 River Trip June 24 – 28, 2001 Adrift Adventures, Moab, Utah Sheryl, Jeff, Brian and I arrived in Moab the day before our trip was scheduled and spent the afternoon sightseeing and shopping for T-shirts. Day 1: We met the outfitter at 7:am and transferred the gear to the raft, boarded a van and traveled approximately 20 minutes to the take-out point. The morning was calm and already becoming quite warm. As our guide was preparing the boat and gear for launching Jeff and I noticed an object, red in color floating toward us. It approached lazily carried along by the slow current. As it drew near, we realized it was a sleeping bag. Jeff decided to rescue the poor thing and swam a few feet to retrieve it. He found that it was of excellent quality and in good condition. He asked if he could keep it, as the real owner was unlikely to claim it. Jeff was really pleased with his ‘river booty’. Within a few minutes we were ready to board the raft and begin our trip. The first few hours were spent leisurely, conversing with our guide, (Franco) and getting to know each other. He acquainted us with some common river terminology, for example, smiley breaks are pee breaks and it was easy to imagine why that particular tern is used. The port-a-potty is called ‘the groover’. Franco explained previous devises put grooves in one’s behind, so the tern ‘groover’. The Colorado was low, warm and greenish brown in color and in that section quite wide, perhaps 100 yards. The canyon walls were fascinating. Wind, sand and water have conspired together to create fantastic formations. The face of the canyon walls were either flat as if some giant hand had taken a knife and sliced them as cleanly as bread, or so broken, split and cracked that they look as if the whole towering wall could crumble into a massive heap at any moment. The color was red, yet so varied in the hues that it was in no way monotonous, but very beautiful. Lunch was a simple affair, but very tasty. The guide provided excellent Swiss and Cheddar cheeses for our sandwiches. We arrived at our campsite by late afternoon. Franco chose an island, partly covered in Tamarack trees with a long sand bar. It was hot and we went into the river often to cool-off. When the sun went behind the rim of the canyon Jeff and Brian played horseshoes and Frisbee. Dinner was wonderful. Halibut with orange sauce, corn on the cob, fresh salad and pumpkin pie for dessert! We spent a pleasant evening together reminiscing about our childhood and laughing at the crazy things we did. It was wonderful being with them. Day 2 I awoke very early, before daylight. The morning was incredibly lovely. I watched the canyon slowly lighten and change from soft violets to ever deepening red. I prayed and thanked the Lord for this opportunity to enjoy such beauty. Desert birds were singing, infact making quite a racket, but their chirps, cries and screeching only added to the enjoyment of the moment. Breakfast was great. We had French toast, ham and fresh melon. We were underway early. The wind had already begun to rise and was cool in the shadows. Beyond the canyon walls towering mesas were visible and the aspect of the canyon began to change. The walls were becoming lower and the dissecting canyons broader with desert vegetation on the slopes. Mid-morning we stopped for a hike to see pictographs and granaries from the Anasazi era. Franco seemed knowledgeable on every subject pertaining to this area, flora, fauna, wildlife, geology and ancient Native American cultures. The view from the granaries was incredible. We stopped for lunch beneath high cliff walls with shelving ledges over the river. We ate our lunch under such a ledge in the cool shade. Mid-afternoon we again stopped for a short hike to view a pictograph and a small granary. We each took a turn at the oars today. Jeff seemed to enjoy rowing and did so for a few miles. My attempt was comical. I had the strength to propel the boat, but not the skill to keep it straight with bow pointed down stream. Franco was amazing. He could row tirelessly for hours even with a strong wind blowing up the canyon. He is young, mid-twenties, personable, and deeply bronzed by the sun. He kept us laughing with tales of his adventures and anecdotes of the stupid things people have done. Our campsite for the night was located on a small sandy beach at a bend in the river. The river flowed lazily at this point, but what took my breath away was the opposite shore, which was a cliff wall perhaps 400 feet high with one section broken away leaving large, key-like holes. The effect was stunning. My photograph of the first morning rays of the sun upon the wall should be beautiful. Camp was pleasant and dinner excellent. Franco made dutch-oven cake. It was really good! The mosquitoes were troublesome, but finally at dark left us in peace. Sheryl and I were desperate for a bath, so we grabbed a bucket, soap and towel and walked down the beach to a secluded spot. We bathed hurriedly as we were trying to wash, rinse, get dressed and fend off mosquitoes at the same time. Mental note: When spraying insect repellant on arms, legs, etc., do not forget to spray my butt. One of the highlights of this camp was the mud. I suppose it was sediment deposited by the receding river, and not yet dried by the sun. It was not squishy or slimy, but soft, cool, spongy. I wanted to run, jump and play in it, but I curbed my childlike exuberance and merely walked about enjoying the feel of it. I resolved at some later time to ponder why this mud gave me such simple pleasure. Day 3 The morning dawned cloudy, cool with a few sprinkles of rain. We were on the river early as the target campsite was a few miles below the confluence of the Green and Colorado Rivers. The wind rose early and at times was very strong. Mid-morning we disembarked for a hike over a saddle approximately 400 vertical feet high. At this point the river makes a sharp S turn called a gooseneck. Franco left us to row around the bend, (1/2 of the S turn) and would pick us up on the other side. This part of the canyon was extremely broken with house-sized boulders littering the slopes. The trail was good although in some places steep. The view from the saddle was breathtaking! This forbidding and austere landscape is truly beautiful. We stopped for lunch at the confluence and watched the two rivers become one as we ate. We were all starved and made semi-gourmet sandwiches. We piled potato-salad, sliced bar-b-q chicken, lettuce, tomato, onion, cheese, guacamole and anything else we could find between two pieces of bread and wolfed them down, and then finished off the remainder of the dutch-oven cake. After lunch we entered Cataract Canyon. The red-walled canyon had given way to sloping gray limestone; much eroded and in one section there was an exposed cliff wall that looked like and ancient temple ruin, long abandoned with its pillars, columns and stones broken and scattered about by the careless hand of time, eons of time. We put on our lifejackets in preparation for our first whitewater. Franco instructed us on safety and the do’s and don’ts. The weather had cleared somewhat at lunch and seemed perfect for running the rapids. Though the river was low we still expected some thrills. The first four rapids were fun, but probably not anything over a class three. The sky had begun to darken and the clouds looked threatening as we approached rapid number 5. Suddenly, the wind blasted up the canyon into our faces bringing hard, pelting rain. A summer thunderstorm burst upon us. The wind was so strong, perhaps 35 + miles and hour that even in a strong current the raft was at a standstill in the water. We ran # 5, which is probably a class four, but the strong wind and driving rain greatly diminished the fun. Once through the rapid Franco scrambled to get our rain-gear, we were all one big goose-bump, but we still had smiles on our faces. The storm passed in few minutes and soon thereafter we reached camp, which was a welcome sight. Within minutes the boat was unloaded and we dug dry clothes out of our dry-bags and hurriedly changed. I found this campsite to be especially beautiful. Jeff, Sheryl and I walked down the beach, it extended around the bend and there part of the rocky riverbed was exposed. Jeff was crawling about looking for geological treasures and we were all fascinated by the story of the river written upon the faces of the rocks. Franco joined us and informed us about some of the fossils we had discovered. Our evening meal was excellent, salmon, fresh salad, wild rice and double chocolate brownies. Mmm! Franco is a great cook and extremely efficient. After dinner and everything was cleaned and put away He read us a wonderful poem about an infamous rapid and the tragedies of the men who were lured into trying to run it. This rapid is named after the daughter of the settler who discovered it and who was the first to be claimed by its treacherous waters; Belle Zabor. The night was clear, cool, and almost chilly. The stars came out one by one until there were millions. We watched the night sky for a while looking for falling stars. How long had it been since I had done that? It was wonderful and ministered to my soul to trade city lights for that black, velvety sky studded with countless brilliant stars. Day 4 Franco had informed us that the J-rig with three passengers was to meet us this morning and we would run the remainder of the rapids together, each giving the other rescue support if needed. The J-rig arrived about 9:am with three women aboard, all teachers. Two were from Connecticut and one from Seattle. They seemed to be having the time of their lives. Anticipation was high. We were on our way to run the famous rapids of Cataract Canyon. The canyon is aptly named for it is cut and dissected by many drainage canyons. Some were large and promised an oasis hidden somewhere beyond our reach, others were small, greatly eroded and cut deeply into the rock. There were numerous ledges and grottos formed by the torrents of water cascading down the cliff walls during the heavy rains so common in the Southwest. At a point below a formation called ‘The Dollhouse’, I imagined the upper ramparts of the cliffs to be the River Gods, stone-faced, looking austerely down upon us judging our hearts. “Do you love the river?” “Do the canyons speak to your soul?” “Do you respect what God and nature have created?” We approached the rapids with much excitement. Franco ‘s concentration was intense as he maneuvered the raft into the line he had chosen. The water dipped, peaked and crashed back upon its self. Sheryl and I gripped the ropes tightly and braced for the first wave. The raft dipped down into a smooth funnel and then up to meet the crest, water crashed over the bow, soaking us. Brian yelled, “whoo hoo!” Jeff screamed, “yea baby!” Sheryl and I both yelled, “yee haa” to the top of our lungs. The raft rose, fell, bucked and twisted with each wave until we were through the ‘rollers’. We turned to look at each other and we all had smiles from ear to ear. Franco relaxed and explained the hydraulics of the rapids. Soon, he turned and focused on what lay ahead. The next few rapids were smaller, but still fun. The ‘Big Drops’ were just ahead. I could see as we drew near that the river seemed to drop and disappear over the underwater ledges, which had been formed by massive rockslides. Franco was very serious as we approached. The holes created by the particular hydraulics of this rapid can be treacherous, and are commonly referred to as the ‘Maytag’. Sheryl and I were in front this time and our eyes widened as the raft plunged over the ledge, down into a foaming trough of water, up again to meet the crest. What a rush! I looked to the right and saw ‘the hole’, and was very glad Franco had maneuvered us away from its thrashing, roiling water. Boats could be days getting out of that spin cycle. The raft continued its bucking motion through the highest waves and then slowed to a gentle rocking as the waves lost their power. I wished there were a dozen more rapids like this one. It is the reason why I came. I must every so often do such a thing as this to satisfy my longing for adventure. The remaining rapids were somewhat smaller and not so technical. The Colorado was tame at that low level, too tame. I wanted more, bigger, higher and scarier. Perhaps, my adventuring will bring me back someday, at higher water of-course. We stopped a short distance beyond the last rapid for lunch. Franco and Josh (the guide from the J-rig) quickly unloaded the boats and prepared an excellent meal. Before continuing down the river the guides lashed our oar-boat to the J-rig as the remainder of the trip would be accomplished under power of the larger motorized raft. Franco informed us that we would reach camp in approximately five hours, so we all made ourselves comfortable. I arranged a couple of dry-bags into a makeshift recliner and Sheryl laid down beside me. Jeff and Brian were sitting or lying down in the front. The women settled in on the J-rig. There was a strong wind blowing up the canyon and the waves crashing against the bow of the J-rig sent up a continual spray of water over the teachers. They put on their rain gear and huddled together. They looked like Maine fishermen battling a Nor’ Easter. I felt sorry for them, but they made a really funny picture. We stopped frequently for smiley/swim breaks, which really helped to break-up the long trip to camp. The water was great and we had a lot of fun during our smiley breaks. The lower part of Cataract Canyon was truly majestic. We motored leisurely in the shadow of 1200-foot cliffs. Perhaps sublime describes the canyon more accurately; I think we are better people for having been there. We had a standing joke that if anyone asked the time they would be pushed off the raft. Our guide reminded us often that we were on ‘river time’. That is part of the lure and charm of the river. For, time has no meaning to a river. In such a serene setting one can re-focus on the things that are truly important. I am a little farther along in my journey of self-discovery and with God’s help closer to finding the balance in my life that I seek. We arrived at camp in late afternoon. We formed a fire-line to help Franco and Josh unload the rafts. The day was hot and Jeff, Sheryl and I sought relief from the sun in the shade of a huge boulder. We spent a couple of hours talking and playing in the sand until the sun dipped behind the canyon rim. Brian and the ladies went for a swim and I realized that the younger two were ‘checking-out’ my son. He told us the water was great and we should go in. Sheryl and I thought a bath sounded marvelous, so we grabbed our things and scrubbed off the days sweat and sand and whatever else had accumulated on our bodies. Dinner was excellent as usual and afterward we all gathered in a circle and exchanged stories and jokes. The evening was very pleasant. I sat there in the sand and watched a new moon rise above looming canyon walls, enjoying the company of my fellow river-rats. Day 5 Franco had each morning yelled, ‘coffee’ to awaken us, but this morning he bellowed ‘COFFEE’ to the top of his lungs. We were startled awake as his voice echoed through the canyons. Sheryl wanted to throw her sandal at him, but it was such a beautiful morning I found it in my heart to forgive him for making me jump out of my skin. The guides were not in a hurry, so after breakfast Jeff, Sheryl and I shared some of our journals with each other. Our perspectives and individual accounts of the trip were very different, and I enjoyed listening to their versions. We left Cataract Canyon behind and entered the canyons of Lake Powel. We motored about 2 ½ hours and stopped for an early lunch in a secluded cove. We spent a couple of hours swimming, talking and enjoying the last moments of our trip. We arrived at Hite Marina in the early afternoon. The van and trailer was waiting and the boats were loaded within a few minutes. While driving to the airstrip, Franco imparted one last bit of river terminology, ‘river pretty’. We all laughed at that, for although that term might not be exactly defined we certainly fit the description: sun-reddened skin, stringy, flat, hat-head hair, crumpled semi-filthy clothes, various scratches, bites and bruises and a fine layer of sand covering every inch of our bodies. We said our goodbyes to Lisa, Meredith, and Danielle and loaded our gear onto the six passenger Cessna for our flight back to Moab. We said goodbye to Franco and thanked him for a wonderful trip. He waved his arms over his head as our plane left the ground. From the first turn I was in awe of the beauty of the Colorado Plateau with its amazing landscape of wind and sand sculpted rock, its intricate maze of canyons and drainages, the colors of millions of years of exposed sediments. We were all taking photos as fast as our cameras could advance film. All too soon we landed at the airstrip in Canyonlands Nat. Park. There was a man waiting to take us back to Moab. Our driver turned out to be a well-known rock climber and climbing companion of a world-renowned climber who still writes and lectures. Jeff was very impressed and listened avidly to his stories. Not only did our driver tell us climbing stories but also some great history about Butch Cassidy and his gang. I wish I could remember the man’s name! We were soon at the outfitter and in a few minutes had the gear unloaded and threw it, (literally) into the back of my 4-runner. Our trip was over. We were on our way back to civilization, back to cell phones, pagers, traffic etc… My photographs will always remind me of the beauty of the canyon country and the emotions that beauty invoked, but if someone were to ask me; what did you enjoy most? What was best? I would answer, ‘river time’. Time, time spent with my son, my brother and my cousin. ____________________________________________________________ |
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