A Little Background
There was a period of my life when I lived in Yuma, Arizona, had a limited entertainment budget, considerably more free time, and apparently very little concern about whether my recreational ideas sounded reasonable when explained to other adults.
This is how I got into tubing.
If you’ve never spent a summer in Yuma, it’s difficult to properly explain the heat. People will say things like, “But it’s a dry heat,” which is technically true in the same way that an oven is also a dry heat.
By July, the sun isn’t providing warmth anymore.
It’s enforcing policy.
Fortunately, the Colorado River runs right past Yuma, so when temperatures reach levels normally associated with industrial equipment, people naturally migrate toward the water.
I had already spent plenty of time canoeing and kayaking that stretch of the Colorado, but tubing had somehow escaped me.
Then one day, while wandering around Yuma’s West Wetlands Park, I noticed a trailer filled with fabric-covered inner tubes and a sign for Yuma River Tubing.
Naturally, I went home and investigated.
The business model was beautifully simple.
They gave you a tube.
They drove you upstream.
They dropped you in the river.
Gravity and water handled the rest.
As someone accustomed to kayaking and canoeing, where you’re expected to paddle, balance, steer, and generally participate in your own survival, tubing immediately appealed to me.
You just sat there.
This was recreation I could get behind.
So I signed up for my first floatdown and discovered that I absolutely loved it.
Eventually, I met more people who regularly floated the river, bought my own tube, and tubing became part of my summer routine.
Back then, entertainment didn’t need to be complicated. Grab some friends, load an unreasonable number of inflatable objects into a vehicle, figure out how to get everyone upstream, and spend a few hours slowly floating back toward Yuma.
It was cheap.
It was relaxing.
And most importantly, it involved absolutely no productivity whatsoever.
Those were simpler times.
What About the Day Floats?
Before it sounds like we only ventured onto the Colorado River after the sun went down, day floats were absolutely a thing too.
Actually, day floats were how this entire obsession started.
There were plenty of lazy afternoons floating down the river, stopping along the banks, swimming, hanging out with friends, enjoying an occasional adult beverage or two, and generally finding creative ways to spend an entire day accomplishing absolutely nothing.
Those trips deserve their own story.
And because this is Maybe a Weekend, where apparently I can turn sitting in an inflatable tube into multiple blog posts, I’ll do a separate post about the day floats.
There are enough photos, stories, questionable decisions, and memories from those trips that trying to squeeze everything into one post would probably turn this into a documentary.
For now, we’re sticking with the night floats.
Because floating down the Colorado River during the daytime is perfectly normal.
Doing it after dark requires a little more explanation.
Then Someone Suggested We Do It in the Dark
During one of our floats, a friend casually said:
“If you think this is great, you should try a night float.”
Now, there are moments in life when someone presents you with an idea and the responsible part of your brain should immediately begin asking questions.
Is that safe?
How would that work?
What could go wrong?
Unfortunately, the part of my brain responsible for those questions apparently had the day off.
My immediate response was basically:
That sounds awesome.
I had already experienced the Colorado River around sunset during one of my first canoeing trips, and I remembered how dramatically the river changed as the sun disappeared.
The heat faded.
The sky changed colors.
The river became quieter.
So naturally, I decided we should take inflatable tubes onto the Colorado River and continue floating after we could no longer see anything.
Again…
Simpler times.
The First Night Float
The first night float taught us something important:
Floating down a river during daylight and floating down a river at night are technically the same activity…
…but logistically they are absolutely not the same activity.
There were suddenly many more things to consider.
Where are we launching?
Where are we getting out?
How are we getting the vehicles there?
Who is driving?
How are we keeping everyone together?
What happens when it gets completely dark?
How much lighting do we need?
What’s the weather doing?
And perhaps most importantly:
Why are there suddenly seventeen thousand bugs flying directly into my face?
We learned quickly that insects are extremely supportive of night tubing.
Turn on a light anywhere near the Colorado River after dark and apparently every flying insect within several miles receives a notification.
But we figured it out.
Each trip got a little better.
The logistics improved.
The lighting improved.
We got better at predicting how long the float would take.
We learned what equipment worked and what equipment absolutely did not.
And because an occasional adult beverage or two sometimes accompanied these adventures, we eventually developed another important position within the group:
The Designated Floater.
Think of the designated floater as the aquatic equivalent of the designated driver.
Except instead of sitting behind a steering wheel, their job was essentially to remain the responsible adult while floating down a river in an inflatable tube surrounded by people wearing glow sticks.
A prestigious position.
The designated floater helped keep the group together, watched the time, kept an eye out for our exit point, and generally maintained enough situational awareness to make sure our little floating circus continued heading in the correct direction.
And, of course, we still needed an actual sober designated driver for the transportation side of the equation.
Because eventually the river ends and unfortunately Uber does not generally pick you up while you’re still floating in it.
Eventually, night floating became a summer tradition.
It reached the point where I didn’t even have to suggest doing one anymore.
As soon as temperatures started climbing, someone would inevitably ask:
“So…when’s the first night float?”
And just like that, summer had officially begun.
But What’s So Great About Floating Down a River at Night?
It’s difficult to describe unless you’ve done it.
A good night float usually started while there was still enough daylight to see the river.
You’d launch in the late afternoon or early evening and slowly drift downstream while the Arizona sun disappeared behind you.
After spending the entire day being assaulted by Yuma’s summer heat, sunset felt like someone finally turned the difficulty setting down.
The sky would go orange.
Then purple.
Then dark blue.
Eventually, the stars appeared.
If the timing was right, the moon would rise and reflect across the water.
And once you got away from the roads and neighborhoods, the river could become surprisingly quiet.
No traffic.
No city noise.
No emails.
No responsibilities.
No calendar notifications.
Just water moving around your tube, crickets along the shoreline, the occasional duck splashing somewhere in the darkness, and conversations between friends slowly drifting down the Colorado River.
Maybe an adult beverage in hand.
Sometimes nobody talked at all.
You’d just float.
And those are probably the moments I remember most.
There was something incredibly peaceful about being out there underneath the stars with nowhere you needed to be until the river eventually delivered you downstream.
Of course, we eventually ruined all that tranquility with glow sticks, Bluetooth speakers, and enough flashing lights to attract the attention of passing aircraft.
But we’ll get there.
The Once in a Blue Moon Float
Not every night float needed to become a floating nightclub.
Some nights provided their own entertainment.
One of my favorite themed trips became the Once in a Blue Moon Float.
The idea was pretty straightforward: when the calendar gave us a blue moon during tubing season, that seemed like a perfectly reasonable excuse to organize another night float.
Not that we really needed an excuse.
But “Once in a Blue Moon Float” sounded considerably better than “We’re Going Tubing Again Because It’s Saturday.”
The moon was already one of the best parts of floating the Colorado after dark. On a bright night, it illuminated the river just enough to change the entire atmosphere.
You’d see moonlight shimmering across the water.
The shoreline became a collection of silhouettes.
The glow sticks seemed brighter.
And the river somehow felt quieter.
For a little while, you could just lean back in the tube, look up at the moon and stars, listen to the water, and forget that you were still technically floating through the desert.
Of all the themes we came up with, the Once in a Blue Moon Float probably captured what originally made night tubing so appealing.
It wasn’t complicated.
It wasn’t expensive.
It was just being in exactly the right place on exactly the right night with a group of friends.
Of course, there were still glow sticks.
There was still music.
There was probably an adult beverage or two.
And somewhere among us was the designated floater making sure our peaceful moonlit journey didn’t accidentally become an international expedition toward Mexico.
We were sentimental, not irresponsible.
Well…
At least we tried.
Isn’t Floating at Night Dangerous?
This was another question I heard regularly.
And the answer is:
Of course it can be. It’s a river.
Water doesn’t suddenly become safer because you put a drink holder in your tube.
Any water activity has inherent risks, and doing it after dark adds another layer.
Add an occasional adult beverage into the mix and obviously a little more planning and responsibility becomes necessary.
That’s where the designated floater came in.
Somebody needed to maintain enough awareness to keep an eye on the group, the river, our location, and our exit point while everyone else concentrated on the extremely demanding task of sitting in an inflatable tube.
The stretch of the Colorado River around Yuma worked particularly well for the kind of night floats we were doing. The river generally moved slowly, summer nights stayed warm, navigation was relatively straightforward, and after enough trips we became extremely familiar with our launch points, exit points, landmarks, and timing.
That familiarity mattered.
So did planning.
Weather mattered.
Lighting mattered.
Equipment mattered.
Knowing the river mattered.
Having a designated floater mattered.
Having a sober designated driver waiting at the end really mattered.
And keeping track of everyone in the group definitely mattered.
Night tubing became relaxing because we eventually worked out most of the things that could make it not relaxing.
We learned those lessons through experience.
Sometimes gracefully.
Sometimes because someone said:
“Okay, we’re definitely not doing THAT again.”
Why Float at Night When You Can Float During the Day?
Because this is Yuma.
And during the summer, the sun is trying to kill you.
I say this as a medium-toned Black man who normally has a fairly cooperative relationship with sunlight.
Arizona sunlight is different.
Arizona sunlight doesn’t care about your melanin.
Spend several hours floating down the Colorado River in July and eventually even my skin starts saying:
“Sir, we need to discuss your decision-making.”
Day floats required sunscreen.
Then more sunscreen.
Then reapplying sunscreen because you went swimming.
Then realizing several hours later that you somehow missed one oddly specific section of your shoulder.
Night floats solved most of that.
Once the sun disappeared, the temperature became comfortable, the water still felt warm, and nobody was slowly roasting inside an inflatable vinyl chair.
Honestly, night tubing might have been one of the few recreational activities in Yuma where darkness was actually an upgrade.
The Evolution of the Night Float
Our first night floats were pretty mellow.
We called them the Under the Stars Floatdown.
And that’s basically what they were.
A group of friends.
Some tubes.
A few lights.
Maybe an adult beverage or two.
The Colorado River.
And a couple of hours underneath the Arizona night sky.
It was peaceful.
It was relaxing.
It was tasteful.
Obviously, that couldn’t last.
Because once humans discover something enjoyable, our natural instinct is apparently to start attaching electronics to it.
First came the glow sticks.
Lots and lots of glow sticks.
They were cheap, waterproof, easy to attach to just about anything, and provided enough light to keep track of everyone once darkness settled over the river.
So naturally, we put them everywhere.
On tubes.
Around wrists.
Around necks.
Attached to coolers.
Attached to bags.
Probably attached to things that had absolutely no reason to glow.
Soon, our little group wasn’t merely floating down the river anymore.
We were glowing down the river.
Then came the waterproof Bluetooth speakers.
And that’s when things really started getting out of hand.
Every Float Needed a Soundtrack
Once waterproof Bluetooth speakers became affordable enough that we could confidently strap one to a tube and send it floating down the Colorado River, music became part of the night-float experience.
And every trip needed its own playlist.
The music depended entirely on the mood we were going for.
Some nights were mellow.
Those were the slow-jam floats—relaxed music playing while we drifted underneath the stars, talked, watched the moon reflect across the water, enjoyed an occasional adult beverage, and pretended we were sophisticated adults appreciating nature.
Other nights needed a little more energy.
That’s when the hip-hop beats came out.
Suddenly, you’re floating down the Colorado River in complete darkness while bass echoes across the water and your group of glowing inflatable tubes slowly moves downstream.
Completely unnecessary.
Absolutely fantastic.
And then there were the nights when apparently nobody involved was interested in subtlety.
Those playlists weren’t slow jams.
They weren’t background music.
They were basically:
“Well, I guess we’re doing a full-fledged rave tonight.”
Electronic music.
Dance tracks.
Glowing tubes.
Glow sticks everywhere.
Waterproof speakers turned up considerably louder than necessary.
Lights bouncing off the surface of the Colorado River.
An occasional adult beverage making its way around.
And somewhere among all of this was the designated floater, presumably wondering how their life choices had resulted in becoming the responsible adult supervising a floating nightclub.
At some point, the soundtrack stopped accompanying the float.
The soundtrack became the float.
And that’s when the peaceful little Under the Stars Floatdown officially evolved into something considerably more ridiculous.
The Rave on the River
Eventually, our quiet nighttime float became:
THE RAVE ON THE RIVER.
Which sounds much more impressive than what was actually happening.
We were still just a bunch of people sitting in inflatable tubes while the Colorado River slowly carried us downstream.
But now…
we had production value.
Glow sticks illuminated the tubes.
Waterproof Bluetooth speakers played whatever playlist had been selected for that particular trip.
Floating coolers drifted alongside us carrying snacks, water, and perhaps an adult beverage or two.
Lights reflected across the water.
Groups of tubes were tied together into questionable floating formations.
People laughed somewhere in the darkness.
And the music could go from slow jams to hip-hop to electronic dance music depending entirely on what kind of night we had decided we were having.
One trip might feel like a relaxing nighttime cruise.
Another might have enough bass and glowing objects that anyone watching from shore probably wondered whether they should call somebody.
By the later years, what had started as a peaceful float underneath the stars had transformed into what looked like a nightclub had fallen into the Colorado River and was now slowly drifting toward Mexico.
And I loved every minute of it.
The irony is that I originally got into tubing because it required less equipment than kayaking.
Eventually, preparing for a night float involved tubes, ropes, coolers, lights, glow sticks, Bluetooth speakers, playlists, bug spray, adult beverages, water, transportation logistics, designated drivers, designated floaters, and enough miscellaneous equipment that I’m pretty sure kayaking would have been easier.
We had completely lost the plot.
But those were also some of the best floats.
Looking Back
It’s funny how nostalgia works.
At the time, these were just weekend activities.
Nobody was sitting in their tube thinking:
“We’re creating memories that we’ll still be talking about years from now.”
We were just trying to figure out what we were doing Saturday night.
There wasn’t some grand travel itinerary.
No flights.
No hotel.
No reservations.
No carefully researched list of things we absolutely had to see before heading home.
Usually, the plan was something closer to:
Meet here. Bring your tube. Don’t forget your glow sticks. Make sure the speaker is charged. Bring something for the cooler. Someone needs to leave a vehicle downstream. Who’s the designated floater? Try not to lose anybody.
That was it.
And somehow, those simple summer nights became some of my favorite memories from living in Yuma.
Maybe that’s because life felt a little simpler then.
Maybe it’s because we had fewer responsibilities.
Maybe it’s because our standards for entertainment were considerably lower.
Or maybe there’s just something special about getting a group of friends together, floating down the Colorado River underneath a full moon—or occasionally a blue moon—listening to music, enjoying a drink, laughing at absolutely nothing important, and temporarily forgetting about everything waiting for you back on land.
And when I think back on those trips, I can almost reconstruct them from the soundtrack.
The mellow nights with slow jams playing underneath the stars.
The nights when hip-hop echoed across the river.
The Once in a Blue Moon Float, when the moon itself provided most of the atmosphere.
And the completely ridiculous evenings when the glow sticks came out, the electronic playlist started, and we apparently decided that what the Colorado River really needed was a mobile nightclub.
These days, I travel a lot farther to find adventures.
I’ve crossed oceans, wandered through European cities, cruised through the Baltic, explored Alaska, and spent plenty of time chasing new places and experiences.
But sometimes the adventures you remember most aren’t thousands of miles away.
Sometimes they’re sitting in your own backyard.
Or, in this case, slowly floating past it while a waterproof Bluetooth speaker plays your carefully selected soundtrack.
What started because I randomly noticed a trailer filled with inner tubes at West Wetlands Park eventually became an entire summer tradition.
The Under the Stars Floatdown.
The Once in a Blue Moon Float.
And eventually, the Rave on the River.
For a few years, there was always a point when the temperatures started climbing, summer returned to Yuma, and someone asked the question that officially started the season:
“So…when’s the first night float?”
I didn’t realize it at the time, but someday I’d really miss hearing that question.
Now for the Photos…
Words can explain the story.
But the photos do a much better job showing just how far we went from peacefully floating underneath the stars to apparently operating an aquatic nightclub.
So here are a few photos from those summers of night floats on the Colorado River.
Welcome to the Rave on the River.
And yes, I’ll eventually dig through the archives and put together a separate post about the daytime floatdowns, because apparently my Yuma tubing years contain enough material to become their own series.
There are plenty more photos.
Plenty more stories.
And probably plenty more questionable decisions I’ve conveniently forgotten.
But that’s a post for another day.
Sometimes you don’t need a plane ticket, a cruise ship, or some elaborate itinerary to have an adventure.
Sometimes a weekend is enough.
And sometimes all you really need is a tube, a handful of glow sticks, a fully charged Bluetooth speaker, an occasional adult beverage…and one responsible friend unfortunate enough to be named the designated floater.
