From my journal …

I woke as the soft light crept along the canyon walls and the stars dimmed. We packed up efficiently and sadly, knowing our trip would change completely in a few hours. We took a few farewell group photos and then Michael gathered us around.

Katrina, John, Morgan, Bill, John ... and Michael

“We’re running white water today. These are trough rapids and everyone has to pay attention.” He gave us some final instructions and as we waited for a few last minute items to be loaded, Katrina began to sing Nothing but the Water. There was utter stillness in the canyon and her strong, clear voice echoed while we listened, transfixed. Tears came to my eyes – I was overwhelmed by the experience and the adventure these guides had shared with us.

"Take me down to the water ... gonna wash our souls clean"

Then came time to load up and move out. We hit a big rapid right away, then another. These were definitely more fierce and we were soaked and thrilled. When we came to Hance rapids, we pulled in to shore and hiked up the canyon wall a short way to scout. Michael and the guides discussed the water level (apparently the rapid was “bony”) and made a plan for going down. We watched a science expedition run their motorized boats through – it was clearly difficult.

Scouting Hance

Then it was our turn, and what an experience! The anticipation at the top, the drops, the spins – so exhilarating! I had full confidence that we’d be okay … why? I hate roller coasters, so why do I enjoy this so much?

We continued on and the canyon changed yet again for us. The walls narrowed and the rock changed color, shape, and form. The entire experience was breathtaking. We struggled with a few more rapids, almost getting caught on a wall at one point …

And then, suddenly, it was over. We ate lunch on a small beach near Phantom Ranch. It was a hasty and somber affair and then we said our goodbyes to Morgan, Katrina, and John. One more brief ride with Michael, Bill and John – and we landed on the shore.

We then had to carry ALL of our belongings to the ranch and I enjoyed the added benefit of lugging 4,000 ML of leftover wine (we figured we would need a drink or two that evening!). We straggled in and then located our cabin to find our first toilet since Sunday! Air-conditioning and beds … and showers! We spent some time reflecting and chatting at the Bright Angel Creek and then in a bittersweet moment, washed away the river water.

We toasted our journey with the wine I rescued and ate dinner at the canteen with our hiking guide, Jason. Then off to try and sleep … but it did not come easily, and then not much at all. Where were our stars? Our soft river lapping at the shore?

Next up … the final adventure – hiking out of the Canyon!

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

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

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

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

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 …

Further installments from my Grand Canyon journal …

Tuesday morning dawned bright with a quick pack up. We still struggled with the tent but did a little better than previously. I stowed my gear in Michael’s boat. The rapids were interesting, but not as exciting as the day before. Sharon and Allison were cold, so Michael had them row. At one point we got stuck on a rock and Michael jumped into the river to push us off. He regaled us with history of the canyon, tales about the travel companies that run trips, and general commentary on subjects ranging from current TV shows to the psychology of relationships. It was a beautiful morning, and I wondered if the marvels and majesty ever get old. The canyon is constantly shifting in shape, color and structure, and each bend in the river brings new vistas. I loved the shift from lazy ride in the sun, to gentle drift in the shade, punctuated by rushes through the rapids. At one point I apologized for constantly saying, “Wow!” and Michael asked why I apologized. “It must get old hearing people marvel,” I explained. “Not at all … there is always something marvelous to see here,” he responded.

Michael explains everything

At one point, we drifted slowly through a narrow area of the canyon and Bill began playing his flute. We all hushed our conversations and the guides stopped rowing. We drifted while the ethereal music floated over the river. It was truly magical.

Bill's serenade

We landed for lunch and encountered an unbelievable traffic jam. We met up with about 5 or 6 different groups traveling down the river. It became apparent that we were all battling for the same choice camp sites, so the evening was going to prove interesting. Guides swapped their projected camp destinations and brows furrowed. Due to the jam on the river, Michael decided not to move us on after hiking – and we scrambled to set up camp in a spot we had considered temporary.

… to be continued …

Another entry from my Grand Canyon journal:

Monday breakfast consisted of banana pancakes and bacon. We ate greedily in the cold morning light and then struggled to get our tent down and packed up with our gear. Michael had warned us to dress warmly, so we triple layered with long underwear under our rain gear. The first rapid was amazing, so tough we were required to wear helmets. It was thrilling and soaking, so we were relieved to have dressed properly (thank you Michael, for insisting on that last minute Walmart trip!). The stretch we followed next is called the Roaring 20’s because of the frequency of the rapids (and because the mile markers are all in the 20’s, go figure). We alternated between thrilling speed and lazy floating. I was riding with Morgan again, and he kept us entertained with stories and teased us when we made silly requests – such as when we asked to stop to visit a lonely goat who, we were convinced, needed some human companionship.

We hiked a side canyon before lunch and it was quite a challenge – a few tricky spots scrambling over rocks. We ended at a miraculous reflecting pool, serene and lovely.

A beautiful spot, hidden along the Canyon walls

After a 2-hour hike, we ravenously descended on egg salad sandwiches for lunch and continued on our way. The rapids got more intense, but we had faith in our guides and laughed our way through the big waves. We were giggling so uproariously that we actually missed Morgan calling a “high side” (a safety move designed to correct a boat’s position when it hits a rock or large wave). I don’t think we were ever really in danger, but Morgan made the story much more dramatic when he told it at dinner.

We set up camp for night 2, still struggling to erect our tent (seriously, it took us 2 nights to figure out that the poles are color-coded – how many college degrees between us?!). When we had finally gotten organized, Michael surprised us by announcing another hike promising it was “short, but worth it.”

It was short, but challenging – and so worth it. We hiked up the side of the Canyon to  and ancient Hopi dwelling alongside a huge boulder covered with carvings. Michael explained the religious and cultural significance of the site. It was beautiful and meaningful and we listened to his stories as the light in the canon dimmed and the moon rose in the darkening sky.

Moonrise over the canyon

We returned to camp and enjoyed grilled salmon and asparagus with a special hot-from-the-fire brownie dessert to celebrate Paula’s 60th birthday. We sat and talked and drank wine until I was so tired I couldn’t even pull my sleeping bag out of the tent and ended up sleeping in there all night. No worries, I could still see the stars through the mesh and they kept me company all night long.

Paula celebrates her 60th on the river.

…to be continued … the river gets crowded and we ask, “Who are these people?”