One man's trash is trash

I floated the Clackamas river this weekend. My, oh my, did I have fun. I went there assuming "floating" meant the same as it does in Bend: jump on your floaty, hook onto your friends and casually float down the river for an hour and a half. I wasn't prepared for a three hour float with rapids and constant paddling. Once I detached myself from the others and removed my watch (safely placing it around an empty beer bottle in my friend's raft), I was much more adept at navigating the waters, which led to an exciting float indeed.

But let me tell you, young Portlanders make me sick. There was so much trash in the water. Cigarette butts skimming, beer bottles bobbing and plastic bags dragging. What at first started as a simple plea to those in my group to PLEASE put their butts in a water bottle in the raft, turned into a personal mission to pick up as much trash as my floaty could handle. It was all in vain, as I eventually ended up losing it all in the rapids anyway, but I did my best. What hurt me the most was that I don't even consider myself an environmentalist, yet the fact that I wanted to simply keep the water clean earned me the moniker "river police." I suppose I grew up in a place where nature and the preservation of it is innate. In SE Portland, I guess it's inane.