Kayak or canoe for an hour.

“IT WAS A MISTAKE to think that my lake kayaking experience counted toward today. The thing about rivers is that they have currents, which I obviously knew but didn’t really recognize as legitimate. When I try to eat my sandwich and stop paddling, my kayak drifts into weeds. I stop and paddle myself into the middle again, then set the paddle down for my sandwich, and am then swept into some protruding branches. I am a hungry human pinball.”

“We’ve been paddling for two and a half hours. My arms are heavy. My nose prickles under the midday sun, and I quietly wonder how much further we’ve got left. [...] As waves break against the kayak and soak my lap, I become increasingly fearful of capsizing. To distract myself, I keep my eyes fixed on the view. We’re encased by layer upon layer of tree-clad mountains, each with their own hue. It’s quintessentially Canadian, and it’s nothing short of stunning.”

“Still, the river, though unforgivingly cold—or it looks that way, anyway—and possibly murderous, is beautiful and quiet. Tall trees and grasses on either side border us in. The world could drop off 10 feet from either edge of the river, and I wouldn’t feel surprised. The rapids we encounter are big enough to make me violate the anti-cursing river-etiquette waiver I signed earlier, but small enough to be more fun than fearsome.”