People find their own ways to cope when they're kayaking in a lightning storm.

Some tough it out. Some take cover.

And then you have me: The Lame Ass.

Just below Flaming Gorge, the Green River is a perfect float. Red rock walls and forests protect boaters from sun and wind. There are river otters, herons and lots of fish. It's exciting enough for beginners' whitewater play, but still possible to get trashed and pass out in your ducky while someone else steers (Not recommended. That's what my friend did last year after we stole her paddle so she'd stop whacking us with it. No one knows how she slept through the II+ rapids).

This year's group was less boozy, so we added 8 miles and a genuine Class III to the trip. As we floated past our old take-out at Little Hole campground, my biggest fear was that my arms would be too floppy for Red Creek Rapid, about 11 miles from the start.

Then the lightning began.

We 16 paddlers regrouped at a boat-in campsite along the river. After some dull flashes in the sky, we decided not to stop "until we absolutely have to," as one friend put it.

In my opinion, that happened at Red Creek Rapid. After three sharp bolts in a row, I barely noticed the boulders and waves thrashing me around like a mosh pit. My mind fixated on the phone call my mom would get from the Forest Service, notifying her that I'd been electrocuted.

You have to wonder how many acts of stupidity in this world were prevented because someone imagined the subsequent phone call to mom.

And this is where my shame begins: I just sat in the river and questioned my fear.

I didn't want to be the weenie who made the whole group stop. So for another mile I listened to the others talk about how the thunder is several miles away, the rain isn't stopping, and (shiver) let's just get to the take-out as soon as possible.

See, nature can always be challenging and scary. You try things that feel uncomfortable, you listen to the advice of more experienced people, and you gauge risk according to present conditions instead of abstract rules.

But sometimes you just gotta declare that sitting in a river with a metal pole in your hands during a lightning storm is dumb.

While I stewed in self-doubt, the lead paddler reached the same conclusion and parked at the next campsite. The delay was not without controversy; some folks continued down the river. They were all dry by the time we latecomers straggled out like drowning cats. No one's mother was called.

But now I feel like a nambsy pambsy. Right or wrong, I had strong views on our choice, and I didn't assert them. Did I think my friends might ditch me? Never. When you adventure in a group, you accommodate your weakest link. Everyone gets a say. That's understood. That's absolute.

Even if avoiding water in lighting is not.