Tag: Colorado River

Nineteenth river day 25 miles 264.8 Mile Camp 4/13/2019

Twentieth river day 14.2 miles 279 Mile Camp 4/14/2019

Twenty first river day 1.4 miles to Pearce Ferry Takeout, derig, and drive to the rental house 4/15/2019

In hindsight, I am glad that I choose to add these couple extra days in the Canyon after the Diamond Creek Access area. I found the last two days were my most enjoyable. I think it was a combination of the end being in sight and the slower pace of the trip. With the trip almost over and knowing that we were on track to make our target pickup date along with having no other must-see objectives to knock of the list, I could allow myself to relax and not feel stressed. Another little thing I found enjoyable was that we separated into two groups, without having to try and stay together to provide support in the case of an overturned raft or other emergency. This really allowed for a much-relaxed pace. The group I was in lashed our rafts together and floated along playing cards and soaking in the sun as the day drifted by stress free. The only thing we had to really worry about this day was the campsite. The sites in this section are affected by the water levels in Lake Mead and the conditions vary greatly with current lake levels. A lot of these camps, along with the banks were caving into the river, much like icebergs breaking apart, sending the rims, and whatever were on them, tumbling into the water.

We decided to stay on a terraced campsite with log reinforced steps put in by the National Park Service. Since the banks were eroding and falling in, we thought this would make for a more reliable camp area. Later that evening we hear a large cracking sound and looked across the river from our camp towards the Silt Flats to see the side of the bank give way crumbling down into the river.

After Separation Canyon the flow of the river mellowed out to a float, as the surrounding area picked up in intensity. Lots of motorized boat traffic zipping by along with increased activity in general. A group of Indigenous people were providing tours on motorboats. A few that didn’t have tourists onboard would stop and ask for beer. Dealing with tourons is thirsty work. There were also helicopters buzzing all around taking even more tourist to their private accommodations or providing tours of the Canyon. We could see the massive tourist trap, the Grand Canyon Skywalk, a horseshoe shaped steel frame with a glass floor and sides that overhanging the Grand Canyon’s rim looking down 4,000 feet to the bottom of the canyon. This is the most famous attraction at Grand Canyon West, managed by the Hualapai Tribe and located on tribal lands, consisting of just less than 1,000,000 acres. The tribe has about 2,300 members with Peach Springs on Highway 66 being the location of the tribal headquarters. The tribe operates a hotel, restaurant, and gift shop in Peach Springs.

Our last night we stayed just around the corner from Pearce where we were to meet our outfitter to dismantle the boats and get a ride out the canyon. We shared the spot with another group. I believe they were guides in training. We talked to them for a little bit, and some came over to our glow stick party. I don’t remember much about the evening. Micah, and I went to bed early. I do recall a guy walking towards us on the way back to camp he said, “she bumped into me, spilt my beer…. then she just meowed at me!”

“Sounds about right, have a good night.” I replied.

Waking up in the morning we packed our boats for the last time only to derig them fully in 1.4 miles. After hours of unloading the boats and loading everything onto the vehicles we climbed into the vans that were to take us to the house we were staying in for the night before all heading back to corners of the county, but the one thing we were dying to know was if everyone at Moenkopi loved olives? A pause from the driver, “yes, I guess. Why do you ask?”

“They were on the menu in almost every meal. We have a lot left!”

Moenkopi was great as an outfitter. They supplied us with all we needed and even worked with us as we were navigating a government shutdown, which could have possibly ended our trip. I just hope they don’t add our leftover cans of olives to the next group.

Eighteenth river day 19.8 miles Separation Canyon 4/12/2019

Today marked the beginning of the end of our 21-day river trip and the beginning of C.J. and Kelly’s future together. I believe this is the day they told us they got engaged. C.J. had given Kelly a PBR tab in lieu of a ring, until they got back to civilization. This proposition had occurred sometime earlier in the trip but they had just informed the group as we headed for a change in the canyon and group.

We floated by the Diamond Creek Access, which is the first place since we put on 226 miles ago at Lees Ferry that a road comes to the river. I chose not to utilize this takeout for a couple of reasons: First being it cost more but the second, and main reason, was that I will probably not paddle the Grand Canyon again and I wanted to see as much as possible, so that left the Pearce Ferry Access to take out.

A few miles after passing Diamond Creek we run, in my mind, our last actual rapid of the trip, blandly named Two Hundred and Thirty Mile Rapid, also called Killer Fang Falls. The rapid gets it’s more menacing name from the schist fins lurking in the current on the river right line. These fangs apparently might have some bite. Newlyweds, Glen and Bessie Hyde were looking to make a statement with their honeymoon trip down the Grand Canyon in 1928. Each member of the couple had a different goal, Glen wanted to make the fastest boating trip while Bessie wanted to be the first known woman to make the trip down the Grand Canyon. This unfortunately never came to fruition. One of the many theories about what happened to the couple speculated that the twosome hit these “fangs” and were thrown from their boat. One of the more interesting theories was Bessie may have reappeared as a river guide named Georgie Clark after killing Glen. When Clark passed in 1992, her friends discovered a marriage certificate among her possessions for Glen and Bessie Hyde. She also had a birth certificate that said “Bessie DeRoss,” and a pistol stashed in her underwear drawer. Historians, however, could not verify the documents, and photos of Clark as a young woman don’t resemble Bessie. No bodies have been found to date leaving this mystery unsolved.

The rest of our trip after Killer Fang would be unremarkable rapid wise. With few remaining between us and Separation Canyon, our destination for the day, and after that none until Pearce Rapid right after we takeout. The rapids after Gneiss Cayon Rapid are now submerged under water and silt from Lake Mead. In July 1983 the lake flooded just upstream of Gneiss Rapid to Bridge Canyon. Even as the water levels recede it will take a very long time for sediments to be washed away reveling the rapids once more.

When we got to Separation Cayon, so named because it is where three men, William Dunn and two brothers O.G. and Seneca Howland, decided to walk out from Powell’s party in August 1869, never to be seen again. I wandered off and sat on a rock in the mostly empty drainage of the canyon and took in the everchanging shapes of the clouds and listened to frogs’ croaking on this beautiful evening, probably neglecting my unloading duties. I got back to camp; stuff was unloaded so I went with Oz and Eric to find the Cenotaph dedicated to the afore mentioned men. (I had to look it up. Cenotaph -an empty tomb or a monument erected in honor of a person or group of people whose remains are elsewhere.) You’re welcome.

When we set off down the river the next day, we kind of separated ourselves into two groups each doing our own thing. This would continue on the water until the end of the trip, but we would come together once again at our campsites.

Seventeenth river day 35 miles Upper 220 Mile Camp 4/11/2019

As we were nearing the end of the trip people were starting to get tired and tempers were stating to flare. Luckily, we had no stops scheduled, as we were trying to make up time so we wouldn’t have to do the night float. We rowed a solid 35 miles, our largest milage of the trip! This combination of our distance and having a mostly uneventful day finally lead us to get our first choice in campsites for a while. We have had to use alternatives because the bubble of people that we had been with for a couple of days were in the good sites. Having passed the bubble we did catch up to a new group that we hadn’t seen before, but fortunately they were just downstream from the camp we wanted. This day’s only event was the swimmers we had. Brett tried to tackle Micah as he ran from his raft to the barge of rafts we had lashed together; he slipped and fell into the water. Laughing we pulled him onto the boats before he went under the tied rafts. I also fell in trying pee off the back of a boat. It is very important to use the tripod position keeping 3 points of contact when reliving yourself off the raft after drinking all day. If I would have had one more point of contact, two knees and a hand for example, instead of standing straight up using both my hands elsewhere I would have stayed in the boat. I am just glad I didn’t have a dry suit on. It would have filled it up with water while I struggled to get back on the raft.

We put on the river before motorboat season which in my mind made for an idealistic trip. The fuel powered boats had caught up to us a little earlier in the trip, but on this section, we also saw our first helicopters. The amount of commercialism would explode two nights from now after we passed Separation Camp.

As we were setting up camp and cooking dinner C.J was put in charge of the desert. Seconds before he ruined the nonbaked cheesecake by frying it in a pan he declared, “I don’t read directions and I don’t measure shit!” Hence the sorry condition for the cheesecake scramble. Luckily, he only made one box and Bonnie was able to salvage dessert. While that was going on I busy hitting Micah in the head with a tent because I was aggravated with someone else. He was laying down early because Ryan and he, wasted, had gotten into an argument over something or another and we had to separate them. So as the last piece of the tent, a pole bag, landed beside him.

He asks, “What did I do?”

“Shit, sorry! Nothing, I didn’t know you were back there.”

“Why?”, he drunkenly asked.

I was mad because I need lotion for my hands, they were cracking profusely from the arid desert environment despite having lathered them with lotion every night then pulling latex gloves over them to keep the moisture in. My lotion was in one of someone else’s multiple bags and they refused to let me get it. So, I decided to make room for my lotion in my bag since their tent and sleeping bag was taking up most of the space, hence the tent missiles landing about Micah. Now with all sorts of newfound room in my bag all I needed was to get my lotion back to try and heal my hands since I was actually spending some time on the oars. Calming down and my anger diminishing from his simple question, “Why?”, I proceeded to apologized to Micah.

I believe spending all day drinking White Claws as our main form of hydration was taking a toll, especially since we pushed ahead rowing all day not taking any hiking breaks. At this point however, I was so annoyed I just wanted to go home. I didn’t know how I was going to make it the next 4 days. This was one of the worst experiences of my life. On the plus side now that I didn’t have to pack, unpack, load and unload someone else’s gear which in turn gave me hour or more of my life back to relax and try to center.

Hopefully, like miserable physical experiences, pushing your body beyond its limits which in turn requires even greater mental constitution to overcome the obstacle, miserable emotional experiences also wither with time. Leaving behind only memories of the accomplishment while the memories of the pain fade away. A person just remembers the spectacular view at the summit not the bleeding, raw blister, oozing and scabbing into your sock, making the hike up all but unbearable.

So, I believe the mental emotional anguish will too dissipate leaving mostly the memories of smashing through the waves, heart racing, smiles on everyone’s face in the day paired with magnificent sunsets of the Canyon, everyone feeling truly alive going into the night. The only difference I foresee between the emotional and physical is that the latter leaves you with a feeling of accomplishment, but what does the emotional leave?

I was awoken later that night by C.J. screaming, “Kelly!” It took me a minute, but when Micah started laughing, I realized C.J. was trying to quietly find Kelly because he had gotten lost while trying to pee. We laughed even harder when, “Keeeellllllly!” became a frantic screech and he was literally 200 yards away from his tent at Brett and Courtney’s tent. We almost went to help when he stumbled to the rafts and screamed again, but it was just too funny to watch. Finally, to our dismay, Kelly opened the tent door and in a dejected voice, “over here C.J.” thus ending our enjoyment for the day.

In the morning we passed the group, lined up on the bank, as we rowed downstream doing Brett’s favorite, the reverse wave, we yelled, “hey you guys!”, only to turn and wave the other way. When we turned back around, we were greeted with a line of bare asses. Around one guys ankles were the exact copy of Micah’s golden booty shorts. Laughing almost as hard as we did at C.J. last night, we rowed away.

Sixteenth river day17.5 miles 185 Mile Camp 4/10/2019

Waking up the group prepares to run Lava Falls, the highest rated rapid on the canyon. I rowed this rapid but from scouting some of the other rapids which I didn’t run, I would say Upset and Crystal rapids looked harder.

We finally arrived at the scout for Lava Falls Rapid after fighting headwinds all morning. Another party’s rafts occupied the main pull in for the scout, so we carefully spread out as not to block them in. As we walked to the scout from our rafts, I heard the water’s roar over the pounding of my heart. As we looked out over the rapid, the excitement and nervousness were palpable while we searched for our line. As we discerned the way through the mayhem that was Lava Falls, the other party started to drop in. The first boat went through the drop catching a little more of the humongous hole (that can easily flip a craft) than I would want to. Their boat pivoted to its side and the oars flew from the oar mounts, popping up like a whack-a-mole the instant the boat took the impact from the edge of said hole. Trying to recover, the down steam oar still loose and flapping about, they made it through the entirety of the rapid sideways after the hit at the top of the drop. My nervousness immediately dissipated, with the knowledge that they made it through just fine.

Rowing towards the horizon line, indicating the hole the other boat hit, the entire river seemed to drop into white frothy chaos. The turbulent water kicked up and splashed as I found and focused on the landmark we picked to navigate through the rapid from the scout. A jet boat suddenly roared up beside me directly in line with the massive hole I was trying to avoid. They seemed to hover just above the edge of a place I wouldn’t want to be before backing up and waiting their turn. I got kind of nerves thinking they were trying to run the rapid at the same time as me, but once they backed up, I quickly found the landmark again and focused on it. This indicator I was searching for was a swirling bubble line formed on the right side of the river, by the blending of the downstream and the upstream current made by the lava formations jutting into the Colorado, among the topsy-turviness of the river. Staying on the left edge of this vortex of water was the only indicator I could see for safe passage, suddenly the horizon line dropped away just as I saw I was online on the right edge of the powerful hole consuming the middle of the river and slightly right of the raft we watched from the scout. Busting through with a WHOOOOOOT we rode out the rest of the huge tail waves super pumped waiting for the rest of the crew to make it through. While waiting I reflected on a phrase I read from the guidebook: “Have fun and remember a good run at Lava is less then 20 seconds long. Don’t sweat the little things!” I shuddered imagining what a bad run is.

The boat that had pulled up beside me earlier came through and headed to Jared’s boat. He spoke with them wearing his jockstrap with a raccoon tail and an afro wig. He discovered they were preforming a fish survey. I felt like Jared managed to get some fresh ice for cocktails off of them.

Once everyone was through the rapid, we pulled into Tequila Beach. I hopped out and pounded a sand stake into the beach with our orange mallet that also doubled as a beer can crusher. I hit the stake 1,2,3,4,5 times then gave it a final 6^th whack as Oz handed me the bowline to clip into the stake. Tequila Beach is just downstream of Lava Falls, it’s the spot people stop to celebrate making it through the highest rated rapid and last major rapid in the Grand Canyon! As the group poured off the rafts, some already in full costumes others still changing, duct taped glass bottles of tequila were circulated among the group. Bonnie in a blue tutu, wig, and make up to match was the first to start dancing. Soon Courteny also sporting a tutu quickly joined her. Ben in an 80’s style wig, cut off jorts, and pink Subaru headband, sliced limes on a upside down bucket used as a table. The chaos of the moment mimicked the chaos of the rapid above.

More shots of tequila were poured now from plastic soda bottles, which were filled prior to leaving Lees Ferry, in case they were dropped to protect this amazing environment. Jared, still in his jockstrap with a racoon tail attached, picked up the spent lime slices that were tossed after being bitten into doing his part to help, tail shaking as he bent down to pick them up. Jake walked around offering bags of treats and candy for people to grab. We were quickly joined by the women from the party that we watched go through Lava before us. They were setting up camp and staying the night. They partook in the tequila as we discuss our trips. Shortly after someone came up with a plan to ice the group staying there then make a hasty retreat down river. Methods for a distraction were shouted amongst the music and revelry. A Congo line was chosen and we congoed through their camp stashing bottles of Smirnoff Ice scattered throughout. One on the members of the other group got a bottle and immediately started chugging the drink, while the crowed yipped and yelled, some chanting “you got iced!” During the meylay Ryan’s dress, a cat print that would feel at home in a grandmother’s wardrobe, caught on fire as he danced too close to the other camp’s blaster which they were boiling water on. Still chanting “you got iced” and dancing before he noticed the flames coming off his dress. Once noted he instantly started fanning his dress up and down screaming, “I am on fire, I am on fire” with each flap of the dress. He quickly stopped, dropped, and rolled; he performed the actions, moving left to right, with his flaming dress under him once he hit the ground! This was the first time I ever saw anyone actually stop, drop, and roll. In seconds he was up cheering with the crowed as they crescendo into a roar of joy. We thought this was the appropriate time to make our planed escape. Laughing we ran away, Jared saying, “I mean only one person out of sixteen caught on fire. Thats not bad”, untying our boats, and pulling out the sand stakes we realize that the tide had dropped and ruined our hasty escape plan. We were beached. The other group came down to help push us off, probably to get rid of us after congoing through their kitchen and catching on fire. Finally free of the beach still cheering and hollering we got stuck in the eddy and floated back up stream to where we were beached. After what felt like a long time the other group staring at us in disbelief, probably hoping we didn’t decide to come back, we broke free of the eddy and started downstream only for Jared to realize he had left his speaker somewhere at Tequila Beach. He hiked back up and retrieved it for us. Finally, we were on our way 45 min to an hour after our planned quick escape.

We stopped at 185 mile camp, a large camp with a beach for the night. After dinner Ryan, all hyped up, was washing dishes at an extremally fast pace throwing water everywhere. Jamming the dish, fork, or spoon through the 4 wash bins faster than the speed of light or so one would have thought, literally running me over repeatedly in the process. The dish washing system was set up with 2 cold buckets of water in front of 2 warm buckets. The first and second had soap and the fourth had bleach. The idea was the first one was a soak or prewash, the second one being a wash, the third was a rinse, and the last was for sanitation. After you were done with the dishes, one put them in hammocks under the tables made for stuff to dry on. Dish water from all 4 buckets was then strained for food scraps and the particle free water was then dumped into the river while the food scraps were put into the trash. The tables were also setup on large sheets of material that served as strainers catching any wayward food scraps that fell during the cooking process. Every particle this material caught was also put into the garbage. This particular night there was a lot more in the sheets under the table from all the slashing and sloshing accompanied by the hectic pace of the dishwashing. We had dinner then spent the night discussing the difference between yams and sweet potatoes and the units of measurements for fruit. This night was also only the second time I saw Jared sleep. He passed out on the beach looking for his sandles, which were beside him.

Fourteenth river day continued, and layover day camped at Fern Glen Camp 4/08/2019 – 4/09/2019

Once we made it back to the boats after about a 7-mile round trip hike with little rest from last night we were starting to feel exhausted. Once we reached our proposed campsite, we found it full. Some frustrations within the group were starting to rise from a simmer a boil. Ben started to put up camp in the other groups site while I searched downstream for a suitable spot, others just enjoyed themselves throwing Frisbee. Ben had to be exhausted; he was rowing every day and had just spent the night with Ryan chasing down our rouge raft. The rest of the rafts had a least two captains. After some discussion and talking to the other groups that occupied the three campsites in the area, I wanted to risk it and push about 2 miles downstream to Fern Glen Camp. The risk being that if that site was occupied, we had no choice but to stay there. The next campsite was 3 miles from Fern Glen and we were running out of daylight, energy, and patience. Arriving at Fern Glen we were beyond excited to see that it was vacant. I decided to have a group holiday in honor of Ben and Ryan for chasing the lost raft and everyone was exhausted from the previous two days events especially the aforementioned. We took an unscheduled layover day for this holiday which was much needed! I felt like I was walking a tight rope with the itinerary we had, which was packed really tight with amazing things to see and a group that was starting to get really tried. As someone who constantly strives to have choices in everything, I wanted to have a buffer day in case any unforeseen circumstances happened again. The buffer day ultimately being a choice to not have to sprint at the end or stop at a really cool place etc. I think having the ability to make choices as constraint free as possible is one of the most important things in life.

Some would argue the only choices you don’t have are the choice of birth and death. Everything in between is an infinite number of choices. One could argue that the amount of choices you have come from knowledge, power, and wealth. I would argue that most people have fewer choices in life than others due to restrictions whether actual or perceived. Death is also a choice some of the time. Choices may lead to death or prolong life. Each choice either constricts or expands the choices available at each turn. Impediments such as socioeconomic status are major constraints for people stripping them of choices. For example, a homeless person still has a “choice” of sleeping in the gutter or a shelter but is this honestly a choice? The less you build your ability to make choices the more constraints you generate or perceive for yourself, thus pigeonholing you until you have very limited choices.

Overall, I guess I believe in Destiny not Fate, with your ability to have/make choices being a very strong driver although there are some constants that could make people feel like Fate is in control (such as the homeless example above). I would like to believe that choices could overcome these constraints but as a privileged* person I cannot relate to all the possible obstructions and know for sure *(white, male, grew up in a middle-class family).

I had the trip planed with the choice that if we were running out of time, we could choose to float through the night and still make it to the takeout on time. I really wanted to keep that extra day in pocket so we wouldn’t be forced to do the night float. I was probably going to have to cut the schedule back dramatically and have some big river mile days, but for now everyone probably needed the layover, I know I did.

We set up the shade tarp for the first time shortly after arriving at the camp. The setting up of the tarp, corresponded with the windiest day we had. Eric was flying his kite when the wind really picked up. Multiple people trying to reel it in and keep their hats at the same time made for a slightly comical show until the chairs, clothing, tarp and, well, most everything else went flying away including the kite! The kite was caught before it made its permanent escape, along with all of our stuff I believe. Once stuff was secured, I walked through the driving wind being pelted by sand until I reached the relative cover of Fern Glen Canyon. I hiked into the canyon until the wind subsided and everything became still except for the sound of dripping water. After locating the source, a pool behind a boulder that had rolled down into the narrow canyon chocking it off from the chaos, I stopped listening to water, relaxing and enjoying the calm from all storms happening around me. After some time, I walked back to the tumult of the sandstorm, the group, and my tent.

Later that night, kicked out of my tent (this is a story for another time), I was sandblasted by driving wind, and the next morning my hair was lighter from sand. I found sand in sleeping bag, shoes, it was everywhere, even in my life proof case. The wind had forced itself into the case while it was charging. This night was the opposite of the brief calm experienced in the Fern Glen Canyon. However, I wasn’t the only one kicked out of a tent. Luckly, I had not found a scorpion under my sleeping gear.

Fourteenth river day 4/08/2019

Oz had heard a noise and went to investigate the source. Having found the probable cause he asked Ben, “am I tripping or are there only 5 rafts.” Together they count again 1,2,3,4,5. “FUCK!” (I feel like we had this discussion earlier) almost immediately everyone is awakened, and we proceed to get a really bright light off Jake. We count one more time hopping that there are 6 rafts. We already know the answer is no but check again anyway. We hastily grab gear and ready two kayaks to chase the raft down. Coming up with as solid of a plan as we can in a hurry while simultaneously double checking to see if the kayakers have the gear they need. We quickly go over the plan one more time, while we look for the number of the satellite phone we rented. Surprisingly shortly after we discover the raft was missing, Ryan and Ben are in kayaks with what they need. We know from looking at the map while others are organizing the gear that there are no major rapids until Lava about 28 miles away. One more hasty check to make sure everything is good, and they are off to catch the raft. I hardly slept that night after we packed up as much as we could leaving the blaster out to make coffee in the morning; we head back to our tents wondering if they found the raft yet. The missing raft had about seven days of food on it not to mention all of Micah and Bonnie’s alcohol and gear that wasn’t unloaded.

Up until this point the trip had not felt like we were in the wilderness. I have spent a lot of time in the wilderness both backpacking for recreation and as a wilderness ranger or part of a trail crew. When you have everything you need to survive on your back, you feel like you have a time constraint. You are limited by the amount of water and food you can carry. Yes, it is possible to find water and food but that is also a constraint on your time, exchanging the time you have in search of what you need to survive. Having these fully loaded rafts with technology and more food and beer then we need for the trip while seeing other parties of boaters just didn’t quite make it feel like we were in the wilderness. The wilderness wanted us to know that wasn’t the case, however. Losing the raft with food for most of the remainder of the trip let me know we were indeed in the wilderness, and we needed that raft!

I awake every few minutes then every hour as the night wore on, checking my InReach for a message from the raft rescue crew. We couldn’t find the number for the device so the plan is for them to call my parents first letting them know nobody was dead, but they need to text my InReach with whatever information they had. I am fully expecting a message saying we stopped for the night and am hoping for, and we also have the raft. Reception is spotty and I have to manually search for messages every time I wake up. At 5:30 a.m. I awake for the last time at Ledges campsite. With no confirmation from Ryan and Ben I am worried. I make coffee while banging on a pot screaming, “wake the fuck up!” I really want to get on the water and see where they are, and to establish that they are okay. Making our way down the river expecting to see the raft and guys at every bend in the river, but nothing. At about the second mile in, we start to get disheartened. Not only do we have no confirmation on our friends’ whereabouts, but Havasupai was only about a mile away. It amazes me how a bunch of raft guides get stuck in the eddies from hell that the Canyon produces, often times struggling to get out, while the unguided raft that broke free last night managed not to get stuck yet. At one point previously on the trip I had time to open a beer and drink it as the eddy pulled me back up the river where I finally rowed it out back into the flow. This method of drinking a beer and waiting was far easier than fight the power of the water trying to get back into the main flow.

As we get even closer to Havasupai, we start affirming that the raft is in the eddy at the mouth of the river because we really didn’t want to miss this hike. Our prediction was almost true. Not too far from the mouth we come up on Ben and Ryan with the escaped raft corralled once more. We pull over excited to see them and have a quick, simple breakfast of oatmeal prepared on the blaster only. It is a chore to set up the whole cooking station and we had limited space. Excited that we have everything and everybody again, with full bellies and high spirts we head around the bend to Havasupai where our excitement only compounded as we pull into the crystal blue water pushing out into the brown Colorado River.

Fish just below the surface part as we enter, giving the water an even clearer lighter shade of blue. There were so many fish that they actually darken the water before they swim away. Just this experience pulling in surpasses the beauty that was portrayed in pictures and stories before having the privilege of experiencing it. It only gets better after we secure our boats to the pitons making sure to back them up after the previous two days experience. The hike up to Beaver Falls is slow because one had to pause and take in the beauty of the blue cascading water. Once we make it to Beaver Falls, we are really lucky to only see a few more people there. We climb up the cliff and jump into the pool eventually having the entire place to ourselves. Reenergized because we found our boat, friends, and are enjoying the beauty of Havasupai. Again, it is so amazing we had almost the whole thing to ourselves. After jumping in a few times, I go up stream a few hundred yards to explore and it is like Disneyland. Not far from our seemingly private paradise are swarms of people like locust destroying crops, but they are destroying the environment. Trash is scattered everywhere, trails crisscross the fragile environment causing erosion, and logs are stacked and piled along with hanging ropes to make more terrain accessible for destruction. The shock of seeing so many people after viewing with the same 15 humans for 14 days is intensified by smell of so much cologne and perfume. All my senses are on overload. Even with all this chaos it is still a beautiful sight to behold, and I count myself lucky to have seen it. I have a feeling the destruction will only worsen as time goes on.

Thirteenth river day 17.3 miles Ledges 4/07/2019

This was scheduled to be a big day, little did we know how long of a day it would end up being. After floating down the Colorado for little bit we pulled into the first hike of the day, and were greeted by Deer Creek Falls plummeting to ground out of the Tapeat narrows, 2 miles from last night’s camp at Above Owls Eyes. After climbing up the canyon again, we repeatedly looked into Deer Creek Narrows searching for the rush of water we heard constantly before finally seeing it again towards the top of our hike before it cascades down the slot canyon out of site again.

Hiking the trail between the canyon wall and the narrows, our path becomes very slender in spots with the right edge dropping into the again unseen rush of water. Snaking our way along the dry, dusty red wall we are suddenly rewarded with an explosion of lush greenery surrounding a pool in Deer Creek before the water rushes forward again disappearing into the harsh red rock narrows.

On the water rowing again, we saw the hikers from before moving slowly picking their way across the rocky, uneven sloping shoreline. They started waving their arms beckoning us to them. They wanted a ride to get back onto a trail! Obliging we piled them into our boats giving them a lift to Kanab Canyon, saving them hours of rough scrambling and route finding in the process. We offered them beer and fruit from our coolers stocked with a seemingly never-ending supply of fresh produce, steak, and cold beer, which they gladly enjoyed on the float. When we stopped to drop them off, we offered them more fruit and beer to take with them, at this point being ultra-light hikers, most of them were appalled. That would add extra weight and they would have to pack out the empty beer cans. Thanking us again they hiked away with their perfectly weighted and rationed meals while we floated away on coolers stuffed with more food then we could eat, cracking fresh ice cold beers.

Next up on the agenda was Matkatamiba Canyon. Half of the rafts missed the eddy for this hike either on purpose or accident. The three boats that made it scoured the walls looking for anchors to tie the boats to. We ended up only finding one piton and tied all three boats to it. Hiking into what I though was the coolest slot canyon we had explored to date, we shimmed, waded and splayed our way deeper into the canyon until it finally opened up. Unfortunately, we were forced to turn around just beyond this point by time constraints. Heading back to the rafts we discussed how we would love to explore this canyon more if we did the Grand Canyon again. Our first surprise of the day was waiting as we approached the mouth of the canyon. Panic arose: we couldn’t see our rafts! The Colorado had risen on our hike and pulled the boats out into the flow, luckily, they were still attached to the piton. Trying to untie them we found that the tension was too great. I climbed on the furthest raft with Oz, we cut the strap lose, and it pinged back flying at him relived of its tension. With our raft free the rest of the remaining boats were able to be pulled back further back into the eddy. Surprisingly with all our fingers still attached I rowed to a downstream eddy to await the unstrapping of the remaining two rafts. We met up with the rest of the group then headed down river to scout Upset Rapid. Walking down the right shore we discussed the two different routes for the rapid. The left one where you run the meat of the rapid and right line that was a sneak, it appeared to us that the sneak line was a little shallow and one had the possibility of bouncing of a shallow rock and being sent into the massive munchy hole in the center of the river. I believe that we had flows between 13,000 and 18,000 for our 21-day trip after looking back at the gauge reading after our trip was over. As the route was debated, we saw Jared in his boat pulling out with his crew. As I was wondering which way he would go, his boat started angling left, moments later he smashed the off the big crashing waves at the top; well guess he’s taking the big line. Coming out the other side he tries to keep his moment to the left of the nasty hole in the center of the river! Powering forward he busts through the left side of the hole settling the debate for the rest of us. We are running the left line!

After the group was all successfully through, we looked at the map and decided to stay at Ledges Camp for the night. Pulling up to the low limestone ledges we hop out and stake our rafts to the small sand area above the low ledge which was cursed as we were soon to find out. After unloading and setting up camp, we wait for a huge steak dinner. The smell of meat cooking on charcoal wafts through the camp drawing spectators to the kitchen, which consist of three foldout aluminum tables, a propane stove with multiple burners, and a blaster, think of a huge jet boil, for heating water quickly. Tonight, the kitchen was lighted by headlamps, Luci lanterns, and strips of Luci solar string lights stretched between a tree and a tripod of Warner kayak paddles lashed together. Brett dressed in a red puffy and swimming trunks watches over the steaks both to cook them and guard them from the pressing group. After dinner with an extremely full belly, I crash out only to be awoken later because one of the rafts had broken free and was missing!

Ninth river day 15.1 miles Bass Crossing 4/03/2019

Packing up after the much needed layover we prepare for 3 of the bigger rapids rated (8) on the rating scale developed by Otis R. Marston using a 1–10 rating, 10 being the most difficult. As opposed to the International Scale of River Difficulty, which classifies rapids from class I to VI and is more common elsewhere in the US and internationally. There are only 6 runnable rapids out of approximately 80 numbered rapids (According to most estimates) with this (8) or above rating in the Grand Canyon. We will be knocking half of them out by the end of today. Having previously rowed Hance (8) this will leave just Lava (9) and Upset (8) after we make it through Granite (8), Hermit (8) and Crystal (8) before arriving at our home for the night. Having watched the previous group run Granite and Hermit the day before we were ready to run them without further need to scout.

I rowed Hermit which was a fun wave train and ran it “hey didle didle right down the middle”. Ozz was up for Crystal to my relief. He rowed the large yellow raft rolling though the choppy water towards his goal: a massive lateral wave at the top of the rapid. Smashing through the goal on its bottom left, my mouth was dry from anticipation. In that instant, water came flying over my head covering my face, reliving some of the dryness in my mouth. We stayed left not daring look at the large hole on the right for fear that it would somehow suck us in.

Arter running Crystal, the last of the major rapids for the day, we quickly stop at the Ross Wheeler. It’s a small, tippy, and very heavy boat that was designed by Brett Loper in 1914 and abandoned here in 1915 by Charles Russell, August Tadje, and Leslie Clement in a failed attempt to run the canyon. We ended up staying at Bass Crossing Camp because Bass Camp was occupied.

Shortly after unloading the rafts since it was our night off, Jackie and I hiked to Bass Cable Crossing and tried to hike to Shinumo Creek Camp to see the top of the Shinumo waterfall, but decided we didn’t have enough time. Enjoying the view at Bass Crossing for a little while, Jackie decided that we wanted to try and find Bass’s inscription, which we didn’t manage to find, but enjoyed the blooming wild flowers that we were lucky to have seen. In a dessert environment, most plants only flower for a few weeks as their heat and drought resistant seeds remain dormant most of the time until next year’s annual rains. I feel super lucky that our permit coincided with this beautiful display in the overall hostile feeling desert environment.

We hiked back to camp to the smell of kabobs wafting up the valley. Brett and his cooking crew had the hardest dinners, but the best tasting in my opinion. After the delicious dinner I found a secluded spot up above the camp with a clear view of the sky to cowboy camp. I was stoked for some star gazing later in the night, however, right as Jackie and I were laying down to watch the sun set before the stars, I saw a cricket jump into a spider web right by my face. Immediately a huge black widow came charging out right beside me and pounced on the struggling cricket. As she was wrapping up the cricket, we immediately wrapped up our camp pulling out the tent, setting it up, and stuffing all our stuff inside.

For the beginning of the day we hiked up the bottom of Shinumo Creek. The day before Baldy “the chief asshat“, if you remember the guy from day 1, was ,surprise, surprise, still a dick when we saw him and his group again. He gave us a warning, saying the water was too high to hike up and we should do…. Blah, Blah….. Well I zoned out and thought to myself, “how many rafts did you flip?”, as we walked away from him. Well, believe it or not we actually made it to the base of the waterfall. The only casualty we encountered was Micah, he lost his footing wadding backdown the canyon in the current, so he floated the creek laughing and beat us all back to the rafts.