Row the Colorado River Through The Grand Canyon - CHECK!

By the Numbers
2,000,000,000…the age of the oldest rocks exposed to us as we floated through time.
5,000,000…the number of visitors that seek out The Grand Canyon each year.
25,000…the number of people that run the Colorado River through the canyon each year.  That is one-half of one percent of the 5 mil. that come to visit.  Most of these people ride with a commercial outfitter.  Fewer still row their own rafts.
226…the number of river miles we covered on our trip.
75…the approximate number of significant rapids needing focus and attention while running them.
10…the top of the rating scale for the difficulty of the rapids…the most difficult, Lava Falls, rated a 9.
1…the number of rapids that have held my attention since waiting almost 15 years for the river permit…Lava Falls.
Countless…the number of times I thought I may have peed myself or worse while scouting and running the more significant rapids.

The People
Our first conversation with Janet, after receiving the river permit last year that allowed this adventure to take place, included words like Woo-Hoo! and Awesome!…but she also implied how important it was to select a team of individuals for such a trip that can gel and create the least amount of drama on the river.  When dealing with potentially stressful situations and using the groover (potty), not necessarily the same kind of stress, the dynamics of personalities can make or break such a close quarters trip like this.  Fortunately, the 16 personalities on our trip balanced out and made for a very fun and cohesive 17 day adventure of a lifetime.

The crew had well over a dozen Colorado River trips of combined experience through the Grand Canyon.  There were doctors, educators (some retired!), students, glass blowers, titans of business(!), outdoor enthusiasts, and a physical therapist.  Given all the variables that can accompany a group of people, not to mention some of us had never met, we flowed together, just as we did with the river each day.  Each brought their gifts to the circle and as it was completed on March 9, 2014, our weaknesses were covered by our strengths and any anxiety was suppressed by our humor.  Not on a geologic scale, but a Wallie scale, this trip would be epic.

Back row (left to right) Sandy, Janet S., Paul, Warren, Jim, Travis, Jude, Greg, Kenny
Front row (left to right) Nancy, Judy, Kathy, Janet J., Pelle
Laying down (left to right) Gus and Wallie

Our Routine
Each day around 6:00 am, we were greeted to a new day by Sandy singing, “Wake up, Jacob,” an old western cowboy song.  And each day she replaced Jacob with one or more of our names and that was our wakeup call to get us moving toward another day in paradise.

Breakfast was around 7 and with any luck at all we were packed, loaded, and on the river by 9-ish…usually closer to the “ish” than the 9.  Before leaving shore, we circled up to establish ourselves on the same page for the day.  What major rapids were in store, side hikes and points of interest along the river, and then Jim (and later others) would award acknowledgments to those who demonstrated acts from bravery and courage (Sandy’s crusade through a rapid with only one oar (after the other oar popped out and bobbed like a cork in the water) to somewhat less serious, yet just as important acts of foolishness.  Lunch would be had on a convenient sandy beach at the appropriate time, followed by locating our next campsite in the late afternoon.  

Lunch at Phantom Ranch.  The bridge in the background is for the mules that
bring people, supplies, and the mail.

Interspersed among the land excursions were miles of water.  Some flowing right along, some with pee inspiring rapids, and river miles that seemed for every paddle/oar stroke made, the wind blew you upstream a stroke and a half.  But mostly, gravity did its job and pulled us downstream through miles of incredible post card views of towering rock walls and action packed rapids.

Captain Jim and First Mate Kathy lead the way with a
kayak escort.

Once hitting the shore at the end of the day, the group would disband into predetermined small teams to carry out the important functions of camp life.  The cooks would establish where the kitchen would take shape while team groover (port-a-potty) went about selecting just the right sight to relax, comfort, and yet inspire appropriate bodily functions stored up from the days events.  Needless to say, much pride was taken in the search for the perfect groover location.  With campsites not all created equal, some groover sites required more humility and less inhibition than others.  Overall, each groover team was very successful…cheers to the groover and what it inspired!

Janet J. displays the kitchen set up.

Mystery boater finds relief at the end of the day while reading
up on Black Holes from a National Geographic,
located in the zip-loc groover library.

While those two sites were being secured, the rest of the crew unloaded the rafts and sought out their own perfect site for the night.  All this took place while remembering that we were not alone.  Being vigilant helped Kenny from sharing his sleeping bag with a 2 foot rattle snake one evening and Sandy from getting personal with a scorpion one morning.  We saw bobcat like tracks on the beach at one campsite and numerous small tracks that most likely were left behind by small rodents at others.  Big horn sheep were spotted along the river a few times, ravens usually swooped in to see if they could help clean our campsites, as we were casting off from shore.  And numerous birds called out during the day, including the Canyon Wren, whose call sounded as though it was running out of battery power toward the end of it’s call…it’s pitch went down as if running out of juice.

Scorpion-0  People-1

Dinner was normally started in the waning hours of daylight and finished by the light of headlamps, as the cooks and volunteers in the kitchen put the finishing touches on a string of very delicious meals during our 17 days out.  Many nights were accompanied by a campfire, while eating dessert fresh from a dutch oven, only to be chased down by whipped cream in a pressurized can…sometimes shot directly into the mouth!  A little slice of heaven in a can at the bottom of a canyon…mmm, mmm, mmm!

No, not a UFO...just cooks finishing up another scrumptious meal by headlight.

Bedtime followed shortly thereafter, usually around 9:30, at which time the show began in earnest.  Most of us slept without a tent beneath the night sky, with the stars above putting on a nightly show that made me feel slightly more than insignificant.  We saw shooting stars, satellites orbiting the Earth, and the daily changing of the phases of the moon.  Think about a constellation you might know in the night sky where you live…now imagine dozens of other stars showing up within that same constellation you’d never seen…that’s what darkness will get you…more light!

Now repeat that routine 16 times.

Campsite on the rocks!  You don't want to roll much in your sleep.

Tentless, for star gazing opportunities.  Tent poles in place in case it rains...
I can throw on the fly.

Side Hikes
More people are injured on shore than while on the river, but the water is only half the experience of the canyon.  Many of the day hikes took us to remnants of past Indian life in the canyon, while others took us to unique slot canyons or an oasis in the desert.  Since we were on the water, each hike took you UP!  Some a little, some a lot.  Each destination different from the last.  I was left with the feeling of, “How could that be here?” after each adventure off the river.

What's this hole in the side of the canyon?...

Redwall Cavern...Google it...kinda cool.

From the back of Redwall Cavern looking out.  Orchestras have been rafted in
to play concerts here.

The Little Colorado River (on left) joins the Colorado River (on right).  Where
the brown, siltish water of the LCR joins the green color of the CR.

Havasu Canyon and its blue waters.

Not Photoshopped!

Janet S. and I sitting below some granaries (the little windows above us),
high up on the canyon walls.

Gus strikes his Greek godliness pose before plummeting to
the water below at Elves Chasm.

From the trail to Deer Creek, looking down at out boats.

The slot canyon that holds Deer Creek.

The oasis at the end of the slot canyon.  I heard there was
some skinny dipping taking place at one point in the area?

Look what a little water can grow in the desert!

The Water
Initially it was the water that drew me in to this adventure.  The whitewater in western North Carolina was challenging, exciting, and set the groundwork for wanting to attempt Big Water.  Most people don’t think about the fact that most of the Colorado River, through the Grand Canyon, is flat water moving slowing toward the next geologic drop that creates a few seconds of excitement.  Those rapids are what most people come for.  Names like Zoroaster, Devil’s Slide, House Rock, Upset, and Willie’s Necktie Rapid don’t necessarily conjure up goosebumps or butterflies in my tummy, but when in the thick of it and the waves are tossing 2500 pounds of raft around like a rag doll, it gets your attention!  I’ve given moving water my utmost respect since learning to paddle it.  It can shoot a raft almost vertically into the sky and grab it out of the current and send it to shore without even asking politely.  It’s exhilarating, scary, fun, and debilitating all at the same time, but when you work with it, it’s awesome.

Hygiene

So when you crap in a can and pee in a river, is there any room for hygiene?  Oh yeah!  

For some, cleaning up happened whenever and wherever the opportunity arose.  Heads would get submersed during the day off the side of a raft, lathered up and then rinsed, while the sun performed its drying duties.  Other times, a perfect spot was found just down the beach from where the rafts were tied up for the night and the sand in the water was solid enough not to let you sink up to you calves.  Like going to the restroom while out to eat, many of the women headed out together and bathed in small groups (I didn’t see them myself, I just heard others talking about it!), while others soloed, seeking their privacy.  For me, I refused to think I was dirty enough to bathe early on in the trip.  But reason did overcome and I did give in to dunk my head in the 40 degree water for s short brain freeze hair washing followed by an evening splash bath while trying to maintain a dry (thus warm) core.  By the last third of the trip, I was loud and proud, butt naked on the beach, soaping up while the sun still shone on my exceptionally white self.  If the Anasazi could do it, so could I!

Epilogue
I got to love each person on this trip. Not because I saw them naked I heard they were bathing on the beach or they shared a little beer, wine or alcohol with me (although it may have influenced me a little), but because we were all there for the same reason and enjoyed a very special place together as we got to know one another in a way that may not have happened outside those canyon walls.  It is a relatively small club of people that get to share the experience we did and that added to the specialness of this adventure for me.

I had the privilege to share my raft with a number of people that knew Miki and some that did not.  Many shared stories of how they knew Miki, mostly from when she stayed with Bunny to help her recoop from her knee surgeries and others just enjoyed hearing about her and how the trip came together after years of waiting.  I got to hear some of their stories and how they got to land in the canyon the same time I did.  Unique stories, all of them.  The few I knew, I know better now, and the ones I didn’t are now on a special list close to my heart, all of which I call friends.

Mikilogue
I learned more about the pieces of my puzzle during the time away from home on this adventure.  From driving alone the 1100 miles from home to Flagstaff, to the last few minutes with the oars of my raft in my hands.  I had almost 3 weeks of non-stop think time.  I was prepared to experience spiritual growth an an exponential rate, visit with Miki and learn of her new adventures, and add my spin to the meaning of life.  All of which took place, but not on the scale of which I had imagined it could.  

I placed a monkey on my back as soon as I applied the first time for the permit to raft the canyon.  It was a rapid named Lava Falls.  It was all about my ability to row a raft through rapids I’d only seen on YouTube, where carnage was the theme.  People that knew me on the water said I could.  I had to go with it, because I had nothing else to confirm or deny it.  So, as I leaned into rowing for 226 miles, my confidence grew as each day progressed, with each rapid teaching me something new.  By the time I met THE rapid on the river named Lava Falls, it’s reputation had preceded it for years.  Like all the major rapids we ran, there was room for YouTube carnage to sneak in and place doubt, but my ignorance continued to be blissful and my confidence held me up.  As I hit the line to run Lava, all the way through the last wave, my grin could not have taken up anymore real estate on my face.  The monkey was gone!  I felt a pat on the back from Miki and knew she was proud.  Later, as we stopped for lunch, I spent a few minutes alone sitting on my raft wallowing in my rowing accomplishments on the river.  I knew the big ones were over and the trip was almost complete.  As I was sitting there, the sun warming me as I looked upstream at yet another post card view, I felt all was okay with the direction I’d been heading since Miki’s passing.  Moving on.  She has and I am too.

Me entering Lava Falls...

Me peeing my pants.

Me pooping my pants.

Me peeing and pooping my pants simultaneously!  Multitasking!

The "monkey" is almost off!

"Moving on!"

And now I am bringing the last 32 years, the last nine months, and the last three weeks to a “see ya later” place, not a “goodbye” point.  I wrote the following one night before closing my eyes to the stars.  It represents what Miki has given me.

These days through the canyon have been experienced through many eyes, each looking from different points of view.  Each of us brought everything we’ve ever done with us and it’s shaped how we’ve seen the canyon these last few weeks.  For some of us it’s the challenge of the whitewater, a bucket list check-off, an escape from our routine, a leg of a journey, or all of the above.  I wouldn't change the way I’ve run one rapid, change the words of one conversation I’ve shared on my raft, or stopped the wind storms that filled my tent with sand.  These experiences have been packed in my baggage and will go with me wherever I go and continue to shape how I view my daily life, my next adventure, and those I choose to surround me.

One of the reasons I came to the canyon was to fulfill the last goal Miki and I set together.  I thought I would bring something of hers and leave it behind, but instead I’m taking something of hers away with me.  Miki came to appreciate everything she experienced.  The good and the not so good through her cancer treatment and in the end she embraced the unknown.  To her, everything was all good or in her words…perfect.  It makes us who we are.  So, throughout this time on the river, I’ve tried to view everything as good.  Each “hole” that invited me in, each eddy that grabbed my raft and turned me around, and each person that accompanied me on this adventure…may we all continue to add to our baggage.  It’s not a bad thing.  It’s all good.

My Zen from the Canyon:  When it’s time, it will happen.

My Zen from Miki:  It’s all perfect.

Bon Voyage!

Yes...a selfie with a Tucumcari sign...I'd been in a car for 9 hours...it's what you do!

These last three weeks have found my emotions ebbing and flowing, like the Colorado River I’ll call home starting Sunday, for 17 days.  What? …my emotions fluctuating like a middle school girls hormones, what a surprise!  With that said, I continue to support my statement that everyday has been and is better than the last.

I left for the Grand Canyon this morning at 7:15 and 9 and 1/2 hours later, landed in Tucumcari, New Mexico for the night.  Route 66 is tattooed on most buildings and in every direction I turned, as I drove around town, after checking in at the Blue Swallow Motel.  It was easy to see the main drag in its hay day, with neon lighting up the evening, while tourist checked in for the night.  Tonight, I am one of those tourists, but the neon is less prevalent, since Hwy 40 stole the thunder from under Route 66.  Nonetheless, it is still worth a drive by.

Daylight...

Nightlight...

The whole place lit up at night

My bungalow.

This last week, or should I say 4 days, was devoted to packing.  I thought I would be ready in two days and have a couple to relax before heading out.  The extra two days were used to consolidate, weed out, pack, and repack numerous times.  Its hard to prepare for anything, mostly weather related, when I have limited space.  We’re supposed to have one large and one small dry bag.  I have an extra smallish one.  The more I take, the heavier the raft becomes.  The heavier the raft, the less maneuverable, along with I’m sure other disadvantages to rowing an aircraft carrier on moving water.  Less is more…wait, I don’t get that saying.  Let’s say, less is better!

Of course, since this will most likely be my one and only bucket trip down the canyon, I purchased a GoPro camera and more crap to go with it than I ever imagined, to record the good  (and not so much of the bad and ugly).  I must say they are incredible pieces of technology.  Of course there is the point and shoot camera I use for blog pics.  And then there are the scores of batteries to last almost 3 weeks for both cameras.  I’m not even taking my good digital.  That would have required it’s own raft!

Clothes and gear made up the bulk of my dry bag space.  There are river clothes, camp clothes, hiking clothes, and probably missing clothes I forgot.  All I know is that I will either become good at rinsing out my clothes or I’ll be sitting alone a lot in the evenings around the fire.  I’ll get some trained eyes on my stuff in the next day or two before a final packing.

I’m anxious to meet the other 15 water adventurers, of which I only know a few.  I’m anxious to see how my few hours of practice on a smaller raft, a year ago, will translate to bigger, faster water and hundreds more pounds of weight, spread over more square footage.  They tell me I can (old coaching tactic).  Therefore, I will!

Now of course, that leaves Miki.  I have her little blue, stocking cap she wore last year to keep her beautiful, bald head warm.  I’ll be wearing it at night and in the cool morning hours before we hit the water trail.  Of course I will be looking over at the paddle raft, where she would have taken her place, as she would have dug into the rapids to keep herself and the raft steady.  She’ll be with me as she is with you.  In 4 days, I’ll see the beauty of the canyon and I’ll feel the beauty of her soul, as she sits beside me.  This trip, that has been over a decade in the making, is about to become as real as it gets.

My Zen from the Road:  It is hard to imagine participating in this trip without Miki.  And with the love and support towards this trip from family and friends I have received, it is hard to imagine doing it without you as well.  Just like the impressions our friends carry with them of us when we are apart, I will be carrying you with me.  If you feel a little adrenaline rush one day or maybe an inspirational feeling of sorts, it may be me channeling to you an exciting trip down a rapid or a particularly beautiful sunset.  Just know that you have been an important piece of this journey too.

P.S.  Due to no internet in the canyon, I’ll be sharing the adventure after the fact, upon returning home…see you on the blog after March 25 sometime!  Bon voyage!