In "Singin' in the Rain," Gene Kelly dances in a downpour, umbrella dumping water over his head. Today, if I were a songwriter I'd be composing a different number: "Paddlin' in the Rain."

That's what became of a recent canoe trip.

The forecast was slightly foreboding, suggesting "partly cloudy, 40 percent chance of widely scattered showers upstate moving toward coast by evening."

Which suggests a 60 percent probability it wouldn't rain. Anyway, it would take a bucketful of weather before the Carteret County Wildlife Club would consider abandoning any canoe-and-eating expedition.

The plans were to assemble at 10 a.m., unload at a launch site near Kinston and spend the next five hours leisurely cruising down the middle Neuse River.

A distant rumble suggested something was in the offing, but we chose not to pay attention -- after all, there was a 60 percent chance of no rain.

The mist soon turned into rain, while a cool north wind dropped the simmering of summer to a pleasant cool morning. My poncho was missing, but I remembered a rain jacket.

Another rumble of thunder and the rain was increasing as we boarded about a dozen canoes and kayaks combined. .

Rain now dancing on the water, falling upon my head, I was uncovering the rain jacket when I looked up to see Conni, canoe-mate and new at the game, her hair wet with mist.

She accepted the jacket. It didn't take long for me to get soaking wet, and, despite mild temperatures, the north wind got me shivering. My bow mate, on the other hand, seemed quite content and water dripped off the hood of the rain jacket, as she paddled along, happily singing in the rain.

The rivers of Carolina are beautiful and magic pathways, wandering mindlessly across the landscape, dark green waters, enclosed by lush green banks, the occasional black stub, tree or log, half submerged, bobbing in the swirling waters, sand bar and shoal, swift currents cutting beneath steep banks guarded by rock and root.

Cypress, with their clustering of knees protruding as black spears, wait to impale the unwary.

After a little over an hour of paddling, the rain had eased off, and it was time to take an early lunch break. After finishing a sandwich and drink, I laid out a couple of life jackets on the beach to enjoy my long habit of taking a short siesta in order to recoup enough strength for the rest of the journey.

Feeling something striking my face, I looked up to see a large maple tree overhead -- a slight gust of wind had rattled its leaves. I watched tiny droplets growing larger and larger as they slowly approached.

By then, the weather was as good as one can expect. The river was nearing summer lows, sand bars abounding, but a conveniently deep swimming hole provided a welcome cool-down when the sun got stronger. Maybe paddling in the rain isn't so crazy after all.

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