White Water Tubing??

June 11, 2025

I watched my wife and kids disappear down a small waterfall one by one, their tubes bobbing like rubber duckies as they vanished into the froth. I, on the other hand, was sitting helplessly stuck in an eddy on the opposite side of the river, spinning in lazy, mocking circles. But I could hear their squeals of delight echoing back through the canyon — loud, unbothered, and joyfully unfiltered. They were not only safe, but also having the time of their lives.

It hadn’t started out like this.

Earlier in the week, we’d signed up for what was billed as a peaceful river tubing experience on Panama’s Santa Maria River — the third largest in the country. The flyer showed happy people lounging in oversized tubes, floating serenely down a wide, jungle-lined river. It seemed like the perfect family outing: low effort, high fun, minimal risk.

I was envisioning something like the tubing I used to do back in college, drifting down a wide, lazy stretch of the Susquehanna River. We’d pile into old inner tubes with a few friends, tether a cooler full of beer to someone’s tube, and let the slow current carry us downstream under a clear spring sky. I figured this would be the same kind of experience — although, obviously, this time around the cooler would be stocked with juice boxes instead of beer. 

Our kids had never been river tubing before, and this seemed like the perfect introduction. Francesca was a little skeptical at first, but after confirming that life vests were included, she was in. What could possibly go wrong?

Well…nothing technically went wrong. But I failed to factor in that this was Panama, where the definition of "relaxing" comes with a bit more adrenaline.

Within five minutes of getting in the water, it became clear this was not a lazy float. There were actual whitewater rapids. I’m not sure if they were Class II or III, but definitely more class than I had anticipated. These weren’t just gentle riffles. We’re talking frothy drops, narrow chutes, and fast-moving channels that demanded some serious maneuvering.

Francesca and the kids handled it like pros. Our guide had shown them how to lean into the tube, steer with their hands, and — crucially — avoid the swirling whirlpools at the river’s edge. I, meanwhile, somehow missed that tutorial while fiddling with my GoPro. So, naturally, I got sucked into one of those whirlpools and ended up stranded in a swirl, watching as my family surged ahead over a drop and out of view.

I paddled like a man possessed, bumping into rocks and ricocheting off the riverbank before finally breaking free. Just in time, too — because the river saved its most theatrical moment for last.

As we rounded the final bend, a bigger set of rapids came into view. Francesca yelled back something that sounded like “Hold on!” but before I could process what I was supposed to do, the tube bucked beneath me, and I was tossed headfirst into the water. One flip-flop gone, dignity questionable — but the water was warm, the sun was shining, and the kids were doubled over in laughter as they watched Dad take the plunge.

We all emerged drenched, exhilarated, and more than a little surprised by how much fun we’d had.

It wasn’t the river tubing I’d expected — it was better. Not gentle, not lazy, not predictable. But sometimes, the best family memories are the ones that catch you off guard and swirl you out of your comfort zone.

Even if you’re the only one who ends up in the drink.