Grand Canyon … yes, even more …

More from my journal …

Our penultimate day on the river … Tracy describes an analogy for our entire trip: the river is one long birth canal – with a gigantic push at the end!

Still not really able to get used to sleeping outdoors … we set up our tent in a sandy, wooded spot that I later regretted. It was buggy and uphill, not to mention, hot. And way too far from our “loo” (i.e., the river) for nighttime convenience. Tracy and I later decided to drag our sleep kits almost to the river’s edge – much better!

We enjoyed an incredible pasta and salad dinner while John explained how he makes beads using river clay in the Hopi tradition. We all tried our hand at decorating, with varying degrees of success.

After dinner we sipped our wine and marveled at the moonlight reflecting on the canyon wall while John and Katrina played guitar and mandolin and sang into the night. It was strange – another camp was so close that we could hear them drumming and singing into the evening. What happened to our private canyon?

John serenades us into the evening

John serenades us into the evening

Despite the wine, moonlight, and song, sleep did not come easily. I watched the night sky shift as the earth turned. Saw a few shooting stars, but forgot to make wishes – perhaps that meant that all became clear and decisions were made … and therefore, no need for cosmic intervention?

Finally, dawn arrived. We packed up – definitely getting better at the whole tent business. Soon we were clambering into John’s raft. The ride was smooth with only a few minor rapids. We moved fast though. Michael was clearly unhappy with our progress the previous day and he was intent on racing to prime camp sites ahead of the other groups.

We reached one spot – a classic canyon hike – that was already crowded with hikers, so we passed it by and continued downstream. The high and narrow canyon walls gave way to wide open spaces – a little more like the iconic Grand Canyon imagery that I had expected. The color of the stone changed as did its formation and John quietly explained the geologic history. Then we stopped on a narrow strip of sand for a hasty lunch, sinking into the muddy shore.

The stone was alive with color

The stone was alive with color

We passed a major junction with the Little Colorado River, hoping for clear water so we could hike a ways upstream. Alas, it was brown … the color of Yoo Hoo … and we passsed it by. To our chagrin, the emerald green Colorado River turned from the beautiful clear water we had come to love – to something resembling milky tea. So disappointing!

Junction with the Little Colorado River

Junction with the Little Colorado River

We also began running across quite a few motorized boats – some to support kayakers, but others to transport large groups quickly down the river. Along with the brown water, this became disconcerting and the canyon – OUR serene and private canyon – became a busy amusement park with guides high-fiving each other while competing for campsites.

We moved slowly to a nearby beach and found “parking spaces” along a crowded shore. Michael described the upcoming hike as having some “oh my god” scary moments – and I declined. Better to enjoy the quieter shore than the crowded trail.

The group left, and I settled in for some writing and reflecting – but soon there were planes and helicopters overhead, a “Tour West” motorized raft on my right, and a giant contingent of Arizona Raft Adventures on my left. The large number of people combined with the noise and smell of the motorized rafts was really “bumming on my wa” as Tracy so eloquently put it.

And it truly was a bummer: noise pollution, crowds, and a muddy river ending the glorious reflections of the canyon walls on the water. But we would soon be leaving, and although I desperately wanted to wash my hair properly and get the sand out of my teeth, I knew how much I would really miss the grandeur, the laughter, and the new experiences (but maybe not the groover – I can live without that, I think).

We floated from the hike point to Michael’s pre-determined campsite. The guides were rowing hard, clearly racing sundown. The sun was setting and throwing the canyon rim into sharp relief. Tracy had been dying to row all day but because we were rushed, it wasn’t an option. When John announced, “Great! Our camp is up ahead,” Tracy immediately asked, “Can I row now?” To our surprise, John agreed, and Tracy rowed the final few yards.

It was a beautiful beach with an amazing view. By now, we were pros, and our gear was unloaded and tents up, lickety-split. The guides were frantically trying to set up the kitchen in the waning light so we all pitched in, chopping vegetables, cooking onions and mushrooms, scrubbing potatoes. The result was a delicious steak dinner and we ate every morsel.

Toasting our last night on the river

Toasting our last night on the river

As it was our final night on the river, the beer and wine were flowing and no one wanted to sleep. Morgan gave us a star talk in our own incredible private planetarium. I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and as I lay down to sleep, Bill softly played his flute. I relaxed into my final night on the river watching stars shoot across the blue black sky while Bill’s melancholy playing lulled me to sleep.

To be continued … final day of rapids …

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *