Our group consisted of 12 "participants" and three guides. (As trip leader Jay Cuthbert pointed out, "You're not considered a customer when you come on a Wilderness Inquiry trip -- "you're a participant.") A truly diverse group, we represented a wide range of age, experience and ability. About one-third of us had some physical limitation, ranging from a minor back injury that ruled out heavy lifting to advanced multiple sclerosis. A few had never been in a canoe, while others, able-bodied and disabled alike, were experienced in the outdoors.

"I've never paddled," admitted Azra, as we stood on the beach that first morning, moving our paddles through the air in clumsy practice strokes. Azra had come from California to learn how to canoe in a concentrated -- but not competitive -- fashion, she said.

Next to her was Sarah, an experienced paddler who was about to graduate from Bates College with a degree in outdoor education, who was looking for a much deserved break before finals. Peter Corriston, a New York City graphic designer, just wanted to get away from it all.

Karen Edwards had been to the Everglades twice before. Though an arthritic inflammatory disease limits her mobility, she said she was driven to make the effort to get into the outdoors.

"I've always wanted to do more, know more, to be there," she said. "I always will. But I have to come to grips with the fact that I'm not going to be able to walk. Being on a trip with people who handle it so gracefully is a good lesson for me."

I didn't think I was looking for a lesson. I'd been on a weekend trip with Wilderness Inquiry before and thought I knew all I needed to about dealing with disability.

I just wanted to spend a week of winter paddling at a reasonable pace in a subtropical locale. But, like Karen, I found my teachers. Liebe Gray was one of them.

In the mornings, I would see Liebe crawl from her tent and climb slowly into her wheelchair. For the first part of the trip, I'd watch, marvel at the strength of her will as it battled the weakness of her body, and waver between an urge to lift her into her wheelchair and an urge to look the other way. By the trip's end, I had learned how to hold the wheelchair so Liebe could brace herself against it and slide in.