Please Scroll Down to See Forums Below 
I'm in the middle of planning an annual canoe trip a bunch of my buddies and I go on every year and I thought I would share my horrid experience from the previous year. Yes everything in this story is true and not fabricated at all.
We started on a sunny Friday morning in late August, there were two people per canoe totaling around 16 canoes. This was a two day excursion where we would paddle/party for 10mi until we reached our camp site. This was the fourth year doing this river located in southern Ohio in an Amish town the Lowdenville. The trick was to reach the camp site before it got dark, which meant pacing yourself to a certain extent.
About 15 min. into the trip you could already hear the crisp sound of carbonation being released as it echoed off the rolling hills surrounding us. We brought rope to attach a group of canoes to one another as we floated down the very slow current river. I figure this is a great time for me to unveil my surprise. Out I pull three large bottles of Barcardi O and throw 'where's the Barcardi at' into the cd player I brought. I tell the three canoes connected to mine that we have two plays of this song to finish these three bottles, everyone was game. It all went downhill from here.
This is the only time in the year that I might partake in smoking some green. seven minutes later and three bottles down we separate the canoes and my partner and I get WAY behind everyone, so naturally I thought it was the perfect time to pull out party in a box (box of wine) and pass it back and forth until it's gone being sure to slap the bag and yell at it before every chug. After the wine we could no longer paddle in a straight line and our canoe kept tipping, spilling our clothes, cooler, sleeping bags etc into the water.
Nighttime fell and we still hadn't found our campsite or any of our friends. We thought we would stop at a glowing fire we saw in the distance and ask if they had seen our friends. This is where we met the gypsies, they were living out of a tent along the river with a beat up old van with valuer curtains and a canopy hanging from the side. We'll one of the gypsies packs a bowl and passes it around, both my friend and I partake in it and this is the last that both of us remember.
We awoke around dawn in our canoe with nothing but a single paddle and I was sporting a black eye, our canoe was caught up along the river bank. We both had absolutely no idea what had happened, we did know that all our shit was gone, except a single paddle. At this point we just want to get back together with the group. The second day consists of the majority of the distance (15 mi) on a slow current. We ended up having to ditch our canoe and walk through BFE until we found a road and hitchhike to the bottom of the river. Well we made it just in time as the bus was pulling away. Oh and we had to pay 400 bucks for the fucking canoe.
I vow never to return to this terrible place and if I ever run into a gypsie again I will beat the shit out of them.
We started on a sunny Friday morning in late August, there were two people per canoe totaling around 16 canoes. This was a two day excursion where we would paddle/party for 10mi until we reached our camp site. This was the fourth year doing this river located in southern Ohio in an Amish town the Lowdenville. The trick was to reach the camp site before it got dark, which meant pacing yourself to a certain extent.
About 15 min. into the trip you could already hear the crisp sound of carbonation being released as it echoed off the rolling hills surrounding us. We brought rope to attach a group of canoes to one another as we floated down the very slow current river. I figure this is a great time for me to unveil my surprise. Out I pull three large bottles of Barcardi O and throw 'where's the Barcardi at' into the cd player I brought. I tell the three canoes connected to mine that we have two plays of this song to finish these three bottles, everyone was game. It all went downhill from here.
This is the only time in the year that I might partake in smoking some green. seven minutes later and three bottles down we separate the canoes and my partner and I get WAY behind everyone, so naturally I thought it was the perfect time to pull out party in a box (box of wine) and pass it back and forth until it's gone being sure to slap the bag and yell at it before every chug. After the wine we could no longer paddle in a straight line and our canoe kept tipping, spilling our clothes, cooler, sleeping bags etc into the water.
Nighttime fell and we still hadn't found our campsite or any of our friends. We thought we would stop at a glowing fire we saw in the distance and ask if they had seen our friends. This is where we met the gypsies, they were living out of a tent along the river with a beat up old van with valuer curtains and a canopy hanging from the side. We'll one of the gypsies packs a bowl and passes it around, both my friend and I partake in it and this is the last that both of us remember.
We awoke around dawn in our canoe with nothing but a single paddle and I was sporting a black eye, our canoe was caught up along the river bank. We both had absolutely no idea what had happened, we did know that all our shit was gone, except a single paddle. At this point we just want to get back together with the group. The second day consists of the majority of the distance (15 mi) on a slow current. We ended up having to ditch our canoe and walk through BFE until we found a road and hitchhike to the bottom of the river. Well we made it just in time as the bus was pulling away. Oh and we had to pay 400 bucks for the fucking canoe.
I vow never to return to this terrible place and if I ever run into a gypsie again I will beat the shit out of them.
Last edited:
