Utah: Moab, Navigating the Green River in Rafts, Duckies, and with Kids. It is not easy to stay in touch with active grandkids. Their schedules are as hectic as those of adults. It seems that each week brings one more way for children to pretend to do something that is like "real life". I have visited almost-to-scale models and waited bench-side near thrill rides. No more! My advice to parents and grandparents, get real.

If you have the good fortune to vacation with your grandkids do it with a purpose. One of the best times our family ever had was whitewater rafting on the Green River in Utah. I was younger then, may be 78 but age is not the issue it is attitude that counts. As I recall our trip on the Green River was everything I had hoped for, and more - whitewater between magnificent canyons and serene meadows, interesting conversations and the luxury of time with my grandkids away from TV.

Journal entry - day one: Sandwash, July on the Green River in northern Utah. It is our first night and between rain showers we have managed to set up camp at Peter’s Point. We have drinks and snacks and time to spare. I am relaxing near the open-air kitchen and listening to fireside talk. The conversation is rich with individual accounts and discoveries. How could so much have happened in only one day? As I write, the children have gone tracking with one of the guides while the other two guides have turned themselves into chefs masterfully preparing spaghetti with garlic bread, a salad and cheesecake. We are relaxed - no worries now that the storm has moved out of sight. Our camp is perfect. It looks as though they have thought of everything.

Our adventure began before dawn when we left Moab for the tiny airport a few miles to the north. After meeting our trip coordinators, we eagerly moved our gear as instructed. Each family was directed to a single-engine bush plane (Cessna 206) for the airlift to the river. Our pilot, Wilson Randolph, pointed out a herd of wild horses below as we flew over Wild Horse Mesa (what else?). The plane ride alone was an adventure far more interesting than any amusement park simulation. It was a nice preface to our river-water adventure.

After landing, we commenced to hike from the mesa top to the river. The jaunt to the shore took more than an hour but our excitement could not be diminished even though we were all plagued by swarming mosquitoes. The trail was rocky and the landscape wild. As we walked the children conjured up images of horse rustlers and Indian raids. Zane Grey would have been proud. At the river, instructions were brief because of the continued mosquito attack. Locating life vests caused a flurry of activity but within minutes we were waterborne. The river was our escape. As we moved into the current, the attack subsided. I watched as the others practiced their strokes. With Sheri Griffith Outfitters the amount of paddling is a personal choice and I was along for the ride in the oar boat. Age has some privileges.

Storm clouds crested the canyon wall as we moved into the main channel of the Green River, toward Desolation Canyon. This day lived up to my expectations for a family real-life adventure. River rafting is by nature grand but sharing it with my grandkids was extra special. Once mainstream, our guide read from the journal of John Wesley Powell written in 1869, as he surveyed this river for the first time.

"After dinner we pass through a region of wildest desolation, " wrote Major Powell. "The canyon is very tortuous, the river very rapid, and many lateral canyons enter on either side. Crags and tower-shaped peaks are seen everywhere, and above them long lines of broken cliffs; beyond the cliffs are pine forests of which we obtain occasional glimpses as we look up through a vista of rocks. We are minded to call this the Canyon of Desolation." As she read, we gazed at the same canyon walls, streaked with gray and ochre, hawks glided in the air currents above us. The silence of the canyon was all around us. Our first challenge: to avoid the rain clouds. With each turn of the river our self appointed cloud-spotters (the kids) speculated the probability. At lunch, when we felt the first sprinkles, I reviewed my decision (against my daughter's wishes) to pack rain slickers. I pulled out three sets of bright orange slickers and rain hats. I handed a set of heavy-duty trash bags to my son-in-law, without saying another word. For children there is nothing like getting really wet on purpose and the idea of seeing mom, dad and grandma getting wet was even better, and wet we got. As I close this journal entry we are all hungry, tired and happy. The river, with its beauty and its challenges, is taking hold. In less than an hour I am going to my tent and prepare to snuggle the night between my two grandchildren. I know we will be cozy even if it rains again. "Real life" is great.

Journal entry -day two: As I watch the camp preparations I hear coyotes calling. We are at Log Cabin Point. It is the perfect place for bird watching or active exploring. Our day dawned with more rain and hungry faces. Our guides quickly provided a lovely breakfast and fascinating stories about the next leg of our journey. The rain was un noticed by most. This was an adventure, no need to find fault. By noon we saw sun. Our lunch was on a sandy inlet with mature cottonwood trees, majestic scenery and room to roam. Before lunch I heard, "Are there any snakes? Any bears? How big are the rapids? How long before we eat?" from the children. The day brought rapids and riffles. As we glided downstream Nima, our visiting guide from Nepal, had answers for questions I hadn’t thought of yet. “Look for mule deer in the meadows. The bird with the black necklace is a chukar," he continued. He was sharing the river with us and we were eager to receive all the details. We spotted snowy egrets, great blue herons and desert bighorn sheep. The enthusiasm of the guides was contagious. This expedition had just enough action for the kids in our group, ages 7 to 78.

Today I noticed that the kids have become more confident and gleeful as they encounter the rapids and new experiences. My daughter is trying not to be over protective and that helps. As I conclude this writing I can hear the guides near the campfire talking about the river and the people of Ute-Ouray Reservation. Names like Little Horse Bottom, Chicken Rock and Cow Swim. They have everyone's attention.

Journal entry - day three: As I write this evening I am sitting under an enormous tree near the water's edge. The youngsters are on a sandbar with one of the guides. They are having a mini 4th of July celebration. I hear shrieks of delight as three sparklers lit. As the sandbar activity continues our guides are assembling tacos and salads. They have baked brownies from a blackened pot (Dutch oven) and have announced that there will be ice cream to go with the brownies. Can that be true? We began our day along well-worn mule deer pathways, tracking scat and identifying wild flowers. Before noon the sky turned a brilliant blue and hawks soars above our watercrafts. For 800 years, inhabitants of this canyon have conformed to the river not only to survive, but also to thrive. As we moved along with the current, we had time to absorb the information given to us by our guides and to partake in water fights at high noon.

We saw petroglyphs and stone ruins, perhaps left by the Ute Indians. We stopped at an abandoned homestead (the McPhearson place), walked among the old farming equipment and ate apricots from the tree in the front yard. The Powell expedition studied the geology, geography and natural history along the river. We were here to do the same - well, sort of -although we took more time for lunching, swimming and posing for pictures. Because this trip does not require previous rafting experience, it is perfect for multiple generations. As for the riffles and rapids, nearly 50 in all, the degree of difficulty increases with each day but everyone seems eager at dawn to do whatever the day brings. On this kind of trip, no one wants to sleep in.

Journal entry - day four: I have positioned myself between some large boulders not far from camp. I am weary but contented. The sound of the river is mesmerizing. The crisp air and the fragrance of sage are all encompassing. We are now on river time. Sights and sounds previously un noticed are now a part of our adventure. No one worries about appearances because we all look a little rugged. The kids have become river urchins. They have learned to read the waves and spot wild life along canyon walls. The water is cold to my blood but they embrace each chance to immerse.

As I expected our days have been taken up with real life happenings. Water skills at first undeveloped have matured. The tasks, perhaps mundane to veterans, are now accomplishments to be acknowledged. We are all having fun. We have passed through "Last Chance Rapid", "Cool Creek Rapid" and my favorite "Rattle Snake Rapid". The names say it all. I have taken to rock reading a game invented by the children. "That looks like a chicken. Grandma, do you see the old man?" they shout. I am enjoying my front row seat in this adventure. It is amusing to watch my grandchildren as they coach their parents to become spontaneous.

With encouragement from my grandchildren I took to a "duckie" after breakfast. My daughter and I rode the rapids while my grandkids cheered. I must admit a few times I lost sight of the horizon as the rapids catapulted our yellow kayak. The roar of the rapids diminished the cheers, but in less than two minutes calm water appeared. My stock went up with the youngsters and I was impressed with myself. It was attitude not skill that pulled me through and all before lunch.

After a mid-day stop and a nap in the sun, we proceeded as if on a mission. River skills were tested -first by more rapids and then by a good old-fashioned water fight mid-stream. By now no one has a fear of capsizing. While engaged in a water volley I noticed another group of rafters passing. The number of rafts on the river is strictly limited to ensure that the natural beauty remains.

While we have been carefree all day, our competent river staff has made sure all of our supplies are moved to recreate the perfect camp once again. All we need do is manage ourselves downstream. Not too hard, if you like to paddle or float and laugh a lot.

Each day participants may choose how to enjoy the river: paddle boat - paddling with others (moderately wet depending on how coordinated the others are), "duckie" - paddling with a partner (very wet because it is self-bailing) or an oar boat – no paddling, great conversation (degree of wetness depends on the rapids and the guide). I choose the oar boat almost every time and I always find a child to join me, though not always one of my own.

Journal entry - day five. It is dawn and there is just enough light to complete today's journal entry. Our time on the river will be short today. Once we give up our rafts our recess on the river will be concluded. We'll be taken overland back to Moab and a reality check. I awoke to the sound of querulous coyotes and because I detected the aroma of coffee, I couldn't resist getting up to watch the sunrise. I am not alone for long. Savoring the last hours of this beautiful canyon is on everyone's mind. It is not yet six a.m. and I hear the voices of children at the river’s edge. So much has happened in only a few days. Last night the moon crested the canyon wall and caused silver tendrils to dance along the river’s edge. It was our last ceremonial tooth cleansing. On the first night we had received specific directions.

"Hold your cup like this, then brush and spit," Cheri, our guide, had said. The instructions seemed strange at first, after a few attempts, it became an invigorating ritual. Last night standing on the riverbank next to my oldest grandchild we laughed at the task we had mastered. Even with the right attitude one must practice technique.

This river trip is well paced, with the best rapids on the last two days, so there is time to acquire some degree of skill. No matter what the choice, the sunshine, fresh air and excitement of each day guarantee a hearty appetite at each meal and sound sleep every night. Among the children, picky eating habits have disappeared. Among the adults, a sense of freedom has appeared. Phones, fax machines and on-line messages have been replaced with unchallenged freedom and a chance to go with the flow.

Each day has been full of surprises brought by nature and sometimes nurtured by one of our guides. It all seems absolutely effortless. I was inspired as I watched the children meet the challenges of the river. I was thrilled as we watched the sun break over the canyon wall bringing each new day. We have slept in tents and lived like royalty. We laughed and sang together, shared experiences and found time for each other. Being on the river allows adults to have as much fun as the kids. The guides at Sheri Griffith Company know how to introduce and maintain a river state of mind sort of like five days of recess. As we break camp today no one wants this exceptional river journey to end.

I think we will be measuring the results of this expedition for years. I can see already that our family has grown closer by experiencing the river together and taking time to hear the quiet, and to talk about our discoveries and our fears. River rafting with other families is an antidote for stress. If you’re considering a river rafting vacation, don’t hesitate. It is not difficult or scary or dangerous. It is fun for all ages, but it takes attitude.

Sheri Griffith Expeditions. Moab, UT 84532. Toll-free 1-800-332-2439, 1(435) 259-8229 or www.GriffithExp.com