I could tell within the first ten seconds that this was the most ludicrous scheme I’d thought of in a while. For one thing, the water was already freezing my feet. Secondly, Warm Springs Creek was barely contained by its banks. The stream had been raging a month ago, and despite expectations, it had yet to give up its violent tendencies and settle down for the summer. Thirdly, I had only a small inner tube and a paddle to help me float four miles down to the city of Anaconda. This would be no lazy tubing experience, cooler of alcoholic beverages in tow. This could be my death.

Still, I had to try. I sat back in the tube and was instantly seized by the raucous current and launched downstream. This far up the valley, the creek was choked by willows, which grew in dense thickets on both sides. They stretched their woody claws out towards me, and I immediately had to start flailing with the wooden paddle, aiming for the narrow opening in the middle that lay outside their grasp.