MY GRAND CANYON ODYSSEY

I’d like to tell you there’s an exciting story behind how I blew out my hamstring in the bottom of the Grand Canyon on a recent raft trip. Maybe sliding off slimy rocks while climbing through Elves Chasm’s Middle Earth-like cavern in order to jump off its waterfall. Perhaps leaping into the Colorado River from the high cliffs at Pumpkin Springs. Slipping on the tricky hike up Deer Creek. Or floating through aquamarine rapids of the Little Colorado River. Even from falling off our behemoth raft at an inopportune moment.

Nope. I’ve done all those things at some point on ten prior trips, and even been hurt pretty badly a few times, but this was nothing so dramatic. Nope. It happened when I was looking for my gin. My right leg slipped into the raft’s cargo hold where the booze is stored. It was dark and I was really stoned and that happened. On Day 2 of our eight-day trip.

Although my hiking was over, it could have been worse. For one of our passengers, who had to be evacuated by a National Park Service helicopter, it was. And then there was my son-in-law who had a likely-rabid bat crash into his face.

Ours was an epic adventure in the most beautiful place on Earth, filled with breathtaking scenery, mile-high cliffs set against deep blue skies, close encounters with bighorn sheep and ravens, rainbow trout for the catching, marvelous camaraderie, and no cell service despite satellites blinking across constellations in the nighttime skies. And every one of our 280 miles, every rapid, every colorful rock layer, has a story. Of adventures, tragedies, mysteries, geology, paleontology, archaeology, history, and nature. Spirits abound.

Our journey was chartered through Grand Canyon Expeditions – the best of the best. Two motorized rafts, 28 passengers, and 4 crew. All were friends, or friends of friends, of me or my chartering partner, Peter.

Me & Peter (photo by Joanne)

The river is calling

Like all such raft trips, ours started below Glen Canyon Dam at Lee’s Ferry. It’s named after John D. Lee, a despicable character who was executed in 1877 for his leadership role in the local Mormons’ massacre of 120 Arkansas pioneers – men, women, and children – at Utah’s Mountain Meadows. (I wrote earlier about my grim visit there three years ago.)

After riverside orientation and launching, you hit Badger Rapid, then the bigger Soap Creek Rapid. Those take their names from an 1831 incident when hungry Mormon missionaries, in a quixotic journey to convert indigenous Hopi, shot a badger and tried to boil it, but the vile soup turned to soap. And there’s the whirlpool where the Trump-like huckster, Frank Mason Brown, drowned in 1889 while surveying for the railroad he wanted to build along the river, all the way from the Rockies to the Sea of Cortez. Like I said, there are stories and there are stories.

Some stories are carried in the hearts of visitors. Sometimes the Canyon brings fulfillment or closure to memories. Each moment on the river is to be savored, in all its own detail, bringing new perspective to old views. How could it not, when you’re surrounded by Earth’s unfathomably ancient history?

Passing under Navaho Bridges, the last highway crossing of the Colorado River for 350 miles, we watched a California condor sitting stoically on the bridge’s underbelly of girders. Like all its gigantic ilk, the endangered condor had a numbered tag on its wing, marking it as one of only 600 on all the Earth.

The bird’s survival is testament to generations of scientists and lovers of nature who have brought the ancient birds back from the brink of extinction, including hand-rearing some chicks. One of our passengers shared with me an account of her husband’s contribution to that very work. Stories continue to unfold in the Canyon’s skies and currents.

Kris (photo by Sara)

Big waves

There’s nothing like the thrill of crashing into Grand Canyon’s gargantuan rapids, and no one is more aggressive than Boatman Adam at hitting them head-on. My favorite spot on the raft is up front, dead center, where you can experience the full fury of big waves’ power. That’s where I was sitting when he charged us into House Rock Rapid, and I found myself upside down, looking at the sky between my feet, gripping tie-down ropes that had come loose, and distinctly remembering advice given on an earlier trip: “If you go into a rapid and feel like you are underwater, don’t let go!”

Passenger and friend Karrie, sitting just behind me, also went into free-flight. After that ride, we tried to collect ourselves, readjusting gear and straps, amazed that we had survived relatively unscathed. I’ve been through lots of vicious rapids, including previous crashes through House Rock, but that one left me dazed. It was a full thirty minutes before our brains returned to a semblance of normal. We stared a lot at nothing in particular, repeatedly muttering to no one in particular, “Wow!”

It’s a Zen-like experience, when the big raft rolls over the crest of a rapid, diving into a monstrous hole, only to smash head-first into the base of the standing wave that swallows the entire raft in its throat. For exquisite seconds, nothing else exists. Just the present instant defined by the mountain of water engulfing your existence. Consciousness is reduced to the essence of the moment.

I treated every rapid as if it might be my last. Face your danger, was my mantra. Rather than flinch and duck when the big waves hit, as is your instinct, I vowed to take them head up, eyes wide open. Often, I discreetly talked to the river, “Come on, motherfucker! Show me what you’ve got!” One time, it answered, giving my big mouth a big gulp.

Camping

Camping in the Grand Canyon reduces life’s choices to basic elements, replacing normal complexities of work, family, bills. Our first night, we faced a threat of rain, with heavy, fluffy clouds scooting across the slot of horizonless sky visible from the bottom of the Canyon. Will it storm during the night? Your choice: take a chance and hope for the best or be prepared for the worst and set up a tent – staying dry but sweaty all night in the confined 90-degree heat and humidity. All opted for the first choice.

Curled up on cots, we did get a bit of rain – giant drops pummeling the tarps we’d pulled over our heads. We’d been up since 4 am for the hours-long bus ride from Las Vegas to the river, and the patter lulled us to a divine sleep of the dead.

A most memorable Day 2

The Grand Canyon giveth and the Grand Canyon taketh away. Our first full day on the river brought wind with 50 mph gusts, filling every exposed orifice with blowing sand. But the day also surprisingly blessed us with exclusive visitation at the iconic Redwall Cavern.

While lunch was being prepared by the crew, on the expansive beach, I had the chance to share with a group of passengers  the tragic tale of the Grand Canyon railroad that never got built. Afterward, a few of us walked to the rear of the enormous cavern, to find the spot where that expedition’s photographer set up his survey’s camera. It’s like a little treasure hunt, where “X” marks that spot he chiseled atop a great boulder in 1890. Your fingers touch history.

It was right after lunch when Christine slipped and fell on the sloping beach’s edge and tore open her left knee, exposing tendons and bone, dangerously contaminated with sand. The good news, such as it was, is that my wife, Eva, was on the trip – an exceptional nurse practitioner. Of course, I felt terrible for Christine, but I also rued its impact on Eva, who was forced to instantly shift from a carefree raft passenger to professional medical expert, cleaning and patching Christine’s injury with distilled water and limited medical supplies. The wound was so gruesome that I dared not look.

The guides called via satellite phone for a helicopter evacuation, but the high winds made that impossible. So using a tabletop, they rigged a makeshift stretcher to hoist Christine back onto a raft, where she remained while we floated to camp that evening.

In camp, Christine rested on her cot while her cousin, Patrick, softly serenaded her with his guitar and sweet voice. Throughout the week, he would do the same for the entire group, gathered on folding chairs after dinners. But it was that lovely moment when he did his best to comfort Christine that stays with me.

I’d known Christine but briefly as my copy editor, when I worked as a neophyte environment reporter for newspapers in Michigan. She had seen my Facebook post seeking passengers. Who could have guessed we’d have such a tragic reunion 40 years later? Life can be crazy. And Day 2’s surprises, as well as Eva’s medical attentions, were just getting started.

Meanwhile, I hiked up a short, steep trail behind camp to the burial site of Peter Hansbrough. He was one of the casualties of that ill-fated railroad surveying trip. His drowned body was found a year later, identified by the boots still on his skeleton, and hauled up the rocky scree and buried under an overhang. I sat there, alone, a long while, looking down on our camp, thinking about the vagaries of life, and all that had brought me to this fleeting moment of bliss at a 135-year-old gravesite.

Before I left Hansbrough to his peace, I shared with him a few pleasantries, as well as some of the green can of Gatorade I’d carried up the hill. Then I returned to camp for dinner, where my own fate awaited. For it was that evening, while happily sharing joints with a few of the women passengers, that I got a hankering for a gin and tonic. After all, Adam had brought extra limes just for me.

Ironically, until that point, I’d been feeling especially fine. My old hips were doing well. I bounced around the raft, hopping on and off, as if my age was just a number. And that’s when my leg slipped into the raft’s cargo hold while retrieving my canteen of gin, ripping my hamstring muscle, and turning my rafting trip into a completely different experience.

Adversity brings growth

In the early light of Day 3, before raging winds resumed, the helicopter flew in to rescue Christine. It landed on a spit of beach across the river from our campsite, where Christine had earlier been ferried. It was a sad moment, especially since she had worked so hard to get prepared for the rigors of the trip. Despite my own disabling injury, I couldn’t pretend to know how she must have felt.

(photo by John)

Boatman Zach, in response to our trip’s challenging outset, counselled us to stay positive, that “adversity brings growth.” I vowed to take his counsel and ignore the pain in my ruined leg. After Christine’s departure, we stopped at the mouth of the legendary Little Colorado River, where I was determined to hike upstream to the spot that rafters float through idyllic rapids. It’s an Edenic scene best captured by Cousin Debby’s words on a prior trip: “If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m surrounded by atheists, I’d have thought I’d died and gone to Heaven.”

(photo by Emily)

I struggled, aided by my walking stick, Advil, and Eva, and made the 1.3-mile riverside trek, but was in too much pain to vicariously appreciate everyone else’s heavenly fun. Back at the raft, I shared with Boatman Adam, “That was a mistake. My hiking is done.”

For the rest of the trip, I hobbled about, useless to help with bag lines to load and unload the rafts, with Eva, Karrie, Peter, and others helping me on and off the raft, carrying my bags, and setting up cots each night. It was a bit humiliating, after getting back on the raft each time, to crawl on hands and knees over the bags of gear to reach relative comfort at the back half of the bouncing raft. No matter what, I kept telling myself, “I’d rather be here and in pain than anywhere else – with or without pain.”

Chillin' (photo by Charlotte)

After my injury, Adam had contemplated making me evacuate with Christine, and talked privately with Eva about the seriousness of my condition. His guideline, he told me later, “Are you jeopardizing the safety of yourself or others if you fall off the raft?”

I assured him, “I’ve still got two good arms and one good leg, and could swim to shore.” Which was probably true, but I’m glad I never had to test my theory.

Bag line, sans me (photo by Charlotte)

Despite my new handicap, I discovered that I could still sit up front and ride point through rapids, like I’d done at House Rock. So I did, including our ride on Day 7 through the Grand Canyon’s quintessential rapid – Lava Falls – an infamous, dangerous, complex torrent. Adam navigated it brilliantly, with me and everyone else whooping and hollering!

At home

"Each man sees himself in the Grand Canyon - each one makes his own Canyon before he comes, each one brings and carries away his own Canyon." – Carl Sandburg

I confess that I tear up a lot in the Canyon, much to my embarrassment, overwhelmed by the privilege to be alive amidst its grandeur, sharing such beauty with people I love. Nowhere on Earth do I feel more at home, more myself, than in the Grand Canyon. It’s why I keep returning, year after year, despite the challenges of pulling together a group of people for these not-inexpensive charters, and despite my not-infrequent injuries on my trips. On the river, for eight days, life is reduced to its essentials – not one word of news, politics, or wars. No email, messages, Facebook, YouTube, or podcasts. It’s the Grand Canyon, and that’s enough.

"The girls" (photo by Sara)

I received a compliment on the trip from one of the younger women passengers, which really took me aback. “Wayne, you’ve got swagger.” Later, I had to look it up: “Someone with ‘swagger’ carries themselves with a high degree of confidence, bravado, and undeniable charm or flair.” Only in the Canyon does that fit. That was, of course, before I fucked up while looking for my gin.

BFF

Boatman Adam and I share a visceral, addictive love of all things Grand Canyon. I don’t know how many trips he’s done – probably at least 150, including eight with me. One time, eight years ago and against my better judgment, he convinced me to accompany him as his swamper – the boatman’s assistant who does grunt work, like safely tying up the raft on shore, helping in the kitchen, and pushing the raft off the beach when departing a stop. Let’sjust say, once was enough.

A good boatman has the ability to direct the raft’s splashes to the right, left, or center, depending on the angle hitting a rapid. Adam is a master. No matter where I sat on the raft, a deluge seemed to target me. No accident, I learned. Early in the trip, Adam confided to Eva and Karrie, “Understand, I love Wayne, but I’m going to try and murder him with water. If you don’t want to get wet, don’t sit near him.” Word quickly spread, and I often had the best (i.e., wettest) spots on the raft to myself.

It's not that Adam isn’t solicitous of my creeping old age. He told our group the story of Bert Loper, christened the Grand Old Man of the Colorado, who capsized rowing 24.5 Mile Rapid in 1949 with a heart attack. His body was never recovered. You can still see his decrepit little boat, resting above the river’s flood line. Like me, he was just shy of his 80^th birthday.

“At least you’ve lived a week and half longer than Bert,” Adam happily informed me. I guess that should have made me feel a little better.

Alone in the Canyon

Imagine being absolutely alone in the bottom of the Grand Canyon. No sounds but the music of the river, wind in the tamarisks, and the occasional calling of ravens and canyon wrens. The beating of your heart connects with the rhythm of the Canyon’s timeless symphony. Thanks to my injury, I had that remarkable experience for a long while one day, when all the passengers and crew hiked up a side canyon, leaving me alone on the beach. Unforgettable.

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it… I am haunted by waters.” - Norman Maclean

Last night

By our final night, the waning moon came up late, giving us the Canyon’s full dark-sky extravaganza. Eva crashed early, and after my last evening confab with the weed-smoking women ended, Patrick showed up at his nearby campsite.

For a long while, we lay side-by-side on the beach sand, watching the stars blink on. We spoke of things most important in those moments – trying to identify and remember names of constellations and stars. Follow the handle of the Big Dipper, and there was Arcturus. Slowly twinkling into view was Corona Borealis, the Northern Crown. Cygnus the Swan, or the Northern Cross, tipped by bright Deneb. And low on the horizon, us being so far south, was the North Star. We shared about the same level of mediocre astronomical knowledge. A fine conclusion to our trip.

Finally, I stumbled back to my cot, falling on my face once, which was a good thing since my noise clued in Eva that I was headed toward the wrong campsite. I don’t think I would have crawled onto the wrong cot, but you never know.

Bats

The Grand Canyon hosts a lot of bats. Every night, they’d fill the skies over our campsites. No one gave it much thought until that last night, when they were especially numerous. Eva and I had camped under a tamarisk tree, with branches just over our heads, in order to get some early-evening shade. That turned out to be an aerial thruway for the insect-chasing critters, but by the time I passed out, I was oblivious to their chirping and fluttering over our heads.

Meanwhile, however, down the beach aways, Troy had a more intimate encounter when a bat smashed right into his cheek. Given bats’ uncanny sonar in finding minute bugs in the dark, that didn’t seem quite right.

First, a bit of back story on how he and our daughter, Kristen, were even there. Another of Christine’s cousins, Sheryl, and her husband John, were supposed to be on the trip. But just days before departure, John crashed his bicycle and broke his collarbone. A crushing disappointment for them. Thankfully, they had purchased trip insurance, so weren’t out the trip costs. So we had two paid-for, open spots on our charter, with no time to fill them.

Now, Eva and I had plane tickets to Las Vegas, but just three days before we were scheduled to fly, she came home from work and out of the blue declared, “Why don’t we just drive? Our plane tickets are refundable.” So the next day, we loaded up Ruby, her bright red Mercedes, and headed from Oregon down I-5 for the two-day drive. A few hours into our trip, she had another brainstorm. “Why don’t we see if Kristen and Troy want to go?” And that was that.

We cleared it with everyone, and just five hours later(!), Kristen and Troy were also headed south on I-5. It had taken me weeks to properly pack for our expedition. Not only did they manage to pack all the necessary gear for their trip, but Troy had also gotten time off work, changed the oil in his new truck, and they’d arranged for leaving their three kids behind. It helped that they’d done the raft trip with us five years earlier, but still had to stop along the way to buy new water shoes, etc. They caught up with us at 1:30 in the morning at our motel in California, and the next day we drove, mostly together, and arrived in plenty of time for the evening rafting orientation at our Las Vegas hotel.

As for his bat encounter, Troy didn’t think it amounted to much and downplayed it when mentioning it to Adam. Turns out, however, the National Park Service has a zero-tolerance policy about any bat-human contact, due the prevalence of rabies in Grand Canyon bats. Had it not been the last night, it would have meant a mandatory helicopter evacuation for Troy. As it was, upon return to Las Vegas, he had to go straight to an ER and was given four painful vaccine shots for rabies and one for tetanus. Back home in Oregon, he got another series of rabies shots.

We all learned a lot about how bat rabies can be transmitted, not just from obvious bites, but even from their tiny claws and sharp hairs. The fatality rate in 100%. “That was the most expensive free trip I’ve ever had,” Troy noted later.

Epilog

My Grand Canyon odyssey was a fabulous experience, shared with an incredible group of people. As far as I can tell, each passenger loved it all. For some, it was simply a grand adventure.

Sara & her big beautiful trout

Others were well out of their comfort zone, yet embraced the physical and mental challenges with good spirits and open minds. For a few, it was a time of emotional and spiritual healing.

I’ve now done eleven raft trips since 1990, and this may have been the best group ever – no drama, no whining, mellow. Great weather, clear (albeit low) water. Eight days went far too fast. All this was made possible due to the professionalism, training, and experience of our remarkable guides, Adam and Zach, assisted by swampers Sedona and Natty (Adam’s 15-year-old son), and backed by Grand Canyon Expeditions dedicated staff. Love of the Grand Canyon is in the company's roots and reason for being.

(photo by John)

And then, of course, there was the astonishing, mesmerizing power and beauty of the Canyon itself. We were blessed.

I say this, despite four people ending up in the ER. First, there was John, with his broken collarbone before even getting to the trip. Then, Christine, with her torn knee and helicopter evacuation. Then, Troy, with his bat encounter. And me, with my ripped hamstring.

What would I have done during this crazy week without my beautiful, badass wife? Talk about blessed!

 

After our return to Las Vegas, Eva and I drove south to spend a week with dear friends in Bullhead City. The pain from my injury didn’t seem to be improving, so we went to the local ER. That’s how I spent July 4^th, my 80^th birthday, learning that the hamstring tear would heal with time, but that it had caused a blood clot, a DVT, in my calf. Now I’m on blood thinners for the next three to six months.

Happy 80th birthday to me!

I know how this is going to sound, but I’m gonna tell you anyways. Would I have slipped and wrecked my hamstring if I hadn’t been stoned that night? Probably not. But that’s like saying I wouldn’t have slipped if I had just been more careful. Or not gone on another risky raft trip at my age in the first place. Shit happens. I love the Grand Canyon. And I do love my weed.

Perhaps there’s some perverse karmic justice at work here. For after getting my prescription for Eliquis, I asked the Google a simple question. Can I still smoke cannabis while on blood thinners. Turns out, no way. It seems that THC messes with the P-450 liver enzyme, critical for the blood thinner to safely work its magic.

I’m now home and back to walking and biking (weed free), slowly getting better. This too shall pass. I’ve started a workout regime with my physical therapist and new friend Stu (who was on the trip), and expect to be fully recovered in time for next year’s already chartered raft trip (with Adam, of course), departing Lee’s Ferry, June 18, 2027. We’re looking for passengers.

A prayer

The Grand Canyon is a sacred place, where each visitor worships in their own way. You drink in its sublimity, hoping to carry home a bit of your transcendent moments. Countless artists and writers try to capture that essence. For me, musicians come closest, and I have my own Grand Canyon playlist, listened to with AirPods through gentle stretches of the river or hikes up side canyons (at least on prior, non-incapacitated trips) to later remind me of the indescribable experience.

Perhaps my favorite is the music of boatman Benjie Howard. His tune, “Arizona” (available on YouTube), especially speaks to me. As it turned out, Swamper Sedona is the girlfriend of his son. 

Sedona (photo by Charlotte)

Though she didn’t get a chance to share with our group the following “Prayer,” written by Benjie, she gave me a copy. I’m including it here, a perfect coda to the story of my Grand Canyon odyssey:

May your journey be long, and the river of your journey carry you well

May the rapids that lay ahead be powerful and treacherous and the

Route through prove difficult and rewarding.

May you find the serenity of calm water

May you lay some night on the hard ground so that

You will not sleep and might notice the heavens.

May the morning reward you

And may you greet that morning as if you are newly born

May you know death so when she comes you may greet her with dignity

May your days gather behind you like stories

And spread out before you like a dream

At the end of the day

May you know that you have left little trace

And may your feet ache

May you find solace and wisdom in the setting sun

And in the moment that it slips over the horizon

May its mystery be revealed

Only as a mystery

May you hear the rhythm of love beat in your heart

So that you might sing to it

And others sing along

May your mind be set free and your body set in motion

May your grandchildren kneel down at the bank of a stream

Gather pure clean water from it

And may they give thanks to you for the gift.

              --Amen 

(photo by Emily)

# # #

 --Index to my Grand Canyon Stories

 --Wayne's Blog - home page

KARMA IN THE WALMART PARKING LOT

Trying to back out of my parking space at Walmart, I had waited for pedestrians to walk behind my car, then plowed smack back into another car parked across the drive lane. The loud sound of shattering plastic told me to slam on my damned brakes.

I pulled forward and got out to inspect the damage. Sure enough, the empty Toyota’s back bumper was destroyed. Like I had exploded it. My car? Not a scratch. I figured it must have been my SUV's trailer hitch that ruined the cheap bumper.

Before pulling out, I had been so certain that no one was parked there, I hadn’t even checked my backup screen. How stupid!

Now what? I pulled into another spot and pondered my options. Shoppers had paused, looking on. I felt like they were waiting to see what I would do.

Whether or not I could have gotten away with driving off, I knew better than to mess with karma. (Like most, I have history with reaping what I’ve sown.) I scratched a note and put it under the car’s wiper: “Sorry I backed into your bumper. Call me for insurance info,” and included my info. Still a bit shaken, I couldn’t remember my own number, and had to look it up on my phone.

Pulling into my driveway at home, just minutes away, I worried that I hadn’t put down the right number, so I drove back to Walmart. All was quiet, and my note was correct. I added a second one with my insurance info.

I sat there in my car and tried to call my insurance company, Liberty Mutual, for advice, but ended up in your typical AI loop of options, which concluded by telling me I could file a claim by going online. “Would you like me to text you a link to do that?” an irritatingly nice voice asked.

“Sure,” and soon I was off in digital-la-la-land, installing a new app, then trying to log in. After several minutes of growing frustration, I said, “fuck it!” I’d wait to see what the car’s owner wanted to do. “Aargh!”

Back home again, when I got out the shower, my phone showed a call from an unknown number. I took a deep breath and hit the number.

A woman answered and I introduced myself.

“You’re the person who hit my car,” she said, more a statement than question.

“Yes. I’m so-o sorry.”

She laughed. Why would she be laughing? Her bumper was destroyed. It would be a colossal pain in the ass to get it fixed, aside from who pays for it. I was dreading the hassles, and it was my fault!

But in a pleasant voice, she said, “My bumper was already destroyed. You didn’t do that.”

She went on to share her tale from a week earlier when she’d been stopped at a school crosswalk, and a pickup had rear-ended her. “I’ve already filed a claim with my insurance company. The guy didn’t even have insurance.”

“So I didn’t do that damage?”

She laughed again. “No.”

Then she added, “You are such a good person. I can’t believe you left your name and number.”

I explained my fear of bad karma. As if I needed to confirm this positive cosmic turn, I asked, “So we’re good?”

“Yes.”          

I was stunned at my good luck. I thanked her for being so gracious about it all and calling me.

She said, “I didn’t want you stressing over this.”

“I was stressing over it,” I confessed.

“Well, don’t.” For a second time she said, “You’re such a good person.”

I never even got her name. 

# # #

Wayne's Blog

MY GRAND CANYON STORIES - INDEX

 

I love the Grand Canyon. I love reading about its history and geology and mysteries. Most important, I love spending eight days rafting through its depths with friends. I've done that 11 times in the past 36 years, with yet another charter already booked for 2027.

Here's an index linking to all the stories I've written about my adventures over those years.

GRAND CANYON STORIES – INDEX

MY GRAND CANYON ODYSSEY

GRAND CANYON RAFTING - PLANNING TIPS

HUBRIS, A RAILROAD THROUGH THE GRAND CANYON, AND THE DEATH OF FRANK MASON BROWN: A PARABLE FOR OUR TIME

"F**K THE MORMONS!" ?? (re: John D. Lee, of “Lee’s Ferry” notoriety)

MEDITATIONS ON VIVALDI’S “FOUR SEASONS” AND THE GRAND CANYON

OLDER GRAND CANYON RAFTING STORIES

2018

A THOUSAND WORDS

NERDY CANYON STORIES

GRAND CANYON DRAMA

SWAMP IS A VERB

HOMESICK BLUES

COSMIC CONNECTIONS

SWAMPING THE GRAND CANYON

OLDEST GRAND CANYON SWAMPER?

2014

GRAND CANYON RAFTING – A DOZEN LITTLE STORIES

1 – A PERFECT MOMENT

2 – DON’T LET GO!

3 – JEANNE MOONS THE KAYAKERS

4 – CRYING LIKE A BABY

5 – IT DIED IN MID-STROKE

6 – BE HERE NOW

7 – THE DEATH MARCH

8 – FRED’S LIZARD

9 – NIPPLE BEERS

10 – IT DOESN’T WASH OFF

11 – JUST ONE WORD

12 – AFTERMATH

 

# # #

GRAND CANYON RAFTING - PLANNING TIPS

We've prepared these planning tips for passengers on our two-motorized-raft trips, chartered through Grand Canyon Expeditions (GCE).

Our most important tip is this: read and follow to the letter the info from GCE's, “Expedition Information” (gcex.com). Its advice is spot-on! Here are additional tips we’ve learned from hard experience on numerous prior motorized trips.

Weather: For summer trips in the Canyon, plan for triple-digits HOT! Think light, quick-dry clothing, serious sun protection, and sun-block. It does cool down at night – kind of.

River shoes: This is the most important item to get right. Flip-flops are fine in camp, but not for hiking. Make sure your river shoes (closed-toes are best) are well-broken-in before the trip. You don’t want blisters to ruin your fun.

Relying on tennis shoes, flipflops, or cheap (or old) water shoes is a mistake. Don’t scrimp! You’ll be hiking to waterfalls, archeology sites, etc. We’ve seen too many passengers made miserable by ripped-out straps and disintegrating shoes, and messed-up feet. Lots of options; pics are just two. Wearing thin socks can help avoid blisters.

Clothing: Follow the GCE info. You will be alternately wet & dry all day. Quick-dry under- and outer-garments are best. A light-weight sarong is invaluable during long stretches on the raft in the sun, to cover up and to get wet to cool off. This is true for women and for men! GCE will have sarongs for sale at your pre-trip orientation Las Vegas, as well as hats, carabiner clips, rain gear, river guidebooks, and a few other useful items. Quick-dry shirts (some prefer long-sleeved for sun protection) and shorts (some wear pants with zip-off leggings) are good choices. Swim suits for river bathing in evenings. We’ve found that light, fingerless gloves protect your hands from scrapes and sun.  You’ll be wearing a life jacket at all times on the rafts. Clean, dry clothes in camp are nice. You’ll probably need fewer items than you think.

Hats: A wide-brimmed hat w/ chin strap is ideal – sun protection for ears and neck, won’t blow off in wind. Avoid a hat with a floppy brim; the wind in your face will bend it down and block your view. Bring a back-up hat.

Rain gear: A light rain jacket is essential; rain pants optional. Rain is always possible. But more importantly, early- and late-day rafting in windy Canyon shade can be wet and chilly.

How much to bring: The GCE material describes the limit of your personal bag as about what will fit in a grocery bag. That doesn’t include what you carry on the raft during the day (water bottle, camera, rain gear, etc.) You’ll get your one waterproof bag for personal gear during GCE’s orientation at the hotel the night before we leave. That means you’ll have plenty of time for last-minute decisions about what to take and what to leave in your luggage at the hotel. (They will safely store our luggage. They have a safe.)

Remember that everything you pack will have to be schlepped back and forth from rafts to your camp every night. Bring enough, but not too much. We like to stuff everything in Ziploc freezer bags and bring extra bags; keeps things dry & organized and sand out.

At your riverside orientation at Lee’s Ferry departure, you’ll get your numbered life jacket and your ammo can, which is good for stashing camera, sun bloc, etc., since it is always accessible to you on the raft. Again, you can use Ziplocs to ensure things stay dry inside your ammo can (usually not an issue).

Sunglasses/glasses: Safety straps are essential. Glasses get splashed a lot; a drying bandana and eyeglass cleaner in a Ziploc is nice to have for clear views of the most beautiful place on Earth.

Hikes: A small day-pack or fanny-pack is useful for frequent day hikes (as well as for carrying incidentals on the five-hour bus ride from Las Vegas to the river). Be aware, however, that your pack will get wet when clipped to the raft, or in the raft’s day-bag. Think ahead about your hiking needs (how to carry phone/camera, water bottle, while keeping hands free; walking staff?). Hiking boots are not necessary.

Water bottles: We can’t over-emphasize the importance of constant hydration. Dehydration is the biggest factor in most injuries in the Canyon. You’ll be drinking water all day on the raft, so bring a water bottle that can clip easily to gear on the raft and is easy to carry on hikes. You’ll refill it constantly from barrels of highly-filtered water on the raft. For your safety, we strongly urge you to have some system for hands-free carrying your water bottle (e.g., day pack or sling), in order to keep both hands free while hiking. Safety first!

Sleeping: You will sleep in sleeping bags on cots with a mattress (all provided by GCE and sleeping gear marked in your own bag), out in the open, over a large tarp. We highly recommend bringing a twin-size sheet for hot nights. A tiny, blow-up pillow is nice. If it rains, tents are provided. (Otherwise, it’s way too hot to sleep inside tents.)

Booze: You may bring as much booze (beer, wine, spirits) as you want. Everything should be in non-glass containers (however, if you do have a special bottle in glass that you want to bring, your guides will find safe space for it). Soft drinks, Gatorade, juices, mixers, lemons & limes, and ice will be provided. Daily supplies of drinks are kept cold in drag bags in the river. Note: If you have specific mixers or soft drinks that you want, bring your own. There is a liquor store near our hotel in Las Vegas, so you can buy what you need the day before departure.

Everyone’s booze gets stored together in a hold under the deck of one raft. It gets soaked, so any paper (e.g., beer cases, labels, wine boxes) disintegrates. Ideally, to keep your stash from getting all mixed with others, bring in a marked nylon bag. And a marker to brand your cans. You’ll have access to the booze storage only when in camp. For day drinking, you’ll load the drag bags with your desired cans each morning. As a courtesy, please drink only your own booze and mixers.

Snacks: Plenty of fruit and snacks are provided all day on the rafts, including gluten-free snacks.

Mosquitoes & ticks: None.

Scorpions & snakes: Rare, plus you’re sleeping off the ground on a cot atop a tarp. (Mice & ring-tailed cats can be a minor nuisance. Ravens will steal anything they can lift.)

Cell phones & emergencies: Bring your cell phone (in a Ziploc). Even though there is no reception on the river, in the unlikely case of an emergency helicopter evacuation, you definitely will want your phone. Same with wallet, credit card, etc. Also, you may wish to use your phone for other apps & music (w/ headphones). (For birders, we recommend the Sibley eGuide to Birds and the Cornell Lab Merlin Bird ID.) Conserve power in airplane mode. Bring fully-charged, pocket charger, with cables.

Cameras: If you need more than your phone’s camera, a waterproof camera is best, of course, but any kind can be accommodated. Bring waterproof bag. Bring pocket chargers or extra batteries.

Smoking: If you smoke anything in camp, please do so downwind and away from nonsmokers.

Music: Please, headphones only, in all locations. Singing, however, is encouraged, especially at sunset.

Toilet: The last official bathroom you’ll see is at Lee’s Ferry, from where your rafts depart. After that, you stand or squat in the river to pee – never on shore, not even on wet sand. (Women: for that reason, think two-piece swimwear and dresses/skirts in evenings.) You’ll be amazed at how quickly you adapt, since 31 other rafters will be doing the same thing as you, all day long.

In camp, the portable toilet, placed in a private (usually, unbelievably scenic) nook, is the first thing the guides set up and the last thing packed in the morning. If you have issues during the day, the guides will give you a portable contraption (swag bag) for you to use privately on shore. Everything gets packed out. When you see the pristine environment of the canyon, notwithstanding 30,000 rafters camping there every year, you’ll appreciate that leave-no-trace ethic.

Lights: You’ll definitely want a headlamp (keeps your hands free) for nighttime navigating from your camp to the river or toilet, and probably also a small flashlight. Remember extra batteries. One good thing about our trip’s timing: days are long and nights short.

Medicine: The guides can keep medicine cool, if necessary.

Fishing: Trout fishing in camp can be excellent, especially the first couple days of the trip. Spinning gear (pack rod preferable) with spinners is best. Your guides can cook any fish caught. If you’re going to fish, you must purchase an AZ license on-line prior to your trip. (A three-day license, starting June 25, is all you should need.) There will be no chance to buy a fishing license once you get to Las Vegas.

Camp routine: Finding and timing our late-day arrival at a good, vacant camping beach is an art; your guides know best; they will set our agenda. On arrival in camp, you first will quickly find and claim your own camping spot; then back to the rafts where bags, ammo cans, cots, chairs, and the kitchen gear are unloaded via conga line (bad backs excused); then you go set up cots for the night; then dinner; then a wash line for your plates & utensils; then marvel at the night sky (full moon mid-trip!); then sleep. The guides always appreciate volunteers to help with kitchen cleanup.

You can wash and shampoo in the Colorado River at camp; no special soap required. However, no soap allowed in any side stream or waterfall. Compact, quick-dry camp towels are best.

Everyone gets a foldup chair, great for when eating as well as relaxing after dinner.

You’ll be up early for coffee, breakfast, etc., then quickly packing your camp – one bag for your sleeping gear and a second for personal gear, then carry your two bags, ammo box, life jacket, and collapsed cot & chair to piles near the rafts. A conga line shuttles everything back onto the rafts, which the guides pack.

On-raft routine: On most motorized trip, you will spend eight days together on two rafts, sitting on cushions atop your bags of gear (so be careful packing squeeze bottles or anything fragile in your bag), or on the rafts’ floors or side tubes. On average, about two-thirds of the day will be rafting and about one-third for lunch stops and hikes to waterfalls and other amazing sites.

You will not have access to your personal bag during the day, but you will have access to your ammo can for incidentals, camera, etc. In addition, a large day-bag on each raft is accessible for stashing rain gear, etc. Whatever you carry onboard during the day, make sure everything loose has a clip to attach to the raft.

Guide tips: GCE suggests tips, to be spread among our four guides, of 10% of trip costs (a minimum that we strongly concur!). That may seem like a lot, until you see how hard the guides work for you. Plan to bring cash or a blank check (and a card/envelope), and give whatever amount you can. Tips are a private matter (there’s no “group” tip), typically given to the lead boatman on the final night in camp.

Physical conditioning: Almost anyone can do this trip. Nevertheless, the better your condition, the more you will be able to experience and enjoy. All day-hikes (waterfalls, side canyons, etc.) are optional, but they can be among the highlights that you won’t want to miss. On the other hand, hanging out on the beach while others hike has its own rewards. You’ll be climbing on and off the big rafts several times each day, carrying your gear, and setting up camp. In other words, it’s physical; regular walks and conditioning prior to the trip will be a worthwhile investment.

Las Vegas trip hotel: The Residence Inn by Marriott hotel, where you’ll stay the night before and after rafting, is very comfortable. (Costs are included in your payment to GCE.) Good restaurants are a quick walk away. The Strip is a short ride. The hotel has a free (shaded) parking ramp to leave your car during the trip, if you drive. You may leave luggage at the hotel during the trip (small fee). You’ll be contacted via email directly by GCE closer to departure regarding room reservation details. It will include info on extending your stay, before or after, if you wish.

Getting to the Colorado River: Brace yourself! The bus leaves the hotel on Thursday morning at 5:00 am, sharp. You can get a hotel continental breakfast before leaving. It’s a scenic, five-hour ride to Lee’s Ferry, with two brief stops: Walmart for last-minute incidentals, and another at Jacob Lake for cookies and cool tchotchkes .

Advance reading: We hope the long lead time before our raft trip will give you a chance for some reading about the Grand Canyon; it will enhance your trip. The more you know, the more there is to know about the Grand Canyon. We recommend:

*****Belknap’s Grand Canyon River Guide – 2023 edition.

The Exploration of the Colorado River and Its Canyons (J.W. Powell).

Down the Great Unknown: John Wesley Powell's 1869 Journey of Discovery and Tragedy Through the Grand Canyon (E. Volnick).

The Emerald Mile: The Epic Story of the Fastest Ride in History Through the Heart of the Grand Canyon.

Wayne’s online story: Hubris, a Railroad Through the Grand Canyon, and the Death of Frank Mason Brown: A Parable for Our Time. (free)                                                                                

Stay in touch with Grand Canyon Expeditions via Facebook: Grand Canyon Expeditions Co. | Kanab UT | Facebook

Follow a recent raft trip down the Green & Colorado Rivers to learn the status of the water crisis facing the Colorado River, on this entertaining YouTube video: A River Out of Time.

Visit GCE’s website for great videos and info: https://gcex.com

Our final advice:

“This wonderful river er nearly four centuries of discovery and exploration still flings defiance at the puny efforts of man to cope with it, while its furious waters dash on through the long, lonely gorges, as untrammeled to-day as they were in the forgotten ages. Those who approach it respectfully and reverently are treated not unkindly, but woe and disaster await all others.” – Frederick S. Dellenbaugh (member of John Wesley Powell’s second-ever, 1872 descent through the Grand Canyon), “The Romance of the Colorado River,” 1902.

Also, this one we heard before our first trip together in 2014: “When you hit a big wave and it feels like you are underwater, don’t let go.”

# # #

NO KINGS?

I skipped the No Kings protest today. I’d planned to go, like I did at the one last fall in Eugene. This time, after considerable internal debate, my exact words to myself were: fuck it! Instead, I stayed home and built a fenced-off area for our five new hens – now six weeks old and outgrowing their pine-shavings-clad stock tank in the garage.

I made the right decision – I didn’t think one time about our Orange Demented Lunatic. But later, the online coverage showed lots of creative signs from the marches. From the one I missed today:

The pic that really gave me pause, though, was an aerial shot of marchers today crossing the Memorial Bridge over the Potomac River in Washington, DC. It carried me back to a life-changing march across that same bridge – 59 years ago. From a distance, it was like nothing had changed.

I dug out this excerpt from my memoir (Bare Naked Wayne): 

Goodbye, Vietnam

The Vietnam War affected everything for my generation. When I hit the draftable age of 18, what was going on in Southeast Asia and Washington, D.C., suddenly was of mortal interest. I didn't want to get shot, especially for no good reason. I could find no justification for that war; everything about it was obscene.

To actually commit to that belief, though -- to act on it -- meant defying parents, society, government, and laws in life-altering ways. My college student draft deferment expired when I graduated from Michigan State University at the end of 1967, a time when the war was killing guys just like me at the rate of 1,000 every month. Thousands more maimed for life. I was prime cannon fodder. What to do?

I had seen first-hand the growing anti-war sentiment when I hitchhiked the prior year through San Francisco during the Summer of Love of 1967. That fall in Washington, D.C., at the March on the Pentagon, I resolved that I would never let myself get drafted.

Four of us had driven to D.C. from Lansing -- me with Al, Rob, and Crazy Rick (l. to r.):

We gathered on the National Mall, at least 50,000 of us (mythology says 100,000), and listened to long-since-forgotten speeches and music from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Overhead, noisy jets came and went from the airport, just as they do today. The air was electrified -- October 21, 1967.

 

We marched two miles across the Potomac River to the Pentagon, crossing the Memorial Bridge, behind a banner -- SUPPORT OUR G.I.s... BRING THEM HOME NOW! -- and chanting: Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?

When our march reached the Pentagon, an exorcism was performed, conceived in part by master, hippie, performance-art showman Abbie Hoffman. I climbed a tree, watching demonstrators led by acid-tripping Abbie in an Uncle Sam outfit, who were chanting ancient Aramaic exorcism rites to make the Pentagon levitate 300 feet in the air and turn orange and vibrate, thereby driving out the evil spirits and ending the war in Vietnam. The fortress was ringed with helmeted U.S. marshals and soldiers with bayonet-spiked rifles. None of them smiled even when hippies stuck flowers in their gun barrels.

At dusk, little fires started -- flares in the up-raised hands of boys who in ones and twos and threes lit their draft cards. Instant felons. I didn't burn my draft card then, but after that day, I never could let myself get sent to kill people in Vietnam. I experienced in that march the collective power of a rightness that eventually would force an end to that insane war. It was more than just an issue of fairness or patriotism or legality or even morality. It was common sense. I knew that getting maimed or killed in that war would have been stupid.

Abbie's exorcism of the Pentagon didn't work, a bunch of protestors got beat up and arrested, and eventually everyone else got cold and left.

Years later, I would meet Abbie and conspire with him, using his skills and infamy to help protect the Great Lakes from some major government mischief. Decades later, a plane would crash into the Pentagon not far from where those boys burned their draft cards; I would be living with my family and working just 20 miles away. One summer day, the war long past, sun sparkling in my boat's wake, I would pull my kids waterskiing under that same Potomac River bridge that we marched across in my lost, turbulent youth.

* * *

Never in my wildest fantasies could I have predicted how life would turn out. That obscene war finally did end; LBJ never did quit killing kids. It took that infernal crook, Nixon, to quiet Vietnam’s hellscape. Before it ended, nearly 50,000 Americans were killed in combat. All told, more than a million people died and lives were ruined for countless more.

Is that where we’re headed with Iran? Just like in 1967, there seems to be no way to head off catastrophe. In fact, it took more than another five years for that abominable war to end. (In fact, tomorrow, March 29, is the 56^th anniversary of the official end of combat there.)

So are we headed for another Vietnam? Not likely. The first American combat deaths in Vietnam were in 1959. That big protest march didn’t happen until eight years later. In Iran, we’ve so far had (just) 13 soldiers killed (plus several hundred wounded). Total deaths, so far, are around (just) 4,500. Those are obscene numbers, to be sure, and certain to get way worse. But look at today’s protest. It didn’t take years to come about. It’s been just one month since Commander Cheeto started this.

Like so many others – the protest marchers and those who root from the sidelines (or their chicken coops) – I grieve daily for what’s become of our country. And I worry for our future. The Man-in-Charge is certifiably demented. Lost in his lunacy. Surrounded by sycophants who are blinded by ignorance and greed.

I’ve always believed that the Epstein scandal would be the end of the Asshole. Unless, that is, he started an uncontrollable war of distraction. Now that he’s done that, what’s next? So the war goes to Hell. So the economy follows. So the Dems sweep the Fall elections. So the courts keep swatting him. So what? He's still the "King" for another two-plus years. More than a third of our neighbors still think he's doing a good job. Fuck.