Last summer my husband and I felt we needed a change of pace from the crowded docks and summer boating traffic of the lake. So we decided to take our kids on a floating trip one afternoon. There’s an area near us in the countryside dotted with fields, old barns, and a meandering creek called the dry bed (since it’s dry in the winter).

It was meant to be a lazy afternoon floating for about two miles, which should take about an hour. We asked around for directions and felt we had the right landmarks: put in at the first bridge near the highway off-ramp, but first park your car at the route’s end after the third bridge along Country Line Road. Easy peasy, right?

We borrowed a few float tubes from a neighbor, but since our group also included my sister, her husband, and daughter, we needed a few more. It was late in the summer, so all that stores had in stock were pool lounge floats and inner tubes with an open center hole.

We dropped off our cars at the appointed pick-up spot, and squished in my sister’s car for the jaunt over to the put-in location. We strapped on life jackets and water sandals, then picked our way through the grass to the creek.

The shallow creek burbled across rocks and around stands of trees. The hot afternoon sun was a lovely contrast to the cold water we splashed along in, and everyone was pleasantly happy. “This is so relaxing!” I told my sister. “We should do this more often!”

Crickets chirped in the grassy banks, a handful of magpies flew overhead, and water skippers tiptoed across the water’s surface. We saw a bald eagle, a few doves, and one red-tailed hawk—and then, one adorable baby moose! We floated lazily past weather-beaten barns and the backyards of waterfront homes with their hammocks and firepits and Adirondack chairs facing the water. This was the first hour.

By the second hour, our husbands and kids had caught more current than my sister and me, leaving us alone and wondering if we’d see the bridge and get out at the right place. I was annoyed and starting to get cold and wished we had tied everyone together. My sister talked about her dinner plans and a homemade lasagna she was going to bake once we got home.

By the third hour the creek had slowed to a trickle and I was muttering that we should have brought paddles. I lost my temper. I was hungry and cold and mad. We were separated from the group. My sister stood up from her tube and tried to drag herself forward. I also tried to wade through the waist-deep water, thick with mud and tangled with reeds. Schlepping along like this wasn’t faster than drifting aimlessly on our inner tubes—it was more like trying to run in waist-deep molasses with serious danger of losing our shoes. Frustrated, we both slumped back into our tubes. Where was that bridge?! My sister gave up hope of getting home in time to bake the lasagna.

By the fourth hour we were laughing at the absurdity of it all. This float trip was never going to end! One marshy bank had a thick stand of cattails and we joked about eating them like corndogs with mustard. An empty shack sat on the riverbank and I quipped that it would be our new home.

When we finally caught up with our kids, they were raging. “You said this would be fun and would only last for an hour! We’re never going anywhere with you again!” My husband, delightedly contrary, said that he actually enjoyed the trip, now that we were four hours in and had FINALLY found the bridge and our parked car. My sister and her husband were suspiciously silent about coming with us again.

Well, who can make plans that never go awry? So what if we misjudged the miles? My kids still complain about it, months later. They have yet to learn that their parents don’t know exactly what they’re doing. We’re just trying to float safely along from one day to the next, and hoping that if we don’t end up with a rip-roaring and amazing adventure, we’ll at least come home with a memorable one to add to the family lore. In that sense, our one and only float trip was an incredible success.