a death grip on my flattened-end stick,
We head for the big one, this sure ain't no crick,
The wave’s frothy top is towering above,
When it slams into the raft, it gives me a shove.
Over I go into the deep,
All I can think of is "blinkety-blank-bleep".
I'm holding my breath and my paddle, too,
I'm glad I paid dues to Search and Rescue.
But I finally surface, and gasping for air,
I see that the raft is no longer there.
I feel a great panic, welling inside,
“Drowned in a river”, they'll say how I died.
But then from behind a hand grabs my collar,
“I've got him now”, I hear grandson holler.
They drag me back aboard that murderous boat,
I'm spitting up water from deep in my throat.
They have a good laugh at Grandpa’s expense,
You'd think they would want to make recompense,
But no time to lecture, the river is flowing,
On toward “Lunch Counter Rapid” we’re going.
I hardly get set before those monster waves hit us,
“DAD-BLAMED THIS RIVER!”  I fervently cuss.
Over I go, again, in the water,
“I'm going to die!” like a lamb to the slaughter.
This time when I come up I'm madder than hell,
This mean rubber bronc has tossed me­--before the 8 second bell,
It’s been years since I was piled by a renegade horse,
And now this rubber cayuse has cause for remorse.
For I vow my revenge on this raft and this river,
I feel resentment clear down to my liver.
I “Cowboy Up” as I climb back in,
I straddle that tube and sneer an evil grin.
The “California Curl” wave is just dead ahead,
I swing my flat stick and chop off its head.
I yell and I scream at each passing wave,
My anger and shame has made me real brave.
I jab each white wave with the stick in my hand,
And yell “Curse you Moby Dick, you'll soon wear my brand!”
I get madder and madder as the raft churns along,
Revenge fills my heart for doin this cowboy wrong.
The last great big rapid is churning ahead,
“Gates of Paradise”, has claimed its share of the dead.
This rubber bronc is buckin, like out of the chutes,
I'm straddlin’ the tube with my cowboy boots.
We hit the last wave with hammerin force,
This rubber bronc rears just like a mean horse,
I rare back my heels as the beast starts to lunge,
And drive them hard into the tube as we plunge.
A loud pop is heard, the rubber bronco goes down,
And leaves us all a swimmin around.
One piece of advice, I think you should take,
Don't wear your spurs when you whitewater the Snake.