Day
One—May 29, 2008: The Adventure Begins!
The
first day of our Colorado River rafting adventure had finally arrived. We were
up at 4:00 a.m. this morning, grabbed a light breakfast at the hotel and then
boarded the bus at 5:00 a.m. for the drive to Lee’s Ferry on the Colorado
River in the Grand Canyon. Last night’s orientation was fun and we got to see
the variety of people who would be sharing this adventure with us. There were
several couples, two sets of sisters, three generations of guys from Alaska, two
college-age kids with their dad and uncle and the miscellaneous retired folks
and friends. It was an interesting cross-section of people. We were each given
large, two rubberized waterproof bags that would hold all our personal gear and
our sleeping bags and a metal ammo box in which we were to put items that we
might need during the day on the raft. Everyone retired to their rooms and
attempted to put all of the things they had brought with them into the bags and
the box. As we noticed the next morning, some bags were noticeably more filled
than others. Our history of lightweight hiking was a distinct advantage, as we
were able to put the few clothes and personal items we needed into the bags and
they were only half full. The only item I brought that made packing a bit tricky
was one of my Native American flutes. Packing it so it would not get broken took
some doing.
On
the 5-hour long drive to Lee’s Ferry we began to get acquainted with our raft
mates, notably two married couples, Steve and Sue and Roger and Cindy; all of
whom were longtime friends. When we weren’t chatting we were all peering out
the bus windows at the unforgettable scenery flashing by. At one point we even
spied a small herd of mule deer grazing in one of the pastures along the
highway. Just before getting to our drop-off point, we stopped in a quaint
little southwestern-style town and picked up one of the guides, Irv, his gear
and some supplies. During the remainder of the trip, Irv made his way through
the bus talking to every one of the passengers, answering a host of questions
and simply getting to know the people he would be leading for the next eight
days. We stopped again briefly at a roadside rest area that had bathrooms, a
gift shop and a snack bar. The gift shop was amazing and was filled from wall to
wall with beautiful Native American jewelry, trinkets, artwork and crafts. It
was very hard not to pull out the credit card and load up on so much glorious
stuff. After what seemed like hours, actually it was five, we pulled up to the
boat ramp at Lee’s Ferry and began unloading our gear. It was then that we got
to meet the Jason, the guide for the second raft, as well as Nancy and Greg.
Nancy and Greg would assist the guides all week and they were called “swampers.”
Nancy, as we later found out, had done this river six times already in every
conceivable type of craft—small raft, dory boat and large raft. She would be
Jason’s “swamper.” Greg, a full-blooded Apache Indian, had experience as a
river guide and would be Irv’s “swamper.” As directed, we loaded all our
gear on the rafts and the guides tied everything down to keep it from being
washed overboard by the large rapids we would be encountering. They also placed
cases of cans of beer in net bags and tied them to the raft so the bags would
hang in the river to keep the beer cold. We were each assigned a numbered life
jacket, or “personal flotation device” (PFD) and were instructed as to the
proper way to put them on and adjust them—all under the watchful eye of our
guides and a National Park Service ranger. After such a long bus ride, we were
all anxious to get going, so when the call went out to board the rafts we all
scrambled to get a good spot on board. The guides fired up the motors that would
propel us downstream and we backed out into the river where we were given
additional instructions as how to behave and some words about what to expect.
The guides then turned the rafts downstream and away we went.
We
found ourselves on Jason’s raft, “Bright Angel” along with thirteen other
people who, before the week was up and we had covered 296 wet and wonderful
miles, would become our new best friends. Irv’s raft, “The Silver Grotto”
held the remainder of the passengers. The sun was extremely hot but the water
splashing into the boat, and over us, from the Badger Creek Rapids (rated 4-6
with a 15 foot drop), Soap Creek Rapids (rated 5-6 with a 16’ drop) and the
Sheer Wall Rapids (rated 2-3 with a 9 foot drop) was unbelievably cold. To
clarify the rating system for rapids through the Grand Canyon, they are rated on
a scale of 1-10; 1 being mild and 10 being “get your craft out of the water
and carry it around the rapids!” What is critical is the amount of drop. A 9
foot drop can be more treacherous and wet than a 15’ drop if the 9 foot drop
happens over a shorter distance.
What
was equally unbelievable was the scenery on either side of the river. Towering
cliffs that made us feel so insignificant and that seemed to swallow up the
river off in the distance. The beauty and raw natural power of the canyon walls
defy description; one just has to experience them to understand how amazing they
are. Here we were, sitting in a large raft, under the power of a gas engine,
with experienced guides at the helm and yet we knew that we were visitors here
and that the canyon and the river were in charge. This was their domain and we
would have to respect it if were to survive the trip unscathed. As we moved
downstream, periodically Irv and Jason would kill the rafts’ engines. They
would then come forward on the raft and point out the things of historical and
geological importance in the area where we were drifting while the
“swampers” piloted the rafts. Bob, a geologist, especially liked these types
of informative breaks.
We
passed a number of other smaller self-powered rafts and dories—long rowboats
specially designed for river travel. The smaller rafts held 1-2 people, plus the
guide, as did the dories. As we passed more and more of them along our journey,
we came to truly appreciate the skill and physical ability it takes to row one
of these craft for hundreds of miles. It was also amazing to watch them navigate
their way through the very same rapids that pummeled our large raft.
Our
first stop was for lunch at a small sandy beach. Time and water had all but
erased the many beaches along the watery floor of the canyon but a recent large
dispersion of water from the dam upstream had stirred up the bottom of the river
and as the water receded, the beaches reappeared. The rafts were tied to the
shore and then it was time for us to go to work. Today, as we would do several
times each day of the trip, we formed a “bucket brigade” line from the front
of the raft up onto the beach. The guides and “swampers” would pass the
needed supplies off the raft and we would pass them from one to the other until
they reached their destination. It was a routine that emptied and refilled the
rafts in a quick and orderly fashion and we all got pretty good at doing it. We
had been wondering what the meals on this trip would be like but were we
surprised when our first lunch was prepared for us. Gourmet all the way! We had
sandwiches with fresh lettuce and tomatoes, chips, a large choice of sodas and
cookies for desert. After how great lunch had been, we could only imagine what
dinner would be like. With lunch out of the way and the rafts reloaded, we were
back in the river heading for our first set of large rapids—the House Rock
Rapids. Rated as a 4-7, with a 9 foot drop over a very short distance, we were
all tossed around like leaves in a hurricane and we all got soaked; even those
in the back of the raft.
The
location of the beaches along the river dictate the length of your day, so at
3:15 we stopped at the last beach available for many miles and called it a day.
With all the gear unloaded onto the shore, everyone grabbed their gear bag,
their ammo case, a blue canvas folding camp chair and the grey numbered
waterproof bag that held their sleeping bag and air mattress. Then we all
wandered off into the trees and underbrush on one part of the beach to find a
place to camp for the night. We located a nice secluded spot near the river to
make camp and then went to the river and washed up. While we were doing this,
the crews unloaded the tables, food and utensils for preparing dinner and went
to work. They also unloaded “The Crapper,”—a metal box with a toilet seat
on top. This would be our “privy” for the week and it was placed in a
secluded spot far from the nearest campers. There was also a 5-gallon plastic
bucket placed by “The Crapper” for the ladies to use for urinating. A float
cushion from the raft was left on the trail to “The Crapper” some distance
away. This cushion signaled if the crapper was in use or not. If it was not
there, it meant that someone was using the facilities and had taken it with
them. When you were done “doing your business,” you brought the seat cushion
back with you and placed it back where it had been; not very sophisticated but
very effective. One other note about dispensing of bodily fluids; for every
backpacker, the rule on the trail is that you never go near a water source so we
found it a bit disconcerting to be told that ALL urinating was to be done in the
river—never on the beaches! For the guys this was no big deal. You simply
wandered off to a secluded spot near the river and took care of business. For
the ladies it was quite a different story. They had to not only find their own
secluded spot but also had to walk into the river to relieve themselves—and
with how cold the river water was, it had to be very uncomfortable. However, by
day two, everyone had resigned themselves to this new regimen so going in front
of 30 of your closest friends became second-nature. Anyone who is the least bit
self-conscious would find this procedure a bit unnerving, I am sure.
With
our campsite ready, we took our chairs and gravitated back to the beach and
joined our raft mates. Steve, Sue, Roger and Cindy were already there sipping on
whisky and Coke cocktails; a regular end-of-day routine for them the entire
trip. Soon, others joined the “circle” and we all got to know each other a
bit better. There was Nina from Los Angeles, who was on the trip with her
sister; the Day clan, grandpa, two sons and two grandsons who were all
commercial fishermen in Alaska, and
Ally, an outgoing and humorously entertaining lady from the U.K. We all had a
wonderful time and there was more laughter than we had heard in some time.
Dinner was another culinary extravaganza and it was quite apparent that we would
all put weight on during the trip.
As
the sun began to slip behind the canyon walls, we retired to our campsite where
would sleep under the stars—or cowboy camp as it is called in the backpacking
world. We laid there and looked up at the stars and canyon walls on both sides
of us and we marveled at the dramatic change in the colors of the canyon as the
sun set. Those walls, natural artwork sculpted by time, wind and water were more
magnificent than anything ever created by man. The towering canyon walls became
an ever-changing palette of colors created by the setting sun.
It was a moment to be savored and the wonder of it all inspired me to
play. I took out my flute and just played what the canyon told me to play. The
echo and reverb off the canyon walls was unimaginable and huge. Curiously, when
I finished playing, I heard applause off in the distance from several of our
group. It was mystical! The darkness had almost complete bathed the canyon now
but in what little light that remained, we laid on our backs and watched bats
darting from their caves on the canyon walls.
Day
2—May 30, 2008: From 19-Mile Canyon to Saddle Canyon
This
morning we were up at 5:00 and packed all our gear just before we heard Irv’s
early morning call for “Hot coffee!” Everyone ran to the beach with their
stainless steel coffee mugs, compliments of the Grand Canyon Expedition Company,
to get their morning fix. The crew had been up for some time preparing
breakfast—and what a breakfast it was; eggs, bacon, English muffins, juice and
cantaloupe. By 7:00 a.m. everything was loaded and we were on the river. On day
one, it was suggested that some of us switch rafts each day so we could get to
know everyone on the trip. Today, we made a wholesale swap and we jumped onto
Irv’s raft. We hadn’t been on the river very long before we put ashore at
North Canyon to do the first of our many day hikes. Off came our raft gear and
on went our hiking clothes and boots. We took a 1.5-mile round trip hike up a
steep trail, covered in loose rocks, to a large pool of water. It was a nice way
to start the day and hiking made us long for the trails back home. (but not for
too long but not for too long because this trail had a wonder unique to this
area of the country.) Back into the rafts we went and immediately headed into
the North Canyon Rapids (4-5, 15’ drop) which hammered us—but nothing like
what was to come. We had just recovered from the first set of rapids when we hit
the 21-Mile Rapids (4-5, 12’ drop). These rapids were the meanest so far and
it was all we do to not be tossed out of the raft. We simply clung onto to the
ropes stretched along the side of the raft, screamed and laughed. The waves
careened over the raft’s bow and got us thoroughly drenched. Thank God for the
rain gear we had on. Rain gear or not, we were extremely wet and quickly began
to get very cold. Because the sun does not reach into the bottom of the canyon
until 10:00 a.m. or so, the temperature of the air early in the morning is
similar to that of the water. We sat shivering but excitedly happy about our
second real test on the river. What was additionally exciting this morning was
our first glimpse of several big horn sheep grazing along the river bank. What
beautiful and amazing creatures.
As
the sun peaked into the base of the canyon, it became quite warm and there was a
very strong wind whistled between the canyon walls. We stopped for lunch at the
Red Wall Cavern—one of the wonders on the canyon floor. Carved out of the
canyon wall was a vast chamber, like a huge amphitheatre with a sand floor. It
is so wide and deep, and its ceiling so high, that some other rafters were
throwing a Frisbee around inside it with plenty of room to run after it and with
no threat of it hitting either the roof of the cave or its walls. Major John
Wesley Powell, a Civil War veteran who had lost his right arm in the Battle of
Shiloh and who led the first expedition on the river through the Grand Canyon in
1869, said that the Red Wall Cavern would hold 50,000 people. I am not sure that
is true but it could certainly hold several thousand. It was overwhelmingly
monstrous. We ate another scrumptious lunch out in the sun on the beach as the
two Day boys fished in the river—catching two in the time we were there. As we
finished lunch we heard the plaintive cry of what sounded like a Native American
chant of some sort. Being interested in Native American culture, I wandered
inside to find Greg, kneeling in the back of the cavern, singing a song in his
native Apache language. It was beautiful sounding and the reverb produced by the
carven made it even more so. I asked Greg’s permission to sit in on his
ceremony and he welcomed me to. Sitting there, listening to him sing with my
eyes closed, I could almost picture his ancestors performing a similar ceremony
in their camp.
There
were several rapids throughout the remainder of the day but, overall, it was a
rather mild trip to Saddle Canyon where we stopped for the day. Since it was
early, several of our group took a hike up into Saddle Canyon. We choose to stay
in camp, wash up and wash our hair before joining the remainder of our group for
some socializing on the beach. Boy, was the water cold! Tonight’s menu
included pork chops, baked beans, brown rice and applesauce. “Mom” and I
made a couple of trips for seconds and thirds and retired to our sleeping bags
with a day’s worth of great memories and full stomachs. The air tonight was a
bit breezy but that did not stop the bats from their nightly quest for food. We
lay on our bags watching them and looked up at the stars—more stars than we
had ever seen before. We hoped that we would see the Milky Way and some shooting
stars like we had the night before. What a show creation outs on every night if
you are away from the urban ground lighting that drowns it out. Since so many
people enjoyed the flute music the night before, I played for awhile until the
canyon was pitch black and I could not keep my eyes open any longer.
Day
3—May 31, 2008: Saddle Canyon
(near mile marker #76) to Hance Rapids and Red Canyon
We again woke to the cry of “Hot Coffee,”
quickly packed our gear and headed to the beach for pancakes, sausage and fruit.
There is a mealtime ritual, actually a mandate from Jason, which should be
touched on here. A few days into one of Jason’s earlier expeditions, virtually
everyone got sick with extensive vomiting and diarrhea being the norm. It was a
ghastly experience that he attributed to people not properly washing up before
eating. It was an experience he never wanted to repeat. Before every meal,
everyone had to wash their hands thoroughly. To do this, an interesting
contraption was provided, comprised of two plastic buckets, a length of hose, a
spigot and a foot pump. One bucket was filled with clean water and the other was
left empty. One end of the hose was placed in the bucket full of water and the
other was attached to the spigot clipped to the empty bucket. The procedure was
to place some hand soap on your hands, place them under the spigot, pump the
pump with your foot and rinse your hands into the empty bucket. With this done
you simply shook your hands dry. This same type of gizmo was placed on the trail
from the “crapper” where you were also expected to wash your hands. Thanks
to Jason, our hands had never been so clean and no one got sick.
Today
we were in Irv’s raft again and it looked like both groups were satisfied with
who they were rafting with and who was guiding their boat. Except for a few
minor changes, everyone stayed on the same rafts. We would be in Irv’s boat
the rest of the way. It was another cold morning on the river and the monstrous
Hance Rapids (7-9, 30’ drop) had us soaked and shivering. By mid-morning it
had wormed considerably and at a bend in the river we pulled the rafts ashore in
order to take another short hike. From the rafts we wandered through scrub brush
and trees and then began the long, slow climb to some Pueblo/Anasazi granaries
cut into the face of the mountain 600 feet up. These granaries were put there to
protect the tribe’s cache of corn and other crops from anyone wanting to steal
them. From this vantage point, they could see any intruder miles before they
reached the foot of the mountain. The trail up was narrow and slippery because
of the loose rock underfoot and, at times, it passed between boulders that
looked like hardened lava and that would cut your legs if you happened to brush
against them. At the top, we sat on several narrow ledges just below the
granaries and gazed at the amazing sight below. For as far as we could see there
were canyon walls and the course of the river was easy to see for miles. I
talked with Greg for awhile and found that he use to be a professional bull
rider but now was a river guide and also taught young Apaches on the reservation
about the history and language of the Apaches. He was passionate about wanting
future generations to hold onto their native heritage. The remainder of the
morning was filled with daunting sets of rapids and breathtaking scenery. Irv, a
veteran of 17 years on the river, knew all of the canyon’s history and could
point out all the geological changes along the way. He repeatedly reminded us
that where we were floating was through layers of rock made millions of years
ago; each layer representing a span of time in the evolution of the planet. As
he talked, we realized the significance of where we were—we were literally
viewing God’s creation from below the surface. “Mom” and I now understood
what Colin Fletcher meant after hiking the length of the Grand Canyon—an
experience that brought him to write the book, “The Man Who Walked Through
Time.” The only difference was he walked and we were riding in a raft. Just
the same, it was equally amazing!
Our
next stop was the mouth of the Little Colorado River where we would hike
upstream for an afternoon of pure fun. As soon as we disembarked and started to
walk up the trail alongside the Little Colorado River, we knew something was
magical about this place. The color of the river was a turquoise blue because of
the alkaline and other minerals in the water—and it was so clear you could see
to the bottom. There were gigantic fish swimming everywhere. We hiked about one
quarter of a mile until we came to a set of rapids where this marvelous river
washed over large white boulders. Everyone had been told to bring their PFDs;
for what reason we were to soon find out. Jason immediately donned his PFD
upside down, jumped into the river and rode the rapids to a pool of calm water
some 50-60 yards below. Oh yea, this was going to be fun! We all took turns
putting on our PFDs upside down, our legs through where our arms would normally
be, and jumped into the warm, blue water for a bouncy trip to the pool. It took
some maneuvering to keep from being slammed against the rocks lining the river
and, if you were not careful, the rocks on the bottom smacked your but—but it
was a blast. “Mom” had a bit of trouble making her way down because, for
some reason, her PFD forced her head back and her feet up so she spent as much
time with her head under water as she did on top. Steve, had a scary first ride
when his PFD slid down around his legs making it impossible for him to roll over
and swim to shore at the end of the ride. Several of us had to grab him and
bring him to shore before he drowned. The highlight of the day was our attempt
at breaking the record for most people through the rapids hooked together in a
train. The current record was 32. Another raft trip arrived and they joined us
for the record-breaking attempt. We would all line up on the shore and jumped in
together. The trick was to roll on your back, with your feet facing downstream,
quickly hook your feet under the armpits of the person in front of you and hang
on. On the count of “three” we all jumped in and tried to get hooked up.
Unfortunately, the force of the river took us away from the back group of
rafters and we never got the whole group of 33 hooked in an unbroken chain; so
much for breaking records. As we reached the end of the ride, I ran into a bit
of trouble myself. Dave, who had his feet hooked under my arms, neglected to let
go when we reached the upper end of the calm water and we were hurdling toward a
large boulder on our right. My options were to slam into the boulder with my
head or put out my arm and push myself off. Option #2 seemed the better one so
that is what I did. I ended up jamming my right arm; an arm that had been giving
me trouble for weeks. Oh well, it was a small price to pay for so much fun.
With
our afternoon of fun at a close, we boarded the rafts and spent the rest of the
afternoon careening through a series of gigantic rapids that had everyone
holding on for dear life. “Mom” and I were riding up front with Bob and some
others, and we took the brunt of the watery onslaught. We were wet and cold but
could not imagine a better place to be. We put ashore at another beautiful
location though we did have to wait until after the sun had set to put out our
sleeping bags. The entire area was crawling with ants and until it got dark, and
they went back to their nests, our gear was at risk for being overrun with ants.
After a remarkable dinner of chicken, corn, zucchini and pasta salad, I climbed
the boulder-strewn hillside above our camp, and with the sun beginning to set, I
perched myself on a huge boulder and played my flute. Just the ambience of where
we were staying added a new dimension to the music. With the evening concert
over, we once again lay on our sleeping bags and marveled at the millions of
stars that swept across the sky. They appeared so close that we thought we could
reach out and touch them. It was like we were in heaven and we began to wonder
if we would ever want to leave this place.
Day
4—June 1, 2008: Just above Hance Rapids to near Burro Canyon (mile marker 109)
This
morning we rose to gorgeous sunrise and smell of “Hot Coffee,” eggs, bacon
and English muffins and rumors about the this section of the river being one of
the most dangerous had us scurrying to get the rafts loaded and in the river.
Jason and Irv warned us that today would be the wettest day so far and strongly
urged us to put on our rain gear for a wet and wild day. We were so excited! Up
ahead, for miles and miles, were going to shoot through some of the meanest
rapids on our trip thus far. When I heard that, I immediately claimed a spot in
the very front of the raft on the right side. I was not the only one wanting to
see the upcoming rapids “up close and personal,” so the 9-10 spots up front
filled up quickly leaving “Mom” unable to join me. As it turned out, no one
stayed dry, so sitting in the back only offered a greater degree of safety but
still minimal protection from the watery onslaught. Everyone ended up soaked.
Within minutes of leaving the beach, we encountered Hance Rapids (7-8, 30’
drop) and it was a wild ride. As the raft dove into the bottom of a hole before
a huge wave, the crest of the wave was 4’-6’ over our heads. At the
very bottom, the raft came to what fely like a sudden stop, the rear of the raft
rose up and a massive wave crashed over us. For a time, all of us in the front,
were completely under water and could not breathe or see where we were going
until the raft finally bounced to the surface. The experience would be similar
to walking out into the ocean up to you knees, sitting down and then letting a
wave crash onto your head. As soon as we all were able to breathe again, we all
began to laugh and scream like kids on a roller coaster. What a thrill! Even as
wet and as cold as we were, none of us could wait until the next rapids appeared
around a bend in the river.
We
took a break from the early morning’s wild ride to take a hike up to a
waterfall at Clear Creek. The temperature had begun to rise steadily which
helped to dry our clothes which still got wet despite our rain gear. The trail
went through a dazzling canyon and along the way we spied numerous lizards
scurrying across the rocks at our feet. At the waterfall, one of the many that
grace the floor of the canyon, we took a short break, took photos and just let
our souls inhaled the beauty of our surroundings. On the trip back to the rafts,
we walked with our “swamper,” Nancy, and found out something truly amazing.
She lives in Gaithersburg, Maryland, only minutes from where we live. What an
incredibly small world and another example of our inability to go anywhere
without running into someone we already know or who lives near us. Right then
and there, we made arrangements to get together for a barbeque when we were all
back home.
At
noon, near mile marker 94, we stopped for lunch. It had been an exciting
morning; one where we had rocked, rolled and splashed our way through 6-8 sets
of powerful rapids, passed Bright
Angel Canyon, site of the famed Phantom Ranch, and passed under both the Kaibab
Suspension Bridge (circa 1928) and the Bright Angel Suspension Bridge (circa
1970). On numerous occasions our guides killed the motors on our rafts to point
out areas of significance in the history of both the canyon and the river. We
also saw many of the hiking trails that people use to make the trip down from
the rim of the canyon.
With
lunch completed, we were all anxious to see what the river held in store for us
in the afternoon. Could anything be as fantastic as what we survived in the
morning? We would soon see and sooner than we expected. After lunch, “Mom”
had joined me and the front group to get a taste of what meeting these turbulent
denizens of the river felt like when met head on. Were back together once again
sharing the heart of the adventure. We were excited! Having quickly run the
rapids at Salt Creek (2, 5’ drop) and Granite (a more foreboding set at 7-8,
with an 18’ drop), we came to the head of the Hermit Rapids (7-8, w/15’
drop) and we felt, possibly for the first time, that we might have a problem.
None
of us were experienced at “reading” the river, but even with our few days
there, we had a pretty good idea when a set of rapids could swallow us up and
spit us out. The water ahead was frothing and swirling with large waves running
in every direction and pounding against a huge rock outcropping to our right.
These rapids indeed looked threatening and our fears were confirmed when Irv
hollered, “Everyone down and hold on!” Duh! We all grabbed onto the ropes at
our sides or in front of us, locked our legs together as if we were riding a
toboggan and held on for dear life. Irv had told us earlier, with more than a
bit of tongue in cheek, is that the rule on the river is that “Raft pilots do
not turn around to rescue a single rafter who has fallen overboard. So, if you
go overboard, make sure you take someone with you. We will come back for two
people.” When we first heard that, we found it quite humorous but now, with
the threat of being thrown overboard a distinct possibility, his joke lost some
of its frivolity. What was even more perplexing was that thr raft was heading
for the huge rock outcropping on our right. The closer we came to the rock, the
higher the waves became creating even deeper recesses between them to swallow us
up. Just as we began to pass the rock on our right, a huge wave developed both
in front and behind us and we careened into the hole between them. At the same
time, wave came from our left and crashed onto the rocks. Nearly under water by
now, the raft caught the wave coming off the rock and lifted the entire ride
side of the raft up until it was standing virtually on its left-side pontoon. I
was on the right side and as the raft reached the highest point of its near
flip, I looked up and saw the right-side pontoon rising up over my head. As we
all began to slide to the left side of the raft, a wave came over the bow and we
were, once again, fully submerged. Miraculously, as we were shot out of the back
side of the wave, everyone was still in the raft. However, we were all near the
left side. Everything had shifted including the two rows of ammo cases lashed to
the center of the raft and on which three people, including “Mom,” were
sitting. It did not take long for all of us to spit out the water we had all
ingested, regained our composure and as one voice started screaming for joy and
laughing. It had been an amazing ride and we pleaded with Irv to take us through
again; but to no avail. Once in calm water, he turned the raft around so we
could watch Jason’s raft come through.
Although
there were other rapids we would encounter, one being the infamous Crystal
Rapids (7-10, w/17’ drop), which we went through backwards, none came close to
the pure adrenaline rush of Hermit Rapids.
At
Shinumo Creek we pulled the rafts ashore and took a hike to yet another
waterfall. Despite seeing numerous waterfalls along the way, each was more
spectacular than the prior one with a wondrous character of its own. This
particular one had a cave behind it that you could enter, make a short climb to
a point above the falls and then jump into the swirling pool at its base.
Several people took the plunge, so to speak, but we opted to simply watch and
take pictures. From here it was a short 1-mile ride downstream to our beach for
the night.
Because
we were constantly being cooled by the water from the rapids, it was not until
we reached the shore that we realized just how hot it had become; a typical 104°.
In contrast, and made even more so by the heat, was how cold the water was (55°)
Even so, several folks jumped into the river and took a much-needed bath. We got
cold just watching them. This location was notable for the number of lizards
that scurried across the sand everywhere we looked. We all sat around, Steve,
Sue, Roger and Cindy with their cocktails, along with Dave, Bob and Ally and
recounted the highlights of the day’s escapades. We had all grown closer over
the last few days and there was a growing camaraderie emerging that made our
adventure even that more rewarding. After our dinner of halibut, I wandered off
to find a place to play my flute but was intercepted by Greg, the “swamper”
from Jason’s raft. He asked if we could go off together and work on a song.
Seeing this as a unique opportunity to blend my flute with an Apache song, I
said, “Sure.” We rock-hopped our way about 40 yards from the camp ground and
sat down on a couple of big rocks. As the sun began to fall behind the canyon
walls and stars began to make their appearance, in his native language Greg sang
verses of a song he had just written. Between the verses I would echo his melody
on my flute. When we were done, I asked him what he was singing and he told me,
“We are on this journey together. We are friends. We are friends. This journey
has brought us together. We are friends. We are friends. May our friendship
continue once the journey ends? We are friends. We are friends.” It was
difficult to contain the emotions that ran through me at that moment. It was a
truly magical experience and we agreed to stay in touch.
As
some of our raft mates sat around a fire and sang, “Mom” and I retired to
our campsite and lay down looking up at the stars. For some reason, tonight they
were brighter than before and we could walk around in the dark by just the light
they emitted.
Day
5—June 2, 2008: Burro Canyon to Mile Marker 137
After
four days of spectacular scenery and hair-raising rides through rapids, we began
to run out of adjectives to describe everything. It’s amazing how limited our
vocabulary becomes when trying to describe the wonders of God’s creation.
There are so many more wonders than there are words. Today the river began to
really get turbulent and it seemed like we were spending more time crashing
through rapids than we were meandering through calm water. “Mom” and I rode
up front today and had a blast. (though we were constantly wet and extremely
cold) Most of the rapids we shot were only rated 2-3 or 3-5 but some of them
dropped 14’-17’ so we got tossed around mercilessly and had to hold on for
dear life. What a blast! What made it more fun was that we were traveling with a
fun group of people and every threatening rapid run became a time for jokes,
laughter and good-natured ribbing. Ally, in particular, had us in stitches with
her dry, British wit. We stopped three times, at Elves Chasm, Blacktail Canyon
and Deer Creek to take brief hikes. Walking through these canyons was like
walking back in time; to an era when only Native Americans and big horn sheep
dared to call these magnificent geological domains their home. Sometimes we
would stop and look straight up and the canyon walls were so tall that we could
not see the tops. All we could see was a sliver of blue sky wedged between the
canyon walls. The back of Elves Chasm was adorned with a tall, gorgeous
waterfall that cascaded over multiple rock outcroppings and lush green
vegetation into a large blue-green pool. It was something out of a travel guide
and totally indescribable. At the mouth of Deer Creek was another towering and
regal waterfall and some of our group decided to get in a bit of swimming in the
pool at the base before hiking up into the canyon. The mist from the waterfall
became a gigantic prism creating a huge rainbow as the sun was refracted through
the mist. It was mesmerizing. We traversed a very high and very narrow trail
carved into narrows of Tapeats Sandstone that lay in noticeable layers stacked
on top of one another and that had been sculpted by eons of time and water. On a
narrow ledge along the wall, laid a huge snake stretched out in the coolness of
the rocks. At times the walls of the canyon were so close together that you felt
that you could make a leap and reach the other side. As we made our way, we saw
numerous painted Pueblo and Anasazi handprints still visible on the canyon
walls; signs of a past civilization and their time in these canyons. We were
told that many of the Native Americans who lived here, jumped across these
canyons to connect with the “spirit world” and the painted hands on the
walls were evidence of their attempts. At the deepest recess of the canyon, we
stopped for a long break, took photos, chatted with some day hikers who had come
in on one of the other canyon trails and played in the water.
We
stopped for the night on a beach just below Deer Creek and were presented with
an amazing Mexican feast; complete with Margaritas. As we prepared our sleeping
areas, a warm breeze blew in from the south bringing with it a solitary cloud;
the only one we had seen all day. “Mom” decided that this lone cloud made it
a partly cloudy evening. We all sat and watched a luminescent sunset paint the
sky and walls of the canyon with its pink and orange hues and talked about our
varied lives. With such a large group, there were endless interesting stories to
tell and we acquired quite an education in just how different peoples’ lives
were. We were equally amazed that with such differences that somehow we all
ended up on this river together. It was another pristine night, with bats
soaring and diving overhead and a canopy of stars too numerous to count and the
sound of my flute serenaded everyone to sleep. This is how life is supposed to
be.
Day 6
– June 3, 2008: Mile Marker 137 to Mile Marker 176, just above Saddle Horse
Canyon
Last
evening we had the best night’s sleep of the whole trip so we were totally
rested when we had to get up extra early—this would be a big mileage day. As
soon as we hit the river we immediately began running rapids. What a way to
start the day. Since there was yet no sun in the canyon to warm the air and take
the chill off the river, it was incredibly cold. We had all put on our rain gear
but it did little to make the wet ride any more comfortable. By the time we
reached “Upset Rapids” (3-8, 15 foot drop), the biggest and most treacherous
set of rapids for the day, we were shivering but happy and looking forward to
taking on the wrath of the river. What fun! So others could ride up front,
“Mom” and I road in the rear of the raft in what is termed the “The
Chicken Coop.” Being in the back was of little consolation though as we
pounded our way through “Upset Rapids.” The waves were so large we ended up
soaking wet anyway.
The
highlight of the day was a 1-mile hike up Havasu Creek to a bevy of refreshing,
blue pools and a series of waterfalls. We brought bag lunches with us so we
could have lunch on the trail. We could hike as far into the canyon as we wanted
so “Mom” and I left most of the group at a large open area with a large
swimming hole and found our own little private pool further into the canyon. It
had warmed up quite a bit so as soon as we found out little hideaway we went
swimming. The water was cold but refreshing. Having cooled ourselves off in a
crystal clear pool, we sat on a big rock at the pool’s edge, ate lunch and
then laid back and sunned ourselves. The air and rock were both so warm we dosed
off for awhile and lost track of time. Thinking we might have missed getting
back to the rafts with everyone else, we hurriedly headed back to main pool
where we had left most everyone else and found that we had plenty of time. So,
we swam some more. Jason had brought an inflatable raft so we got in and ran a
set of rapids and “surfed” the base of a small waterfall. It was so much
fun. After three hours of childlike play, we went back to raft and proceeded on
a relatively smooth run to our stop for the night – 3 miles above the biggest,
nastiest and most notorious falls on the river – “Lava Falls.” We were all
giddy with excitement just thinking about the impending disaster in the morning.
Everyone wants to ride up front for that one so it should be pretty crowded.
When
we stopped at the beach for the night, the wind had picked up considerably and
sand was blowing everywhere. Had to take our tarps and create wind blocks around
our sleeping bags so we didn’t get buried in sand while we slept. With our
areas ready, we joined Ally, Roger, Cindy, Steve, Sue Bob and Bob #2 and just
sat around drinking beer until dinner was ready. We had a great time cracking
jokes, telling funny stories and being totally at ease. By this time, any stress
anyone had brought with them was completely gone. After another gourmet dinner,
it was time for the evening’s talent show. Ally and Kate did a mind reading
routine, Irv and Jason demonstrated there skills with a hula hoop they had
brought along, Jason performed some John Price songs with his guitar and Greg
and I did the song we had put together several nights before. It was a great
ending to an unforgettable day. As we turned in, the wind was still blowing sand
everywhere but no one seemed to notice. The memories of the day, the star filled
sky and the shooting starts racing across the sky took our minds off the
sandblasting we were getting. The thought of tomorrow would make for a rather
sleepless night.
Day 7
– June 4, 2008: Mile Marker 176 to Mile Marker 227
What
a morning! It started out with “Lava falls”—the meanest and deadliest set
of rapids on the entire trip. Many a rafter has found themselves upside down and
in the water trying to negotiate this monster but we couldn’t wait. If you
want to get a taste of what these rapids are like, go to YouTube and type in
“Carnage at Lava Falls.” What you see will astound you. Our rafts took turns
shooting the rapids here so we could all take pictures of whatever disaster
ensued. Fortunately for all of us, we made it through unscathed, though our raft
was almost swamped twice. The waves were so big and the holes so deep that at
times we had no idea where we were—we just held on and screamed our lungs out
as we found ourselves completed submerged under thousands of gallons of ice-cold
water. When we were done, everyone wanted to do it again but that was out of the
questions. Going down was difficult enough—getting back up the rapids was
impossible. “Mom” chose to sit in the back but I road up front and loved
every minute of it. What a rush! Having successfully run “Lava Falls” we
wondered if the rest of the day would be anti-climatic—it was anything but.
Just
above Pumpkin Spring, Irv had us stop and he took us on a geological hike to
show us rocks sculpted by water, pebbles and sand over thousands of years. What
we saw was more gorgeous than anything any of the world’s greatest sculptors
has ever done. At Pumpkin Spring we all took turns jumping off a 30’ cliff
into the river. It was a blast, though incredibly cold. As we made our way
further down the river we passed Diamond Peak towering thousands of feet above
our heads. It was then that we grasped the magnitude of how far down into the
canyon we had traveled because Diamond Peak was at the same elevation as our
starting point, Lee’s Ferry.
As
we passed Diamond Peak, we noticed a huge thunderstorm brewing in the sky behind
us and it was moving much faster than we were. We did out best to outrun it but
as we reached the beach for the night, the skies opened up and we were pelted
with huge raindrops. In addition, lightening zigzagged across the sky and struck
the mountains around us. It was a beautifully scary sight to behold. We unloaded
the rafts and prepared to wait out the storm since they are generally short.
However, after 30 minutes of driving rain, we pulled the tents out of the rafts
for the first time. For some, this was their first experience setting up a tent
of any kind, and it was obvious that they were totally frustrated by all the
poles and stakes. Since we have years of experience setting up tents and had
ours up rather quickly, we helped a few folks with theirs. Oddly enough, as soon
as the last tent was firmly in place, the rain stopped so all we had to deal
with was wet sand that stuck to your feet like so many pounds of wet concrete.
The saving grace of all the rain was that it kept the sand from being blown
around by the stiff winds behind the storm.
Now
it was time for dinner and what a feast the crews prepared for us. We each had a
huge steak, cooked to order, mashed potatoes, mushroom gravy, salad, and for
dessert, chocolate cake. Our meals on the Appalachian Trail were never like
this. We actually gained weight on this trip. As it began to get dark, “Mom”
and I put our tarp down in the sand in front of our tent and slept under the
stars. As we lay there, gazing at the night sky, we talked about some of the
things we would miss when this adventure was over. We’d miss being woken up
every morning by Irv shouting out, “Hot coffee!” or as we prepared to board
our raft, “Last call for the crapper.” Then there was Jason repeatedly
telling us, “Wash your hands” and reminding us that “Women pee upstream,
men downstream.” At some point, in the early morning hours, a heavy mist began
to settle into the canyon, so we moved back inside and fell back into a heavy
and relaxing sleep. Tomorrow would be our last day on the river and we found a
sadness taking hold of us.
Day
8—June 5, 2008 – Day 8: Mile Marker 227 to South Cove on Lake Meade
This
morning’s run was bittersweet as we lazily made our way toward Lake Meade. We
passed the 232-Mile Rapids where, in 1928, newlyweds Bessie and Glen Hyde
probably drowned while on their honeymoon. Their boat was found five miles
downstream. At Separation Point (mile 239), we said good-bye to our crews and
thanked them for an adventure that we would never forget. Separation Point got
its name for the three men of the historic Powell expedition, who left the rest
of the party and hiked up to the Grand Canyon’s North Rim where they were
killed by Indians. It was there that we took our gear off of the rafts and
boarded a jet boat that would take us to our final destination at South Cove. We
would then board a bus for the long ride back to our hotel in Las Vegas. After
seven days of absolute quiet, the noise of the jet boat was a bit unnerving and
the ride was anything put relaxing. We arrived at South Cove at 11:00 a.m.,
unloaded our gear, and packed all our personal belongings into clear plastic
bags. Since we were going over Hoover Dam on our ride back, Homeland Security
would need to be able to inspect our stuff; thus the plastic bags.
Kinsman,
our host from Grand Canyon Expeditions provided us with a lunch of subs, chips,
apples and water. We also stopped at Dolan Station, a small cowboy-style
convenience store in the small desert town of Dolan Springs. Set out in the
middle of nowhere among miles of desert sand and acres of Joshua Trees, it was
reminiscent of those towns you might see in a western movie. This store had
everything; ice cream, beer, popsicles, stuffed rattlesnakes, and even
Jackalopes with certificates of authenticity. “Mom” and I, as we often do on
a long adventure, indulged ourselves with Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice
cream. As we made our way back to Las Vegas, the fatigue of so many days on the
river began to set in and most everyone caught a nap as we wound our way through
the desert and canyons back home. Most everyone was staying one last night at
the hotel before heading home, but not being sure if we would see them again
before they left, we said our goodbyes and promised to stay in touch. There was
a camaraderie that had developed over the last week that we hoped would be
nurtured in the years to come. “Mom” and I headed to our room, took hot
showers, did some laundry, checked emails, made phone calls and then headed to a
nearby microbrewery for a relaxing dinner. On the way, we passed Ally on her way
to meet with Roger, Cindy, Sue and Steve to have dinner and then ride “The
Stratosphere;” a stomach churning ride that drops you hundreds of feet
straight down. Over dinner, “Mom” and I started to put together a list of
things from the trip that would forever be with us; sort of a list of phrases
and things from the trip that we would heretofore react differently to any time
we heard them. I suppose you could call them symptoms of “Post Grand Canyon
Raft Trip Syndrome.” What we came up with were:
“Brilliant”
– Ally’s reaction to almost everything
“Groovers”
– Another name for the portable “crapper” carried on the rafts
“Sandpaper”—What
the toilet paper left by the capper felt like after sitting out all night
“Sarongs”—What
Jason wore while piloting his raft
“Captain
Jack Sparrow”—Our nickname for Jason (he looked just like him)
“Ravens”—They
were at our campsites every morning and evening scrounging for food
“Arizona
Gun Slinger”—What Jason put on all his food
“Never
to be seen or heard from again”—Irv’s conclusion to every story he told us
about the fate of many folks who traveled into the canyon or rafted the river
over the years
For
us, it was a fantastic journey and one we recommend everyone take at least once
in their life. It is like nothing else you will ever do.
On the
last morning on the river, Irv read us a humorous list of 10 ways to prepare for
a rafting trip with Grand Canyon Expeditions. If you decide that taking such a
trip is something you would like to try, here is that list so you can get ready.
10)
One week before the trip, have a yard of sand delivered to your home. Sprinkle
it liberally in your bed, dresser drawers and on the kitchen and bathroom
counters. Fill your salt shaker, sugar bowl and cereal boxes with sand and use
them as usual. Place garbage can lids of sand in front of fans and run them
continuously at high speed.
9)
After renting a projection TV, illuminate the walls and ceiling of your bedroom
with old Dracula movies, especially the snake, lizard and bat infested scenes.
8)
Have your friends form a long line then systematically pass the entire contents
of your home out the front door and in the back door of your house
7)
With an industrial-size brush and a bottle of bleach, wash, rinse and sterilize
the hubcaps of your car thirty minutes after sunrise and immediately after
sunset every day for eight days.
6)
With a large meat tenderizer, practice beating beer cans down to the diameter of
a hockey puck.
5) Sit
on the hood of your car while riding through a car wash
4)
Line your sandals with sand paper and spend two hours per day on a Stairmaster
3) Put
a days worth of clothes in a brown paper bag. Then remove them from the bag and
drape all of them on the bushes in your back yard. Then twice a day, practice
changing while your friends watch.
2)
With twenty-seven of your friends standing in the shallow end of your swimming
pool, practice looking nonchalant as you carry on a conversation and pee
simultaneously.
1) Crap in your upstairs bathroom waste basket, then with your pants still around your ankles, run downstairs and pee in the bathtub.