"... The Great Unknown..." [Grab a Beer - It's a Long One.]

"My ego gets in my way.  I'm irritated with that.  Just listen and Be."  

~ Wednesday, October 20, 2010

And when I listen, I marvel at the wonderful group of strangers who have become, however briefly, family as we travel the Colorado River of the Grand Canyon, together.  I'm Blessed.  I know we will have each taken away something that will live within us forever.  My own memories are thus...

Our guides:

• Lora, our trip leader, a ball of fire and energy
• Brad, who I'd call 'salty' if he was a sailor - full of stories, well-delivered
• Gary, in-training, but you wouldn't know it.  His beautiful wife, Tina
• Jerry-the-Geologist, pilot of the dory, Wesley, and really fast hiker!
• Jim of the no-I'm-not-from-Canada-or-the-Bronx accent
• Alex, to whom I am forever grateful for "buying" me a beer my last night on the river.

My fellow explorers - I must say, I found each and every one of them delightful, interesting, Real.  I want them to know that this was a profound experience for me and I am so grateful for the opportunity to share in this together.

• Paula from London- A CPA letting down her hair
• Mary from Napa - Nurse and River Junkie
• Mike and Diane from Canada - True Adventurers
• Romy and Steve, Kathy and Cliff, and Phil - friends extraordinaire and still speaking, I believe (ha!)
• Mick - the only guy with the foresight to bring a real chair
• Paola and Yuri from Flag- They got engaged on a river trip. Whitewater, Ho!
• Merle, who assisted tirelessly in the kitchen and had a wonderful smile.  Thank you!
• Bob, brother of Guide Gary, and the only guy with a decent camera
• Hillary and Michael from SF - Redefining 50 and 60 and doing it splendidly! I love you two.

I will never forget you! [If this was a book, and I fear it's getting close to John-McPhee-in-the-New-Yorker-article length (only without the shad), you might consider the previous a Dedication of sorts, or a Forward...]

Learning To Be...

Borne on muddied waves

Currents embracing my soul

River of my Birth

~ Me

I kept a journal of my trip - Lee's Ferry to Pipe Creek Beach (downriver from Phantom Ranch) - and in the front of my journal, before I left home, I copied this quote by Eckhart Tolle:

"If you can be absolutely comfortable with not knowing who you are, then what's left is who you are - the Being behind the human, a field of pure potentiality rather than something that is already defined."

I was ready to be pure potentiality...

~~~

Sunday evening we had our orientation meeting and I met my fellow boaters.  I was feeling subdued and excited at the same time.  Before coming to Flag, Steve and I had watched "Rivers of Stone," and I'd done some reading to kind of prepare myself - but not too much because I wanted to be open to the experience as it happened (and I didn't want to get all freaked out!  Tracy kept telling me I should read "Sunk Without a Sound;" that it was really really good.  Problem was, this story of the "honeymoon trip" of Glen and Bessie Hyde resulted in their disappearance from the face of the earth.  Their boat was found below Diamond Creek but no sign of Glen or Bessie - not really the uplifting sort of reading I was looking for prior to facing [cue evil organ music] the Great Unknown).

And off we go...

We introduced ourselves and I felt more than a little guilty when we got to Steve and he said he wasn't joining us, but I could feel my excitement level rise as we were given our drybags, a burlap sack, River Guide, and insignia coffee mug (AzRA).

Back in our room, I feverishly jammed all my crap into my dry bag carefully packed my gear, stowing my precious beer (Boddington's Pub Ale), into the burlap sack that would serve as my "bar" during the trip (the whiskey went straight into my "accessible" drybag - strictly for medicinal purposes).  I was ready... finally... nothing else to do but sleep fitfully until our 6:45 am rendezvous.

~~~

Monday morning was a butt-numbing three-hour bus ride to our put-in at Lee's Ferry.  This included a stop at the Cameron Trading post for a bathroom break (amen and pass the coffee), and another stop on the east side of Navajo Bridge.  Our most excellent chauffeur dropped us off and we walked across the pedestrian bridge, gaping into the maw of Marble Canyon, to the rest rooms on the other side, where we, once again, answered Nature's call and boarded the bus.

Marble Canyon - Down River from Lee's Ferry

Our Bus Driving Across the New Navajo Bridge

A quick aside (I'll try not to do too many of these).  My own personal geologist, Steve, worked on the geotechnical investigation for the buttresses of the New Navajo Bridge - I've always thought of this as "Steve's Bridge," and it's a special feeling for me to look at it, drive across it, and now, float under it.

Imagine Steve dangling hundreds of feet down the cliff face, checking for fractures!  He was aided by legendary rope-man, Paul Diefenderfer (who also works iron at his studio, Desert Rat Forge).  This was special.  Too bad some dumbass, who shall remain nameless but he knows who he is, taped over Steve's personal video of this project with a figure skating competition (!).  It's lost forever due to simple dumbassness, but I digress...

Steve getting ready to rappel into Marble Canyon

Checking for Fractures.  It would take two hours for him to ascend back up the ropes.

Once at Lee's Ferry, we said farewell to our driver and met our guides. After being fitted for our life jackets and a brief orientation, we loaded our gear and ourselves into the boats.  There were four oar rafts, one paddle raft, and one dory.  Day one, I got to paddle!

At the put-in: Jerry prepares the dory, Wesley,  for launch.

Bob -  I like Bob's Tilly Hat!

Yuri and Paola

Our Paddle Boat Captain, River Guide and Author of (you're not gonna believe this one), "Sunk Without a Sound!"  Truly, what are the odds.  Well, okay, they're probably calculable and more likely than winning the lottery, but still...

 So, of course, I had to video this:



[This title, as well as many other fascinating books about the Grand Canyon, can be found at Fretwater Press.  Seriously, go check it out!]

Looking Downriver Towards the Navajo Bridges and Marble Canyon

River Mile Zero is officially located at Lee's Ferry at the gauging station cable in the middle of the river and our first day took us from River Mile Zero to the Hot Na Na Campsite (which, coincidentally, was the name of my life jacket), located at approximately River Mile 16.5.

Cool, eh?

The rapids we ran included the Paria Riffle, 3 Mile Wash, 6 Mile Wash, Badger, Soap Creek, Brown's Riffle, and Sheer Wall Rapid. Badger and Soap Creek were the most exciting: rated 4-6 on the GC Scale, Badger drops 15 feet, and Soap Creek 16.

The water was freakin' cold quite chill - oh, 40-something degrees Fahrenheit -  but my long underwear, rain pants, sports bra, two shirts, paddle jacket, insulated socks, and river shoes kept me quite comfy - if not immobile -  for the most part.  Nonetheless, it was quite a shock when those cold waves splashed over us (and breached a gap in my pants), in the larger rapids.

View from my campsite at Hot Na Na

Once we arrived at Hot Na Na, we were inducted into the Mystery of Community Camp Life.  Although a little ragged on day one, the routine looked something like this:

• Beach the boats and secure the bowlines.
• Each one of us would take our personal "day" bag and life jacket and find our own campsite.
• Back at the boats, we would form lines (and I use that term loosely), to unload all the drybags and other equipment.  In addition to our day bag, we each had a numbered dry bag for our personal items and a matching dry bag which contained our sleeping kit (sleeping bag, fuzzy liner, ground cloth and some sand).  In addition, we would each get a numbered tent which we would use our entire stay, and a sleeping pad, which was used to cushion the boat during the day.
• Additional items to be unloaded included the kitchen, buckets for settling water, and the ever-important groover (aka, river toilet).

Yeah, a line kind of like this...

Drybags make nice seats, also.

Once the boats were unloaded the "bar" was open - which means we finally had access to our burlap bags!  The first day I discovered immediately that a Boddington's Pub Ale tends to foam all over the place after jouncing along through rapids. I learned to put my mouth directly over the hole before pulling the trigger!  (It's the "widgit!")  Some folks would hover around waiting for "the show."

Like Ernie the Penguin.  Ernie was all over the Pub Ale.

So, with our cocktails in hand, we would go set up our tents, being sure to track in an appropriate load of sand, chat and just generally admire the view - and that is an understatement if ever their was one.  I wrote in my journal:

"I can hear crickets right now - some are rhythmic: chirp, chirp, chirp; then in the background is a steady buzzzup... buzzzup... like two complimentary notes.  This is accompanied by the gentle swoosh of the river and my tent fabric moving ever so slightly... The afternoon sun made the cliffs look wonderfully pink - very much an 'October' light.  I feel good."

Feelin' Good!

 The next morning - Tuesday - we woke early to the call of the Conch and I believe it was Jerry yelling, "Cof-FEE!"  As we stumbled towards the beverages, our guides started breakfast preparations.  Generally, we were close to being packed up when the Conch summoned us for breakfast.  Last minute packing was completed while our guides broke down the kitchen and Kathy tried to push the last of the orange juice (which she did very well, I might add), then once again, almost everyone pitched in loading the boats.  The last item was always the groover, (so called because "early models," which were old ammunition boxes, would leave a groove in your butt and thighs when you sat on them - now they are way more spiffy with real seats and lids!).

~~~

Tuesday I rode in the dory.  I mean, how could I go down the river and NOT ride in the dory!  That's like going to Fenway and just using the bathroom.  I rode in the bow with Mike through Hot Na Na, House Rock, 18 Mile Wash, the Boulder Narrows, 19.4 Mile Rapid (lots of real original naming, I'm sure you've noticed), North Canyon, 21 Mile Rapid - let's just say the "Roaring Twenties" and call it good.  Hillary rode in the stern.  Jerry rowed.  The dory rides low and tracks really well, but it fills with water, so once we'd run a rapid, we had to bail like crazy.  (It would always take a minute to realize we were sitting in a pool of water before we had the presence of mind to start emptying the boat - or Jerry would holler at us gently remind us to get after it.)

Dory Pilot Jerry-the-Geologist: Yo! Bail!

Hillary Staying (Mostly) Dry in the Stern.  While Mike and I were bailing and sponging, she would lounge in the back with a huge smile on her face - yeah, just like this one!

Adventure Mike and his wife, Diane, have traveled all over the world skiing, climbing, hiking, and, well, adventuring!  I remember one evening, Diane demonstrating the use of the "can crusher."  It's pretty much a round piece of heavy metal on a rod that one uses to smash down on a can, strategically positioned on another piece of heavy metal - in this case some former chunk of railway track.  She really beat the piss out of the can!

Mozying (hmm... spellchecker doesn't like that) Down the River

The Paddle Boat with Captain Brad.  Paddling can be kind of Zen if you let it.  There is a lead paddler and everyone else is supposed to follow him or her.  The challenge is for the lead paddler to maintain some sort of predictable rhythm.  Something that apparently none of us (especially me), were able to do with any sort of regularity.  The Canyon is just too distracting in a beautiful way.  But if one just lets go, then out of the corner of the eye, the lead paddler's movement can be detected and that's when the effort becomes a meditation.  Dip, sweep, rest, repeat.  Until a rapid... then you paddle like mad and try not to take it personally when Brad shouts, "Left, Left, LEFT!  Aaaaeeeeiiiiiii!"  Then we'd do a "High Seven" with our paddles and maybe get a burrito and a cup of hot coffee!  Excellent!

We stopped for lunch (more on food, later), at Shinumo wash and then took a hike to a place with a fabulous overlook of the river, as well as the Silver Grotto.  We dunked in the river first so we could stay cool on the hike (it felt great to dunk, although the chafing sand in my shorts was slightly less great).  I'd say we ended up hiking close to two hours and it was simply lovely.

Lunch Time! Gotta love the umbrella.  Not sure of the butt, however, Lora is in the shade in back, then Diane, Adventure Mike, and Merle fix a sandwich.

Paula and Alex hiking up for a view. We did quite a few hikes and saunters and had a pretty fit group of Happy Campers.

Collared Lizard.  I love these guys!

View Down Towards the Silver Grotto

The Mighty Colorado River

Camp Tuesday night was at Sand Pile, and, well, it was a sand pile.  We were getting to know each other pretty well, though, so cozyin' up with our tents (Kelty with rain fly), was no big deal.

My tent is the slightly lopsided number in the middle.  I think it has character.

It's also really handy for drying out laundry.

I wrote in my journal:

"The Canyon is the Canyon I love.  Walls soaring overhead, only now I get to see the places 'in between' the places I've visited on the River.  I understand what Powell meant when he said the rapids sound like a 'freight train' - And we just whoop and holler on our way through and then start bailing! ... the tips of the cactus and flowers and cliffs just glowed!... Tonight, we're on a lovely dune.  The moon is going to full. It's beautiful and clear."

~~~

Wednesday I was back in the paddle boat.  We paddled past Vasey's Paradise and stopped at Redwall Cavern, then halted once again for a quick lunch before pushing on to camp at the ever-popular Nankoweap.

Vasey's Paradise, named for a botonist by Powell, but if I go on too much with the "what's named for who" stuff, I'm never going to finish writing this and you're (bless you if you've made it this far), never gonna finish reading it.

A short video of Vasey's Paradise:

Redwall Cavern

The weather orbited around us: sunny then cloudy... sprinkles and then the rumbling and grumbling of thunder, echoing through the canyons.  A flash of lightning and a peek at blue sky.  I wrote in my journal: "I loved how the sun would be shining and then the rain would sprinkle on the river with a kind of plopping, hissing sound.  I can't get over the LIGHT!  The sunsets with alpine-glow on the freshly washed cliffs are sublime."

Romy and Paula - Romy and her husband, Steve are from Tuscon - Desert Rats, like me.

Mary of Napa - The Grand Canyon and the Colorado River are in Mary's Soul!

Taking a Break (Not My Foot...)

At Nankoweap: Our guides have these cool little tents they put up so they can sleep on their boats.  Of course, if I had a pony, I'd ride it on my boat...

Follow the Paddles to the Library... Take a Flashlight (Seriously).

Nankoweap Canyon is located between River Miles 52 and 53.  The Nankoweap Trail (the "scariest" trail in the Grand Canyon), descends from the North Rim of the Grand Canyon in this area - or ascends, I suppose, depending on which direction one is headed.  Our Trip Leader, Lora, scored us some coveted camping space adjacent to some science wonks (I can say that 'cause I'm a science wonk and I mean it in a nice way), the only drawback of which was initially crowded conditions and a habitrail-like maze leading to the groover, (in the dark, Bob had a run-in with an invisible rock).

Undaunted, we found our places and prepared camp for a "layover" day - WhooHoo!  Killer hike tomorrow! 

Captain Brad explains the complexities of geomorphology, while Cliff, Kathy, and Mick look on.

Voila! Totally cool block faulting demonstration.

Hiking up Nankoweap Canyon - the temperature was really nice for a butt-kicking hike/scramble.  We did get a sprinkle, but no serious moisture.  The clouds made the buttes, mesas, and cliffs look all misty and hobbity.

A short video of the creek:

Cute little Canyon Tree Frog - Hyla arenicolor.

Totally Hobbity.

I wrote in my journal and penned another haiku 'cause I'm better at counting than rhyming:

"The hike was strenuous but the colors in the formations and the views - temples and buttes in the mists and clouds - were otherworldly.  It's been raining, so the formation colors are vivid - electric!... Moon full, or nearly so - the sky is beautiful.  Clouds and stars and the moon... Now, I'm tired - a good tired."

Colors' Seduction

Temples, Mesas, Buttes

"Come hither," they beckon me -

A rainbow awaits.

Saturday we pushed off (I was in the dory today - in the back seat, where it's mostly dry!  Oh, yeah!),  and landed for lunch and a hike near the Hance asbestos mine.  While the vast majority of the group hiked to the mine, I took the opportunity to sit on the beach, listen to the river, and reflect on my journey.  Tomorrow, I would be headed up the Bright Angel Trail, and I wanted to sit and stare into the void - the space.  I felt like I could empty my thoughts and become one with the emptiness and in being empty, I was completely and utterly full.

Rocking and Rolling in the Dory (Steve and Romy are in the front):

 

The previous day, Friday, we stopped at the Little Colorado River for lunch and a short hike.  Paula and I took the opportunity to bath away from the confluence (I washed my hair!  Huzzah!), and then caught up with the rest of the group hiking up the LCR.  The water flowed blue and the wind rustled the grasses along the banks.  It was such a peaceful sound - I couldn't suck up enough.

Ummm... Clean Hair!

Friday night we camped at Tanner - now I was in familiar territory.  Years ago I'd camped here with husband #1 and a couple of friends.  I remember it being really hot and us spending most of the day in the shade trying to filter water through our clogged pump (we wasted precious alcohol trying to backwash the thing).  After that incident, husband #1 referred to the Grand Canyon as the "Big Dry Dusty Hole," which is one of the reasons he is no longer a member of Club Ena.

The camp was lovely, with a nice breeze, so all my smelly clothes had a chance to dry thoroughly.  It was here, too, that our "bag line" kind of had a melt-down.  The shore of the river was really, really muddy - like, seriously, you'd lose your shoes and small children muddy.  While we were unloading, Kathy got kind of bogged down and when she tried to pull free, pretty much did a face-plant.  I laughed so hard it hurt!

I wish I had a picture of Kathy in the mud, but since I don't, I present the view from my "front porch" at Tanner.

View from the back porch at Tanner.

While I'm feeling so jolly, I'll now review the menu!  First, I must say, the meals were impressive.  Our guides prepared tasty fare that was filling, plentiful and catered to most all our dietary weirdnesses.  Breakfast generally had a cold cereal option, but there were also pancakes, oatmeal, eggs and potatoes, sausage, etc., lunches included sandwich and/or wrap fixin's, salads, fresh fruit, cookies, nuts, Crazens, candies, and such and the dinners, which were truly memorable, were as follows:

• Grilled Salmon, rice, salad, and cheesecake for dessert
• Spinach and cheese ravioli, garlic bread, green salad and chocolate bars (light and dark)
• Burritos: sauteed veggies, rice, black beans, cilantro, salsa and s'mores made with graham crackers, marshmallow cream and Nutella.
• Steak (I had tofu), green salad, mashed potatoes, and carrot cake
• Pork chops (I had Portobello mushroom), polenta that was out of this world, green salad and Apple Brown Betty
• Pasta with pesto, garlic bread, salad, and strawberry shortcake.

Lunch Time!  Lots of GREAT condiments!

Tina, Jerry, Jim, Kathy, Lora, and someone's shin.

The "Dish Line" - an  important fixture at mealtimes. Each Happy Camper washed their own  plate in a six-stage system: scrape scraps into the bucket, cold water scrub, hot water scrub,  hot water rinse, cold water with bleach rinse, then toss into the net  slung beneath the table to dry. Extra Karma points could be earned by  going above and beyond and washing up the cooking implements, such as  pots, pans, cutting boards, etc.  This was encouraged. When Kathy  wasn't pushing juice or making the last call for the toilet, "Get your  Groove On!" she was helping with dishes.  Kathy, can I come and live  with you?

Saturday night, after running Sockdolager (very exciting in the dory), and several other rapids, we camped just above Grapevine.  We were targeting an early start in the morning so that those of us who are hiking out, could make the rim before dark.  Our backpacks appeared and we commenced packing... I was sad yet determined to enjoy my last night on the River.

Before dinner, we were called to make our sack lunches for the hike out, and after dinner, Brad told stories around the campfire.  Stories about Captain Hance and his trusty horse, Roaney Darby.  I stared into the glowing embers and got lost.

Sunday we were up before dawn.  The boats were packed quickly and after an oarlock on Alex's boat was repaired, we were on our way.  Through the Grapevine, under the two bridges near Phantom, and on to Pipe Creek Beach.  My last ride in the paddle boat.  I got out of my wet things, quickly, donned my hiking boots, tucked my lunch into my pack, and said a quick good-bye.  If I'd stayed longer, I would have cried.

Down River...

The "Mule" Bridge Across the River.

 So, on up the Bright Angel Trail.  I can't count the number of times my feet have passed this way.  I met the new group that would be joining the trip on their way down to the beach (readily identifiable by the AzRA logo mugs dangling from their packs).  When I was about 3/4's of a mile from Indian Gardens I met the AzRA Trail Guide, Meg, who had spoken to Steve and told me he was waiting for me.  I made it to Indian Gardens just before 12 - our "official" rendezvous time.

After that, it was a matter of hiking back out.  Chatting and smiling and just feeling wonderment at all that I had just experienced.  It was a kind of high that leaves no mystery as to why some guides never leave the River.  Ever...