Of the shots in the previous entry, all were taken by me except the couple with me in 'em. Well, I shot myself at the end of the hike-in, but the one of me in the waterfall was taken by "Cosmo" and the one of me in the boat was taken by "Mumbles." Our kayaker, "Kevin" shot a large treasure of amazing stuff. Aside from the two shots of him in his kayak - which he shipped from Virginia to Arizona so he could paddle the Colorado in his own rig instead of some rented piece of plastic - those two were taken by me - here's some of his awesome work.
While the boats ran Lava, our fearless kayaker took some shots from above, where he and the rowers had scouted the rapid. Here, Thrilla can be seen upside down while getting thrown from her boat. These next three are of me, Cosmo and Charlie running Lava.
Seven Nights To Rock: Off the Grid in The Grand Canyon
A few weeks ago, my cousin - as I elect to change the names to protect the innocent, let's call him Cosmo - called with a Once In A Lifetime offer. A buddy of his - let's call him Mumbles - after enduring 17 years on a waiting list, got a private access permit for 16 people to enter the Grand Canyon for 18 days of rafting, hiking and camping. He scaled it down to ten full-trippers who would do the entire 18 days, and two pairs of half-trippers, one of whom would do the front seven, the other doing the next seven, and then the ten full-trippers would do their final four days together. There's a spot open for a half-tripper who'll be paired up with Cosmo, and it's being made available to me. I've done some day hikes and weekend camping in state parks, but nothing like this. Never been on the water, unless ferries and booze cruises count. Never been totally "off the grid" for more than a few hours when stuck in a dead cell reception zone or broken down along a highway waiting for a state trooper to come along and call AAA. At this moment, six weeks from the trip, I'm 100% out of shape, not having exercised in a year and at one of my lifetime's heaviest points. This is not a commercial trip with professional guides taking care of things - the group will be on its own to manage everything and collectively fend for itself. Naturally, I jump on this opportunity. Cosmo, along with my brother, has been my best friend dating back to my earliest memories. Work and family hasn't afforded us enough bonding time in these last 5-6 years and next summer he moves across the pond for a 4-5 year professional venture. I'll have six weeks to get back in the gym and get in some kind of survivalist shape, and gear up for the trip. I could write a book about this amazing experience, and perhaps one day I will. For now, though, I'll just expand on the notes taken on a waterproof notepad during the trip.
Fri. May 21: Flagstaff Cosmo and I meet in Phoenix and take a 25-minute puddle-jumper to Flagstaff. Sparing the details, we board and deplane three times before finally getting to the City of Seven Wonders three hours late. We enjoy some fondue and a burger at a local brew pub and get to a lodge at 11:30pm, a bit later than we'd hoped given the early rise we face.
Sat. May 22: Bright Angel Trail, the Hike-In to Phantom Ranch 4:30am rise, we begin hiking in at Bright Angel Trail by 5:30. This is the last I'll know what time it is for a week. They say the hike-in is more difficult than the hike-out, courtesy of the number its steep downhill grade does on your calves and knees. Three miles in, I believe it. We cross paths with Cosmo's wife - we'll call her Midge - and their friend (we'll call him Mr. Awesome for leaving his sleeping bag and tent for me to use in the Canyon) around 3.5 miles in. Here's a shot of Cosmo and Midge on the trail: Our homework revealed this hike as a 9.5 mile jaunt. There are markers at the 3 and 4 mile points. That 5th mile is a real dog. The sun is now fully out, my legs are sore as hell, knees feeling quite funky, sweating at a clip which competes formidably with the water I'm drinking (200+ oz. by hike's end), and while fatigue makes the miles feel longer as it does in road races, this one is seemingly endless. Turns out, the only markers on the trail are at 3 and 4. Cosmo is being a sport. Without me, he'd be scooting down this thing at a noticeably faster clip. Instead, he stays with me and my slower pace. At a point later in the hike, a guy hiking out (up) tells us, "you're almost there - two, two and a half miles at most." Whew. A half hour or so later, another guy tells us, "you guys are close - three, maybe three and a half miles?" What? To quote Pacino in Dog Day Afternoon: "Uuuuuh... I'm dyin' ovah heyah..." Finally, we reach the bottom. The Colorado River. A beach. Yeah! My body was shutting down miles ago, but now we're here. Or so we think. Turns out, the hike into the base of the Canyon is 9.5 miles, and that's where we are. But we're meeting our group at Phantom Ranch. I see a wooden sign, Phantom Ranch - 2 mi. I feel like Apollo Creed in Rocky, when the challenger goes down and the champ's arms are too heavy to raise, he's counting on a knockout, then Balboa gets up on the nine count and Creed, realizing he must fight on, facially expresses a sentiment of oh, come on, I am at TOTAL exhaustion! WTF! Cosmo offers to hike the remaining two miles and bring a raft back for me, but that can't happen. I'm the rookie on a hardcore trip with a bunch of pretty experienced people and there's no way I'll be introduced to them as the guy who couldn't finish the hike-in. We forge on and eventually make it. I am as worn out in mind and body as I've ever been. But not too worn to capture the Kodak moment: What I learned today: no traditional training can prepare you for a day like this, descending 4600 feet over 11.5 miles at an average grade of 10%. Every step is unique with the twists, turns, switchbacks, and rocks which force your body to work in all kinds of unfamiliar ways. Footwork and balance become increasingly challenging as fatigue sets in. Twisting an ankle becomes a real concern. But while nothing you do in the gym can properly prepare you for this - rocking out with the repetitive motion of an elyptical machine and doing doing circuit training with dumbells on an exercise ball will getcha in good cardio and muscular shape, but nothing other than doing this can possibly simulate doing this - I'm awfully glad I've been getting up at 5:45 and hitting it for these last six weeks, because if I hadn't, it's possible a Park Ranger may have carried my fat ass out on a mule. At Phantom Ranch, we meet up with the group which includes a flight instructor (Charlie), a contractor (Kevin) and his girl (Ally), a professor (Aja), a biochemist (Science), an electrician (Thrilla), a Bay Area free spirit with masseuse and yoga chops (Sunshine), a commercial real estate guy (Mumbles), a nurse (Jackie) and an EMT who's considered becoming a fireman but by trip's end is seriously considering a path to becoming a river guide (Dmitri). We raft a couple miles down the river and I love it. This is a small sample of what's to come. Cosmo declares the word of the day to be "penis" and will commend anyone who uses it in dialogue. Suddenly, anything remotely phallic in shape resembles male plumbing. We tie the boats to rocks, set up camp and the kitchen, have sandwiches for lunch. I enjoy a beer on the raft, take a little nap on a steep and curvy piece of sand, and begin devising a system of packing and storage for daily efficiency. I'll improve on this process each day but won't really have it streamlined to my liking until better than halfway through the half-trip. For dinner, it's ravioli and Ragu which, after the exhausting hike-in, is delightfully savory. Dmitri hands me and Cosmo each an empty plastic Ragu jar, advising us, "rinse these out and keep them with you. In the middle of the night, when you have to pee, put on your head lamp and go in this. Keep it closed, because for some reason animals are attracted to pee. In the morning, pour it in the river and rinse it out. You may not need this every night, but you will need it." Truth. Instantly, Dmitri is a friend for life. This short dialog will prove to be representative of the trip, people sharing everything from knowledge and experience to snacks and water, toiletries, clothing and gear, and stepping in for each other when, for example, someone is thrown from their boat on a rapid, incurs a few bumps and bruises and is scheduled to be on kitchen crew that night. Throw a bunch of people into the base of the Grand Canyon for a while and human nature emerges pretty quickly. This trip and the tendencies of the people on it will enhance my faith in human nature. Good people, these people.
How Does Food Work? Where Did the Boats Come From? There is an outfitter, a company from whom our group bought and rented what we needed for the trip. The full-trippers "put in" at Lee's Ferry seven days and 85 miles ago, at Mile Zero of the River, accessible by motor vehicle. Based on the number of trippers, the outfitter provides the boats (four rafts and an inflatable kayak), oars and paddles, plus the food to fulfill our menu all packed in steel military rocket (ammo) boxes (air and water-tight), three steel tables for our ever-mobile kitchen (one for food prep, one for food service, one for dish washing). Small rocket boxes with each day's food plus one larger box containing the meat and dairy, with a block of ice inside which keeps everything cold. Four 5-gallon drums, three for catching water to be purified for drinking and one is a pee bucket. Four steel buckets are the dish washing line - filled in the river for each meal, one for pre-wash, one whose water is boiled for washing, another for rinse and a fourth for bleach water. Clean dishes are dried in mesh bags tied under the table top. At each meal, the line order of pre-wash, wash, rinse and bleach buckets runs in the direction of the river's current.
Donde Esta El Lavatory? The "Groover" is our bathroom. It is a rocket box with a toilet seat placed on top. Also, there is a pee bucket, some biodegradable toilet paper, hand sanitizer and soap. There also might be a recent copy of Swank magazine in a Zip-Loc bag for comic reading, and perhaps that is partly why we've changed the names to protect the innocent. I don't know who put that there (Charlie....), but I brought a regular book. So... Why are the Groover and pee bucket separate? Because those two elements, when combined in an air and water-tight container, will explode. And for all kinds of obvious reasons, that, sir, is bad news. Each day, we try to situate the Groover in a private place with a boat paddle rested against a tree which is visible to camp to identify the path leading to it as well as the fact that it is available. Look around. See a paddle against a tree? The Groover is available and there's the path to it. Don't see a paddle? Someone is on the Groover. Hang loose and wait for the paddle to re-appear. Why is it called the Groover? I ask Charlie and she says: "Because we didn't always have a toilet seat on top of the rocket box, and sitting on it resulted in everyone getting grooves on their butt-cheeks." It's funny that while our group dialogue sits decidedly in the gutter, riddled with penis and vagina jokes and any kind of lowest common denominator potty humor you can think of - I'm not complaining, I actually champion such things - the box we crap in has a PG-rated name. Makes perfect sense to me! Also of note: Cosmo spent all week on Groover duty. He traded for it, offering to take it on in exchange for Science's kitchen shifts. But as the week plays out, rather than freeing himself of kitchen duty as this arrangement clearly suggests, Cosmo ends up working even more kitchen shifts than he would have without the deal. What did we learn here? Two things: [1] Cosmo is inclined to be involved, hands-on, and so forth. [2] My cousin prefers to work with poop. Like Howard Cosell, I just call it like I see it, folks.
Before bed, Kevin points out what I think is a mountain goat: At night, some ring-tail cats try to snatch some of our stuff. They scurry about camp, one walks right on a sleeping member of our group, but they're not a dangerous kind. Tonight, I sleep on the sand under the stars and it's beautiful.
Sun. May 23: Rapids, Rowing, & Rocks Woke up as the sun emerged and enjoyed a long day of "making miles" - twenty of them on the river. We're a private group doing what we want and dancing to our own tunes, but Mumbles' permit does call for the trip to begin (or "put in") at a certain place and time, and end (or "take out") at another certain place and time. If we travel less one day, we travel more another. We hit some great rapids today, including Emerald and Granite. I'm on a boat with Charlie rowing, or "on the sticks." She's experienced at this and is a great communicator, schooling me and Aja on paddling, rescuing, being rescued, and later, some rowing (the harder and more important role on the boat). The rower is sort of a boat captain, doing the heavy work while a paddler or two are occasionally called on by the rower to help manipulate the boat, most often while in a rapid. We paddlers serve at the pleasure of our rowers and with one as proficient and fun as Charlie, that's perfectly all right with me. Jackie, a paddler on another boat, "swims" today. "Swimming" is a nice term for being thrown from your boat in a rapid, which can be a scary experience. Jackie hits her head but fares well and takes it like a champ.
Anatomy of a Rapid How does a rapid come to be?, I ask. I may screw this up a little, but here's what I recall: Rock slide - the most common cause, at least on the Colorado. Weather, time and/or destiny cause rock slides from the Canyon into the River, which causes the river to become shallower with some rocks exposed above the flow surface. The resulting steep gradient causes an increase in water velocity and turbulence. Current - primary direction the river is flowing. It goes with gravity. Looking at a rapid, you can identify the strong part of the current as a channel that runs stronger through the width of the river than the rest of it. The top of the current is the tongue, which is often where you want to enter the rapid and is always a point of reference when deciding where you do want to enter. Eddy - a swirling reverse current or void created when water flows past an obstacle. Most rapids have eddies on one or both sides, immediately above and/or below the rapid. Eddies can be good or bad. Pull into one, or "eddy out" above a rapid, and you may lose momentum or position as you're trying to hit a certain place to enter the rapid (bad), or it can give you time to examine or "scout" the rapid by watching the water and/or other boats run it (good); eddy out below a rapid and you may lose momentum offered by the current which can get you further down river without rowing (bad) or, if your boat is the first among your group to run a hairy rapid, it can be a good place to sit and watch your friends and be in position to help rescue people, boats, oars, paddles, etc. And, sometimes an eddy sits just below the rapid and just above a nice camp, in which case eddying out puts you in position to access the camp where staying in the current would run you past it. Eddies can be a bear to row and paddle out of, and a particularly tough one is often referred to as a "squirrelly eddy." Come to think of it, this may be a good nickname for my brother, Ed. Squirrelly Eddy has a nice ring to it, don'tcha think? Drop - the height differential between the water depth at the shallow top of the rapid, and where the current resumes below. Hole - below the drop, a black hole of water into which you may find yourself, should your boat flip or toss you as the result of a tough drop. You'll spend some time underwater and will eventually be flushed above surface, at which point you'll figure out where you are, which direction you're facing, where your boat is, where the shore, current, and eddy are, and work your way down river, back to your boat, or to shore. This is the last place you want to be. Run - every rapid has one. It's the safest, most direct path down the rapid. Depending on where the rocks are, how the wind is blowing, how many gallons of water have been pumped into the river through the dam and when, where the current is and in which direction it's pulling or pushing with respect to the shore on either side, the nature of the shore on either side (rocky? sandy?), where the drop and hole are situated, where the eddies are... you hit that spot at which you'll run the rapid without hitting any rocks too hard, flipping, getting thrown or pushed against an undesirable shore, eddying out where you don't want to be... you identify that spot by sight (for smaller, lower graded rapids) or by scouting (for larger rapids), apply a margin of error based on what you see and feel, then hit that spot at the right place, right angle, back into it or hit it straight on, and you'll run it. Cosmo decides that today's word is "vagina" and apparently there's a contest to see who can use that word the most with a group of strangers. While Science catches a passing boat's attention long enough to shout "vagina!" five times, I use it in a sentence when we ask another boat what they're having for dinner and then exclaim, "Well, we're having vagina! If you want to join us, just let us know and we'll get some more!" This contest has no prize, but I think I win! We camp just up river from Bass Canyon, a coolly futuristic looking place thanks to its black and shiny rocks. Dinner tonight is great. Dmitri grills some brats and Science makes pear cobbler in the Dutch oven. Above, the kitchen at Mohawk. The two buckets to the right are for hand washing. One is filled with river water, a purifying pump devised on the first half-trip by Mr. Awesome (he's an engineer) transfers water from there to the other bucket, and we use this to wash our hands with soap before rinsing with sanitizer before hitting the kitchen.
The strong wind and heavy overcast (and eventual rain) make this the only night any of us use tents. My legs are still incredibly sore and Cosmo does virtually all the work in setting up each of our tents. He is my hero. The sound of the wind flapping against the tents makes it tough to sleep much. I'm thoroughly enjoying this trip but admittedly still a little culture shell shocked and in pain from head to toe. I spend most of the night tossing, turning and wondering if our tents will blow away.
Mon. May 24: Casual Day + Party Time We get off to a slower start and make less miles on the river (eleven today). Breakfast is a nice bowl of plain yogurt, granola and sliced pear. On the water, Charlie coaches me a bit on rowing. I take us through a couple wave runs in the morning and a class 2 rapid after a nice chicken salad lunch and a steep, rock-intensive waterfall hike. On our daily hikes, most of which involved climbing, hopping and scrambling up rocks and slippery falls at steep pitches, I go as far and high as I can, limited less by fitness but mostly by an extreme fear of heights and the fact that my footwear is falling apart. Sunshine, chilling in a rock chair: Now I'm getting into the rhythm and Thrilla bestows on me the job of Water Czar, a small role but one I'll take pride in. Drinking water is important, given the dry heat and wind which is enough to dehydrate and has already caused my fingertips to split into open, bloody wounds. As Water Czar I must monitor and manage the four 20L jugs we keep on different boats. When we tie up for lunch or camp, I get everyone's bottles filled. When nobody's looking, I check for water bottles on the boats and fill them up without telling anyone. When we come upon a creek or a stream, we fill the 20L jugs by catching water in 5-gallon drums and then manually transferring it from the drums to the jugs with a purifying pump. Also today, Thrilla hijacks the "word of the day" theme - probably in fear of just where the toilet-level selections will go after "penis" and "vagina." (perhaps she overheard Charlie describing "felching" to me and Cosmo, which totally grossed us out - yes, even us - I won't describe it here or even link to it, but trust me, it's nasty and if memory serves, Charlie mentioned it as a matter of hoping it could one day become an Olympic sport. Google that shit at your own risk, friends). But she adds a twist. She has chosen a word, one which she's certain will come up in conversation. There will be no hints or clues. When someone speaks the word, she will declare that person as having landed it. Unless someone overhears, the word remains secret and is only revealed to anyone who gets it or overhears the getting. But wait! There's more! There's a prize! Each winner gets a sip from Rico, the name given to the Canada Dry bottle filled now with some schwag whiskey and later with some good scotch, as often as they want to say the word for the rest of the day. I forget who got today's word first, but it was "wind" - as in, "this god damned wind is creating open wounds on my fingertips" or "this mother f**king wind is making it pretty mother f**king difficult to row this mother f**king boat" or "good golly miss molly, I'm so glad the wind didn't blow our tents clear off the beach last night." Why is the bottle called Rico? Apparently, it is named after the outfitter's employee who, after staying up too late and drinking too much with our core group of full-trippers the night before put-in at the outfitter's river house, did a sloppy job of rigging our boats and forgot some key items. I don't even recall what those key items were, we all survived just fine, so Rico gets a pass from me. And this reminds me of what I thought was a forgettable early 90s one-hit wonder, Gerardo, whose hit was called "Rico Suave." Don't remember the song?
We camp at Blacktail Canyon and tonight is a party of sorts. The kitchen puts out some hearty fajitas and Spanish rice. Everyone imbibes and sits in a circle around the Dutch oven in which Charlie makes a carrot cake. Thanks to the combination of dry heat and wind, most of my fingertips have split open. The Neutrogena lotion I brought stings and doesn't seem to help. Vaseline sinks right in but doesn't do much. Thrilla busts out some "udder butter," an ointment you can get at a feed store, made for horses and cattle for cuts, saddle sores, chapping, scrapes, hooves and dry skin. Strong stuff. I have a nice talk with Jackie about the rural teabaggers in Central Washington, and with Mumbles about the evolution of this trip. Later, well after bedtime and after filling my Ragu jar but still needing to "make the bladder gladder" I stumble into the river to pee, step into a drop-off which takes me from ankle-deep to nipple-high in water, causing me to lose my balance and in a drunken moment I realize,
Whoa, I'm falling into the river; Hey, there's something to grab onto; Look, it's a boat; Oh, it's Mumbles' boat; Shit, there's Mumbles, in his boat, awake, I woke him, he's looking at me, I don't know him well and here I am, waking him up, middle of the night, up to my tits and peeing in the river...
Mumbles looks at me and issues a simple, "Really?" I mumble something even I can't discern, stagger back to the plot of sand I'm calling home tonight, hang my wet clothes on a tree, change into dry shorts and t-shirt, and pass out. Next thing I know, it's barely sunrise and Cosmo has awaken me to the sight and smell of a trout he just caught, still dancing on the hook.
GENERAL OBSERVATIONS AT THIS POINT Sand is in EVERYTHING. Water bottles, socks, plates, forks, cheese, sleeping bags... Gecos are everywhere but they're harmless. Red ants will bite and that stings. Vultures are smart. So are ravens. They will unzip your bags and go through your stuff. I saw a raven grab a granola bar from a boat, still in the wrapper, and fly away with it. There's also the occasional toad:
Tues. May 25: Hangover, Deer Creek, Scary Shit My hangover is well earned. Thankfully, Cosmo is on kitchen crew this morning and after waking my sorry ass by dangling a live fish in my face, he not only brings me some bacon - THRICE! - ain't nothin' like some fresh bacon to soak up the excess of the prior evenin', baby - but the dude pan-fries the very fish and brings some of it over. God damn, that hits the spot. Cosmo is a one in three hundred million kind of person. We've been close all our lives. This trip illustrates his unparalleled character and the associated behavioral tendencies. Even if he did dangle a live fish in my still-drunk mug while the sun was still trying to catch a few minutes before getting up.
We do 16 miles on the river today, filling and purifying water at Stone Creek. Standing in the heat, Cosmo douses me from the blind side with five gallons of cold water. I want to say I'll get him back, but it was quite refreshing so I actually think I owe him one. After lunch we hit Deer Creek, a hike I was planning on sitting out due to the ongoing soreness in my legs, blisters on my feet, and open cuts on my fingertips. But, this one is emphatically described as a must-do for its short length (one mile) and rewarding view at the end. True, it's only a mile - but almost straight up and not so much hiking as rock climbing and hopping. This proves to be the most terrifying experience of my life. There are a couple moments where I feel way too close to falling and dying than I'd ever want to be. Mumbles and Dmitri talk me through the tough moments and stay back with me for support. This is much appreciated and something I'll never forget. At the top, everyone was right, this hike is worth it. The beautiful waterfall in between two ledges is brilliant, however, I get a little vertigo and sit my scared ass down for a few minutes. I'm convinced these mountainous rocks are moving. Mumbles: Eventually, the vertigo tempers and I hike down. Now I'm on kitchen crew (everyone rotates in for 3 days), Science and I whip up a nice lasagna while Cosmo makes a creative cheesecake on the fly. The food prep table buckles and but for everyone's fast reflexes, we could have lost all the food, not to mention the potential of a pan of ground beef and pots of boiling water and sauce landing on anyone while creating a feast in the sand for whatever animals may be lingering out there.
Wed., May 26: Matkatamiba Scramble, Upset Rapid, Dump Truck The morning begins nicely with a bowl of soy milk, granola, and fruit salad. We do ten miles on the river and I get to row a couple rapids. I don't feel particularly influential of the boat, but with the right down river wind at my back and a current that wants to let me get where I want to be, I am a juggernaut! Putting out a light continental breakfast frees Charlie, Cosmo and me up to prepare some tabouli for lunch. Our version of this Lebanese salad includes couscous, parsley, tomato, allspice, and olive oil. Tastes good in a pita. Ansel Adams, eat your heart out: The Matkatamiba Canyon is fun and a little scary. There's a rock climb intensive way to hike it, or the way I choose which involves walking through streams and climbing up and through some slippery little waterfalls. I make it a solid 95% up this one. The last scramble is just too dangerous for my taste. It's sandy, my footwear is slimy and the soles are 75% gone - not worn, but gone - and with very limited footing and a fall that would result in death or dismemberment, I balk on climbing the final piece. Mumbles is at the top and offers to help. He's experienced and having helped me through Deer Creek as he did, I trust this man. He comes down halfway and offers his hand: "C'mon, man. Take my hand, I'll walk you through the steps and you'll have my support in case you lose any footing." I'm scared but he did me right yesterday so I give it a shot. We get halfway up and I internally freak out. I simply can't get the right footing and I know exactly where I'll fall backwards if the climb goes south - from about ten feet above the upper right of this photo and into the crevice: I tell Mumbles that I can't do it. He calmly says, "C'mon, let's do it, you have my hand. If you go, I go. C'mon." I just can't do it. He helps me down and relieves my tension by showing me how to make a butt dam. And... as demonstrated in this video: Later, at dinner, I express my earnest appreciation to Mumbles for what he's done to help fight through my fears of heights and dying in the form of being a rock in a high-amplitude pinball machine without a helmet. I specifically tell him I love the simplicity he used when he said, "If you go, I go." He smiles and says, "Oh yeah! I got that from Backdraft! Remember that movie?" Cosmo asks, "What happened when the guy said that in Backdraft?" Mumbles matter-of-factly replies, "Oh, they fall. They don't die, though, so it's all good." Oh yeah. I don't know that I've enjoyed richer dialog during any period of my life, and remember that in college I belonged to an Animal House type fraternity full of football players. F**king Mumbles... dude is a rock of fearless brilliance. Upset Rapid is a blast, but not without its unplanned excitement. Cosmo and Science are thrown from their boats, as is Thrilla who was rowing one of them. The term "Dump Truck" refers to the scenario under which everyone is thrown from a boat, leaving it empty. Cosmo holds onto his paddle and uses it to negotiate his way through the current, into an eddy and swims to shore. Science follows, and they rock-hop along the riverside to reach the bottom of the rapid where Charlie & I and Dmitri have eddied out to wait for them. Thrilla is thrown but holds onto her boat the whole time, enabling her to climb back in and get through the rest of the rapid. Charlie and I had entered the rapid first, so we're eddied out at the bottom watching all of this. It's mildly scary, watching people - particularly my cousin - get thrown from their boats and not being able to see them for what must have been several seconds but seemed like far longer. I find myself quite impressed at their ability to react and overcome. As for me... this rapid grades between 3 and 8 depending on the conditions, which can make it pretty mild or pretty intense. My dumb ass figured it would be a good one to capture on video. As you'll see, the rapid can spin the boat pretty well, things can be a little turbulent, and while Charlie orders me to "Back-paddle! Back-paddle!" I am too busy fussing with my camera to dig in with my paddle right away (when your rower calls for help, the only acceptable response time is immediately). I stuff the camera into my wet suit, help paddle the boat through, and you get to hear us finish the rapid and express something like "whew!" when we get through. I don't know why Charlie doesn't cuss me out - she could, but maybe as we didn't flip or get tossed, she's filed it under "no harm, no foul." She's a forgiving one, this Charlie. Enjoy the clip: We camp at the beautiful Lower Ledge, our coolest camp yet. With its staggered tiers of level rock, it kind of reminds me of a Seinfeld episode in which Kramer set out to redesign his apartment with levels of staging to maximize his square footage. "Levels, Jerry! You don't think I can do it, do you?" To which Jerry replies, "I think that you can, but I know that you won't." View from the lowest level: As we're tying up the boats, some tensions come to a head between Charlie and Thrilla. This morning (or maybe it was yesterday morning), Willa addressed the group to clarify the lay of the land. In the morning, nobody should go to breakfast until their bags are packed and all that's in between you and heading out in a boat is changing into your wet clothes - after breakfast, all hands are on deck to break down the kitchen and help rig the boats for the day; similarly, when arriving at camp at the end of a day, all hands are on deck to de-rig the boats and help set up the kithen, prior to attending to any of your personal gear, changing out of your wet clothes, etc. As we tie up and most of the kitchen gear is on Charlie's boat, people in other boats are chilling, talking about the excitement at Upset Rapid, and the kitchen isn't getting loaded. The last couple nights, we've cooked and eaten in the dark, which is not ideal. Tonight, if we can de-rig and get going on dinner, we have a chance to do it all before the sun is down. I decidedly stay out of it because I've been on the river for 4-5 days compared to everyone else's 11-12, so I apply a heavy allowance for people to unplug and have a moment at any time, knowing that it happens when it happens, without respect for when it may be convenient - not to mention, Thrilla has been a sort of spirit guide for me in the Canyon and Charlie has been the person I've learned the most from and bonded with. I ain't touchin' this with a ten-foot pole, brother. Charlie confronts Thrilla on the matter, and they go for a walk to talk things over. These are the group's de facto leaders, the most experienced on trips like this, not to mention Charlie is on kitchen crew tonight with me and Sunshine. Cosmo steps up to fill in for Charlie and without discussion, it's understood that we'll set up as quickly as possible and try to put out a dynamite meal to show our arguing leaders that we can do them proud on our own. Kevin brings us a couple pitchers of beer while we assemble one hell of a dinner. I cut some potatoes and make pan-fried garlic fries. Sunshine makes a nice salad with Romaine, Craisins, croutons, tomatoes and red peppers. Edamame and dirty rice on the side. For the main course, Cosmo and I take double-breasted chicken, stuff it with the leftover tabouli from lunch, dip it in flour, egg, and some granola we've pounded into bread crumb consistency. Pan-friend, tabouli-stuffed, granola-crusted chicken. Cosmo prepping some chicken: The girls come back as we're finishing, they've made up and comically re-enact what we missed, in black & white to capture the true pathos of the occasion: As their story goes, Thrilla has a plastic bottle of Goldschlager vodka, which Charlie drinks from to celebrate the happy ending of their once-argument. Only, it isn't the vodka bottle she grabbed. It was Thrilla's pee bottle. Did Charlie really (unwittingly) drink Thrilla's pee? They say so. We'll never truly know, now, will we?
Kevin & Ally:
Thurs. May 27: Havasu Rapids and the Calm Before the Storm My morning begins on the Groover. As it's only out in the morning and evening, it's best to program your body to poop at those times. Sure, we can tie up to a camp and pull it out of the boat for a mid-day emergency, which happens a couple times. Just yesterday, Kevin had an emergency stop. As he was pulling the Groover out of Thrilla's boat to set up behind a tree somewhere, Cosmo asked from another boat a hundred feet or so away, "Hey Kevin, can I use for kayak for a while?" To which Kevin curtly replied, "rightnowisnotreallyagoodtime." Funny, the tunnel vision we get when nature calls. But we digress... I'm on the Groover this morning when from up river comes a couple boats, another group which has already started its day on the water. Here I am, pooping in plain view of a bunch of strangers. All I can do is wave and say "good morning!" They understand. Could happen to anyone, really.
At Havasu Creek, some of our group hikes while others (myself included) hang and enjoy the natural dams made of mineral deposits terracing the creek with pools of deep blue water and a nice little waterfall.
Cosmo enjoying a "water hat" - fill the bottomed-out jug with water, wear it as a hat, the suction will keep it on your head, and when you're ready for a rinse, just lift it up: We go 18 miles today and camp at Mohawk Canyon, a large beach. We enjoy another great dinner - no complaints about the food on this trip - we work pretty hard to set up, break down, rig and de-rig the kitchen and cook every meal, but we're eating heartily. Tonight it's pulled pork, sweet potato mash, broccoli, baked beans, and some thawed Cheesecake Factory. Tomorrow, we'll run Lava Falls. There has been talk of this all week and tonight there's a visible gravity in the air. Lava is the longest, fastest, deepest, biggest navigable water in the Western Hemisphere. The Smithsonian claims the water velocity here can reach up to 100 mph. An extinct volcano blew one winter, causing a conflict of fire and water as a river of molten rock ran down into a river of melted snow. The seething and boiling forged the two ledge holes which drops 27 feet and fits 3-6 school buses depending on the water level (it will be high when we hit it, meaning a larger hole). The lava flows extend for 60 miles downstream. The wind can be nasty which makes it more difficult to position your boat for a safe run, and it has thrown and flipped more boats than any other rapid. Charlie ran it once, ten years ago, and it flipped her boat. If you're thrown and end up in the hole, your body will involuntarily be whipped around for 1-2 minutes before the current flushes you to the surface when you'll then have the privilege of navigating through the intense current and huge waves. The energy in the air tonight suggests a certain respect for the water with a dash of fear. Nobody drinks and everyone goes to bed quietly and early.
Fri. May 28: Lava, tension and release The energy resembles that of a Game Day in any organized sport. People have some jitters in the morning, the mood sobers as gametime approaches, and everyone has their game face. We tie up above Lava so the rowers can hike up and scout the rapid. After watching four commercial boats run it, they come down and brief us on the particulars. Paraphrasing the rowers, there is a run here, if we hit the rapid at just the right spot and at just the right angle, with roughly a one-foot margin of error on either side, we'll run the sucker without swimming or getting flipped. Charlie's boat having flipped on her previous Lava run makes me wonder if there's a monkey on her back, and whether that's a good or bad thing. She convincingly says,
"It's like any other rapid, you hit it right and you run it, you don't and you're gonna swim. Only difference is, this thing is f***ing huge, but that doesn't change what I said first. Ready?"
Ready. Cosmo and I dig in, stay low, and we're in position. The wind is hairy, making it a little tricky for the rowers to get into position for a good run. Charlie hits it perfectly. She yells "Duck!" twice, just before two huge waves completely wash over the boat. By staying low and offering little surface area, we're protected from the wave throwing us overboard. It's rough and turbulent as hell, but we run the sumbitch and celebrate with hugs. Below the rapid, the rafters eddy out and tie up to watch our kayaker (Kevin) and canoer (Ally) run the rapid. Ally gets through okay, but Kevin flips and goes under a couple times before getting separated from his kayak. It's scary for a moment but he does a good job of swimming and we're able to rescue his boat.
Post-Lava. Look, the wet suit and life jacket are supposed to be very tight, okay? Sure, I feel like an albino sausage here, but I'd rather look uncool and not drown. Plus, I think the white helmet and red goggles are kind of flattering. Shut up.
Once Kevin's kayak is in our boat and everyone is okay, we go through one final rapid, Little Lava, and then tie up at Tequila Camp, everyone has a shot of whiskey and unwinds. Today, you don't need to know the word of the day. We just ran Lava. We just ran Lava, together, and we will all drink scotch from the same plastic Canada Dry bottle named Rico, dammit! We camp at 185 Mile, have fish tacos for dinner and chill. I've slept on the beach all week but tonight I sleep on the boat.
Sat. May 29: Multi-modal Exit, Vegas, and Ring Them Bells It's been a brilliant seven days in the Canyon, an 11.5-mile hike in followed by six and a half days and 102 miles on the river. Cosmo and I wake early, Charlie rows us a mile or so down river to Whitmore Wash where we all catch a helicopter out of the Canyon. The rest of the group has four days and 40 rapid-free miles of rowing to make their take-out at Diamond Creek. They'll be down two paddlers and a rower, but they'll make it. The 'copter takes us to Bar 10 Ranch, where a shuttle bus takes us to a propeller plane which takes us to Vegas. Cosmo and Charlie grab flights home, and I check into the Vegas Hilton for three days where I'll rendezvous with Jessica, catch a couple shows with Morris Day & the Time and Andrew Dice Clay, meet Pete Rose at a memorabilia shop in Caesar's Palace, and on Monday Jessica and I tie the knot at the Faithful Love Chapel. A moderately eventful way to spent 10 or 11 days, eh?
