OKC Kayak Word Soup

Depending on whose groundhog you have been talking to, we may or may not have six more weeks of winter. What better time to get your kayak shopping done than a grey day of winter? Bring your tax refund money by for some outstanding deals (on the web page under kayak specials!)

Much has been happening around the shop. I am only about 12 months behind on blogging about these happenings. I could let the Grand Canyon Adventure Story drop off, allowing me to move on to other exciting topics, but I just cannot do this. We still have many exciting stories to tell from the GC. If you have not read the beginning of the story, visit the archives from last spring. Here we go…..

Grand Canyon continued……

From the day Kevin and I met up with the rest of the group, Angela had been lobbying hard for a layover day. This was understandable since she had been on the water for well over a week, battling hard winds, snow flurries, and cold temps. But, I was still fresh in the saddle and chomping at the bit to see more river miles. Day after day, the winds continued to hamper our downriver progress, which would continue to delay the layover, for yet another day. In a mini-tirade (well not actually), Angela put her foot down and insisted that we would be taking a day or two hiatus from the water.

After reminding us that we were a guest on her much prized permit, we gratefully agreed to a day of rest, water filtering, laundry, and R and R. The day had dealt us brutal up canyon winds, the sun was setting and it was time to make camp. We pulled over to shore just above a rapid where Angela had previously flipped a raft. None of us wished to deal with this scary beast at an hour in which little light was left to dry our bodies out, much less deal with righting a flipped raft. (These rafts weigh tons when all the gear is strapped to them). One by one, we lined our rafts at the most remote campsite. No other rafting parties were using this, and we were so deep in the canyon that no hiker could access this. ….Or that is what we thought.

Our much needed layover site already had an occupant. Unbelievably, a lone backpacker with not much more than a climbing rope, a small pack, and nor much of an inclination to share his campsite with a bunch or rafters, had already staked his claim to our site. This somewhat odd individual had climbed weeks into the backcountry for some solitude. He informed us that there was another camp below the rapid and we WOULD be running the rapid in the twilight. This was not what we wanted to hear.

We loaded back into the rafts, sent Randall in his cataraft down first as our sucker, uhm, I mean guinea pig. After seeing that he did not die, one by one, the rest of us continued. Angela cried just a little bit out of fear of again flipping her raft, but thankfully the rafts were self bailing, draining her tears out the bottom of the craft. Four rafts made the eddy and were now parked for more than one night.

Layover days are a great time to explore the endless number of side canyons that feed into the canyon. Hikes up these offshoots reveal amazing waterfalls, wonderful geology, and plants and critters with incredible adaptations for survival in the tough desert environment.

Will, Kevin, and I opted for a hike up to some falls. Will was a very quite, but introspective individual. You could sense his deep appreciation for the canyon and for the emotions one experiences in a place like this, just by feeling his spirit. Will opted to leave our trio after the falls in an attempt to spend some time in solitude and do some writing inspired by the mother of all inspiration. Kevin and I chose to climb a ridge for a dramatic view of the surrounding landscape. Our hike was a herpetologist’s dream, as nearly every rock harbored about 4 different species of lizards. One highlight of the trip was seeing a Chuckwalla. This lizard, about the size of a large iguana, has a special adaptation. If something is threatening it, this reptile finds a rock with a narrow crack in it, goes inside and inflates his body with air to wedge himself, preventing removal by the predator. Other members of our group were lucky enough to see rattlesnakes on their journeys.

Desert beauty was everywhere. From pastel colored spines on cactus, to flowering plants, brightly colored pollinating moths, hummingbirds, or bighorn sheep, a photograph awaited you at every step. Sunsets in the canyon were more than amazing as well. What would begin as a rest day, really had become a much greater opportunity to see the canyon in depth. I now would eagerly await the next “Rest Day.”

I am at the Tulsa boat show this week, so I promise to do loads of blogging. Come back later and I will reveal the culprit behind mysterious mischief in the canyon. Find out what happened when idle hands in the canyon decide to prank another in the group.

Subject: Life is Good or Else!

Optimists,
Stop reading this right now if you have recently experienced any of
the following:

A. The sky has fallen in your back yard
B. Your glass is half empty
C. You just went back to Home Depot to buy a new Tear Bucket
D. Everyone is picking on you E. All of the above (a.k.a. your attitude stinks!!!)
OKC Kayak has Oklahoma City’s largest selection of Life Is Good and Good Karma T-shirts, ballcaps, mugs, stickers, pajamas and so much more. Help a starving kayaker and his “bride to be” from going hungry this fall, and send all your friends over to buy a bunch of these witty items. They make great inexpensive gifts that your friends and family will actually appreciate receiving. We have Life is Good stuff for kayakers, cyclists, fishermen, golfers, football fans, hikers, and folks enjoying the fine things in life that so many others overlook. Help us pass the word on to as many people as you know, or else Casey and I will have to spend our honeymoon under the new I-40 overpass.

As always, “Life is Good!”

Dave and Crew from OKC Kayak 220 N. Western Ave.
Oklahoma City, OK 73106
405.830.9689

Today Mayor Cornett announced that MAPS III, if approved will include a whitewater kayak park and numerous improvements for flatwater kayaking and racing. Whitewater kayak parks have been highly successful in other states. Not only do they provide for recreational opportunities, but they also are fun even if you are just a spectator. Just imagine what this will do for the image of Oklahoma City. It is expected to go to a vote before the citizens of Oklahoma City on December 8th. I would encourage all of you that are eligible to do so, to vote in this election. For more information, go to www.okc.gov.

Have you ever honked at that little old lady who was taking just a wee bit long at the intersection crosswalk?  Tripped a small child then laughed?  Gotten a little greedy and fished a five spot out of the collection basket at church?  Sat beside the hungry homeless guy whom you just told you spent your last dime, while eating a juicy double quarter pound burger, pot belly overlapping your belt?

Of course you have not.  Uh, Uh, and neither have I.
Anyway, if you are just a darn nice person, or have some bad karma to repent for, we need your help.  OKC Kayak sponsors the largest indoor kayaking pond in the universe each year at the Oklahoma Wildlife Expo.  The expo is the state’s largest outdoor and recreational event with loads of free fun for all ages.  Our part of this annual event, the kayaking booth, is held inside the Lazy E Arena, is free to the public, and is wildly popular.  We will put about 15,000 kiddos in kayaks over a three day period.  This will be held September 25, 26, and 27th (Friday, Saturday, and Sunday).  Hours are 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. each day.
Here is how you can help.  We put this on at no charge, but it takes a darn lot of volunteers (20 plus folks round the clock) to make this happen.  It is extremely rewarding to see all the smiles kids have when trying kayaking for the first time.  We need folks to help put on lifejackets and to corral kids on the water.  No kayaking experience is necessary.  You can sign up for a four hour (or less) block of time, all day or the entire weekend.  We really need folks on Friday when the school kids come out if your schedule allows, or anytime the rest of the weekend.

I will feed you and provide plenty of hot coffee (if you still trust me) which will keep the folks wading in the pond warm.  This is tons of fun!  If you need another bribe.  All non employees of OKC Kayak will be eligible to win loads of free lessons, rentals, gear, and even a kayak to be given away on-site all weekend long.

Let me know what time slot you are able to commit to.  This is a great project for your church, school, scout, or corporate group needing some community volunteer hours.
Many thanks in advance!

Dave Lindo
OKC Kayak Retail Store
220 N. Western Ave.
Oklahoma City, OK 73106

405.830.9689

dave@okckayak.com
www.okckayak.com

Kayak guide seeks new career:

(a.k.a. Would you like fries with that kayak?)

Who’d thunk that they would have remembered? I have been working since the age of eight, often holding down three jobs simultaneously, and in all this time, I can only recall about two jobs that I have just flat out quit without giving a two weeks notice.

Back on September, 13th of 1992, I found myself locked inside the McDonalds restaurant on MacArthur Avenue and Northwest Expressway. There were supposed to be five other people working that evening, yet my lazy manager had just informed me that I was the only one stupid enough to show up for this job paying $3.35 an hour. My task was to clean the entire restaurant by myself. The hour was already 2 a.m., I had school and my other job, an early morning donut shop career to be at in a few hours. The place was still long from being clean. I sat wondering how the heck I could get out of this. The doors were deadbolted on both sides with access available only with the manager’s key. This key sat in the locked office where the manager had gone to sleep off her tryptophan, Diet Coke, and Big Mac induced coma.

Meanwhile, I was measuring up the drive through window, to see if somehow, I might be able to squeeze my way through. Gleefully, out the window, I imagined the look on my boss’s face when she awoke at 4 a.m. I made a run for my oxidized ’82 Buick LeSabre. ….. and I only went back for my paycheck. Who would have thought that this would have nixed my recent attempts to get rehired by the Golden Arches?

Next on my job hunting to do list was Little Caesar’s Pizza. I might not have an I-pod to jam out to, but I do own a pair of fuzzy earmuffs that kind of look like stereo walkman headphones. Plus, I kind of think I have got some nice hip-hop moves to display on the corner intersection. Surely they would show me a little employment love. They balked when I let it slip that I had earned a high school diploma. “It is Piedmont High School, that does not really count as graduating,” I pleaded in desperation for a paying job.

By this time, I was starting to get hungry, and still had no lake to conduct our activities on, so I spread a blue tarp out in the parking lot of the kayak shop, painted a few lily pads on it, and tried tricking folks into thinking they were on the water. Sadly, our nearly 103 years old kayaker (Really!), Peanut Jones was the only one to fall for this, and the guilt from preying upon this old gal with cataracts on her eyeballs was too much for me to bear.

Desperate, I reentered negotiations with the City to try and resolve the new rules for doing business at Lake Hefner. We had meeting after meeting and finally came up with a compromise. I am renaming the business “ The City of OKC Kayak”, and signed an agreement stating that I will not put sugar in their gas tanks. Seriously, while nothing is a done deal just yet, we do have a gentlemen’s agreement that allows us to be back out at the lake until everything is finalized.

(Many, many heartfelt thanks for all of you who have assisted in this process. I have yet to get a chance to thank each of you personally, but your friendship is the ultimate reason I love kayaking so much.) I humbly need one more favor now that this is officially on the Oklahoma City Water Utilities Trust agenda, August 18^th at 2 p.m.). A large show of support at this meeting will be favorable to our long-term presence at the lake.

So for now, it looks like I am resigned to my old career of trying to make a living as a kayak guide. I do have a backup plan though. I hear that there is still a Ryan’s Steakhouse in town. Surely they won’t remember me permanently walking out the door when their bad-breathed manager asked me if I was going to pay for the complimentary mint I was trying to leave with!

That said, fellowship on the lake continues. Come join us for a Tuesday or Thursday social paddle or early morning workout paddle. We are now relegated to the eastern shore of Hobie Point. Basically you enter at the same spot and veer right at the fork in the road rather than left. If you are bringing your own boat, you are welcome to launch from wherever you please. Thank you in advance for your continued respect towards all the user groups at the lake. This is the true spirit of kayakers.

“Let the kayak be the vessel that brings you closer to nature, provides for fellowship and friends, helps you reconnect with family, and causes you to pause and reflect on the great value your life can add to others .”

Most Humbly,

Dave Lindo and all of OKC Kayak

First of all - THIS ISN’T DAVE!

I’m sure you’ll realize this once you’ve made it thorough a few sentences and the context actually makes sense - probably for the first time since this mess began.  What do I mean by mess you ask?  Well Dave hasn’t been the same since he got involved with OKC Kayak.  No, he hasn’t gotten any smarter, he’s always been a joker, and he’s pretty much just as broke as he was when I met him (just a little more in debt at present) but he now has a purpose in life.

That being said, I’d better explain further.  Dave has always been about nature and doing the right thing whenever possible, almost to a fault, but now he has a little structure and responsibility in his life.  The structure comes from owning a business and the responsibility is you.  Yes every one of you in the OKC Kayak community.

It’s hard to see from San Diego what he has done for the paddling community in OK but by simply reading your reviews and checking out the “In the News” page, I know he’s heading in the right direction.  I’ve always been a true believer in maximizing a skill set through research and instruction.  This not only helps to enjoy a sport but additionally lessens the chance of injury and potential errors in judgement from the unknown.

Kayaking is one of those sports where you can learn something new every day no matter what your skill level.  I’m not talking about spending all your time in lessons but rather getting out there and paddling.  I have learned much from other paddlers just by watching them paddle and trying to figure out a funny movement in their stroke.  By paying attention to your own paddling and analyzing each others stroke, you’re bound to improve.  You can move on to your next skill without being an expert in most things but kayaking is a repetitive sport so it’s a good idea to keep on top of your strokes in order to avoid injury.

I’m starting to babble so I’ll drop off.  Dave has control to remove this (if he even notices I put it here) but I feel obligated to mess with him as he is slacking in his blogging duties.  I’ll be back from time to time with inside scoops on Dave and the dark life outside his professional portrayal.

Check back often and you might just catch one of these blurbs when Dave’s not looking - or more like when he’s not quick enough to catch it. . .

Respectfully submitted - KAW (SD)

I’ll leave you with a couple of candid shots:

Another continuation of my Grand Canyon adventure story follows below. Read the whole story from the beginning by going back about a half dozen blogs or so. Thanks for reading!

In today’s blog we take a trip back to the day before this whole adventure trip began. Unbeknownst to many of you, days before the trip was to begin I proposed to my best friend, Casey. After much indecision on her part and a scouring of my doctored balance sheets, she happily agreed.

One of Casey’s first orders of business was to swear me off fast food and the fast women as well. Actually this is one of her jokes. (She not only shares the same sick and twisted sense of humor, but is an intelligent naturalist.) For those of you who are wondering, yes, this is the same hard working Casey from the kayak shop. After her status change, we both agreed that it would be better for me to fire her. She now volunteers at the shop in exchange for heavy petting. Casey claims that if the petting does not get any better, she is going to have to request her salary back.

Par for the course, Casey delivered to me yet another one of her creative greeting card creations just prior to my trip. The envelope seemed a little thicker than normal, so I tore it open, gave the card a good shake, and watched for what I had hoped would be some cash to fall out. Sadly, it wasn’t, and just as I was about to toss the card in the trash without reading it, I took a closer look. Although there clearly was not any money inside her card, there was in fact about $4.50 worth or scotch tape she had used as an impromptu laminate for a picture of herself. This was Casey’s idea of waterproofing. Written on the back were the words, “FLAT CASEY, 2009 ADVENTURE BUDDY SERIES.” Apparently this is the first in a series of her very own adventure buddy trading cards and my virtual substitute in her absence since her work schedule would not allow for her to join us. After admonishing her for including a picture of herself wearing a stocking cap and wool overcoat rather than a skimpy little bikini, I proceeded to read the card. The card included lots of mushy things about how strong, handsome, smart, and humble of a man I am, then included a disclaimer, or sort of warning if you may. “FLAT CASEY WATERPROOFING IS NOT UNDER WARRANTY AND SHOULD NOT BE A PERMANENT SUBSTITUTE FOR ROUND CASEY!”

I tucked Flat Casey and the card into my waterproof ammo can for safekeeping.  Part of the reason for this was so that Kevin would not find it.  I did not want to catch him alone in the tent with this, testing out the waterproofing.  I would only pull Flat Casey out when I started to miss the round version, which ended up being about every half hour or so.  Actually there was another occasion or two when she reared her head on the trip.  This little 2D figurine made appearances made appearances in the group photo, a shot of camp, in a cave on the cliff wall, and half submerged at the base of a waterfall.  Casey swears that this waterfall photo of Flat Casey surrounded by bubbles and froth was really taken in the Flagstaff airport restroom urinal, but I can assure you that it was not.  Kevin did manage to stage a photo of Flat Casey atop the insides of the Groover though. One way or another, Casey was about as close to being actually on the trip as one could be, if not in person, in spirit instead.

All right, we are back on track to tell some more Grand Canyon tales. Read several blogs below to start from the beginning.

We were huddled up in camp making a lengthy process out of breakfast since we had pulled into camp last night in the rain and wind. The wind in particular had dealt us misery more than a time or two on this trip. One day it was so windy that I swear we saw the condensation trail of a jet ten minutes before we even saw the plane. We regularly, would be getting blown back upstream in the canyon, despite putting a second rower on the oars sitting face to face with the first rower. Even when the oars were out of the water, we often could barely pull these through the air. Our best hope at times was to try and lodge the raft in a crack of the canyon wall to arrest our negative progress while waiting out the wind gusts.

Sand now infiltrated all of our clothes, gear, and every crack and crevice in our bodies. In addition to this, all the silt in the river constantly abused our hands. We had every ointment known to man and animal on board. Hoof and heal, Vaseline, lotions, udder creams, diaper rash ointments and more were constantly applied to the cracks and sores on our hands.

We should have already been on the river, because the recent winds had put us a bit behind our proposed itinerary, but tending our wounds and sore muscles while partaking in a third cup of hot coffee seemed a bit more appropriate today. The twenty something female backpacker whom we had met at the far end of our beach the night before, approached our camp from a side trail. “I hear you guys might be willing to share your groover.” For the record, I did not say a damn word. I am certain that it was one of the other guys who had now been deprived of his wife or girlfriend for weeks, that nodded his head in agreement. To all of us, this seemed like the Cardinal sin of the canyon. Not only would we be packing out our poop, but some stranger’s as well. With toilet paper in hand, she proceeded towards our outdoor restroom. She returned ten minutes later with a larger than life smile on her face. To add insult to injury, her three male friends made this same processional past us with their bathroom accoutrements in hand, thanking us profusely. As soon as they were out of earshot, each of us began interrogating the group, trying to find out who gave them the green light to fill up our rocket box. This would continue for the next several days, until Bruce finally cracked. He hemmed and hawed in a feeble attempt to try and explain that he had not directly granted them access to our metal throne, having merely suggested that the National Park folks ask raft groups to help backpackers out in such a way. We would have ostracized him accordingly if not for the fact that he is such a darn nice guy. (Plus, this same guy was instrumental in the recent passage of one of the largest Wilderness bills ever. Go Bruce!)

After we finally broke camp, we returned to the rafts. Steve was going to do some kayaking today. He and Angela had been bombing down the canyon in their new Liquid Logic Remix 69 kayaks. These high volume boats are just what the Grand calls for, and are outfitted with padding and features beyond belief. Fear had regaled me to riding in the raft. I was not quite brave enough to get into the kayaks.

The view from the raft was quite splendid. Multicolored hues of the many geological layers of canyon wall were as varied as the kaleidoscope. These changed with not only the river miles, but also the differing light cast over the course of the day. Light in the canyon also varied depending on the direction the canyon was facing. The high canyon walls caused the sun disappear behind the rim quite early in the day. Some spots in the canyon only receive direct sunlight a few months out of the year.

One of my favorite parts of the canyon was the giant amphitheatres. These concave depressions in the cliff walls were often large enough to house a giant shopping mall. Every time I saw one, I would start to daydream about the Native American families who may have sought refuge under these giant overhangs. Occasionally the imagination was treated with a dose of reality, as the occasional bighorn sheep appeared alongside the river.

Periods of relaxation on the river were always overshadowed by the spiral bound waterproof book which was strapped into the raft in reach of the rower. It goes without saying that our lives pretty much depended on this. In this book were words of wisdom from the folks that had a lot more intimate knowledge of the river than us. These river guides would not only rate the rapids and waterfalls, but offer some suggestions and guidance as to some of the more amicable ways to negotiate your way through. One route may be applicable at certain water level and another at others. Landmarks were described with the most colorful vernacular to try and help acquaint the captain of the raft and aid in picking a line. Horns, fangs, tongues, schist, holes, and more were aimed for, split, or avoided all together. Sinister names for the rapids usually were the byproduct of another’s misfortune. I had my fingers crossed that the next printing of the river guide made no mention whatsoever of a guy named Dave Lindo.

The veterans of the group added many a story of their own from the past to the vivid descriptions of the book. Usually the recounting ended with them telling about how they flipped a raft, lost some gear or damaged something beyond repair. One such flip was owned by Angela. She had flipped her raft in Upset Rapids the last time she was here. Upset was right around the corner, and I am not speaking of just my stomach.

We stopped at the top of the rapid once again for a scouting mission. It was interested to hear every raft captain speak of how he was going to make his approach. Most rafters point directly towards the hazard so that they can have a more powerful backstroke pulling them further away (it is easy to pull the oars than it is to push them). Sometimes they would speak of bouncing off this and glancing off that, catching the edge of a hole or haystack. The overall objective was typically the same, to nimbly and cautiously weave your way around the hazards while avoiding the flip.

Tom always seemed to have a different idea. “Hey guys, I think I will pull out the paddles and have you help me power through this one.” “Sure thing Tom,” we verbally replied. What we really were thinking inside our heads was, “Are you effing crazy, you want me to take my hands off the rope?” To do so was like trying to ride a bucking bull bareback with your hands up in the air. To make matters worse, I was trying to document some of this with my waterproof camera, which again necessitated that I take my hands off the O’Crap rope.

We lined up for the rapid. Some of the group remained onshore with river rescue throw bags in hand. They would act as our safety if something horrendous should happen. Tom was a powerful rower, and as many of us, had put in some extra physical conditioning prior to the trip. His order to us were strict, “Don’t start paddling until I say so.” With tension in his voice, he commanded us, “Okay guys, paddle, PADDLE, PADDDLLLLE!” The raft dropped directly into the first hole, the hole that all the other raft captains spoke of avoiding. The nose of the raft was plunging deeper and deeper below the surface, our hands still had no purchase on the raft. “PADDLE!!!!!” The recurling wave hit our chest like a sumo wrestler, knocking us down into the floor of the raft while simultaneously temporarily removing the sunlight. Luckily the extra speed the paddles had helped us acquire now had us riding up the backside of the gigantic standing wave. “HIGH SIDE, HIGHSIDE!!!!” Tom frantically uttered. This was a command which we all knew good and well how to translate. “OH SHIT, WE ARE ABOUT TO FLIP!” We hit the lurching, now vertical, raft with the tackle of a linebacker, and the prayers of a monk. Today was not our day….. not our day to die. The raft was up and over the crest of the wave, and we were still upright. “WAHOOOO!  OH YEAHHHHH!”  Everyone was giddy with excitement for not flipping the raft.  We negotiated the remainder of the rapid, finding an eddy at the bottom where we would hang out until the rest of our group made it safely through.

Meanwhile Steve was doing a crazy good job in the kayak. Everything is magnified so much greater in the kayaks, the waves bigger, the holes meaner, and the eddylines trickier. Most of all, the consequences for making mistakes is a lot larger. Steve would disappear behind waves only to appear again seconds later. He was cranking out the paddlestrokes in a fierce effort to position his kayak where he needed to be on the river. Twice he would go upside down, only to return upright in a perfect combat roll (this is the real deal, rolling in an actual non practice situation). His smile at the bottom of the rapid told the whole story. He was loving every minute of this. And, I meanwhile was beginning to get a little jealous and anxious to get off the raft and into a kayak.

Dave Meeks was the next boat to enter the rapid. Again, he had gone so far as to hire a personal trainer prior to the trip. Embarrassingly, this fifty something year old man would constantly ask the ladies in the group if they wanted to feel his biceps. Like the rest of us, his boat lurched and then landed left to right, right to left. The last haystack of the rapid proved to be too much for his crew. Call it “Karma” but the only guy who got launched overboard and the only person to take an unexpected swim the entire trip was the man who earlier in the day had gotten weak in the knees giving in to the cute smile of the twenty year old girl, granting her group permissions for our Groover.

Being in the water of the Colorado is quite serious business. In addition to all the realized hazards of hydraulics, boulders, foot entrapment, pinnings, undercut rocks, etc, etc., there is also the undeniable danger of the extremely cold waters. Bottom line here folks, if you are in more than a few minutes you die! Luckily Bruce had been paying above fair wages to his daughter’s allowance fund, so Lauren quickly grabbed him by his lifejacket straps. Now the challenge was going to be how in the world she would get him over the high sides of the slippery raft. Apparently she still had some childhood animosities towards her father, because once in this position of power, controlling whether or not the man lived or died, she proceeded to push him down further into the water. At the point which his entire face was under the surface (and I believe Bruce probably reluctantly uttered MERCY, MERCY!), she threw her weight back into the raft and the buoyancy of his lifejacket helped rocketed him skyward, landing him safely aboard. It would now be Lauren’s turn to ask the group if they wanted to feel her biceps. Bruce on the other hand, would not need the Groover tonight, because he had already crapped his pants.

As many of you are aware, I am a biologist and naturalist by training. This interest was sparked by a 17 year plus stint as a volunteer for Martin Park Nature Center. They could not get rid of me, so they reluctantly hired me, and I worked there for an additional 6 or seven years.

Yeah, I know what you are thinking. You are running the numbers in your head and probably saying to yourself. “Dave, you are only 33 years old. Who was your math teacher?” Yep, at eight years of age I joined the youth volunteer program at the nature center. Neil Garrison was not only the director of the park, but my hero and mentor. Many of you may better know him as the guy with the live owl that sat in his office and would accompany him on a multitude of speaking engagements. Neil’s reign as director ended today with his retirement after over three decades of service to the City of Oklahoma City and this urban nature park.

Neil was and still is the epitome of what someone’s hero truly should be. We far too often seem to offer up misplaced idolatry for folks who perhaps excel at athletics yet lack ethics, or for folks who are great singers yet fail to be the voice for anyone other than themselves. Let me tell you folks, it does not take superpowers, flashy stuff, or oversized egos to make gargantuan differences in this world.

Naturalists by trade are knowledgeable on all things, not just one specialized area of nature. Neil is particularly well versed on this stuff. But, a bunch of facts and figures are just that if you do not have an effective and creative way to impart this knowledge on others. Neil used his creative wit and humor to effectively do this. Combine this with a passion for nature that is absolutely contagious, and you have a true winner. I think the thing that really set Neil apart from his many peers and colleagues in the field was the fact that he never let his “job” be confined to the written job description he was handed when he signed up. He never let the time clock or a paycheck determine when he should start or stop working for the day.

I was three when Neil had his first day of work at the park, but I am guessing that nowhere in the job description did it say, “You must take a personal interest in the visitors and volunteers, take personal care of and concern for kids who cross your path that may have a less than desirable family life, and you are required to carry your concern for nature into your personal life and free time, volunteering for endless conservation organizations.” Nope, probably did not say any of this, but Neil did this nonetheless.

Who is going to be the one to step up and take that little boy whose world may be filled with far too many painful things than a kid should have to think about on a camping trip? Who will have the patience to let a lonely child explore the subterranean world of a cave? Who will get the little girl off the couch and out from in front of the television so she can catch amphibians from a farm pond under the glow of a flashlight? Did anyone notice every Fourth of July when Neil was out in the 100 degree plus temperatures at the fourth of July parade with a gargantuan snake for kids to interact with? We you aware that Neil on his own dime would rescue hawk babies and find a suitable foster nest for these orphans? Is a guy who befriends an overlooked autistic man, regularly taking him to dinner on his sparse naturalist salary hero material? I would sure like to think so. The way Neil carried his work well beyond the obligatory 9-6 was what spoke volumes to me. Nobody was paying him for these extras. He could have picked a career that was far more lucrative as well, but he let his heart follow his passions. When is the last time you thanked a man or woman for doing such?

Neil Garrison, thank you for everything you did to inspire me, care for not only me, but scores of others, thank you for being the kind of man that a kid can look up to and wish to be like. We need more people like you. My promise is to let your kindness, passion and enthusiasm be carried forward in exponential ways through myself and so many others whose lives you have touched. With tears in my eyes, a world of thanks! You changed the outcome of my life.

This blog is part of a series from my Grand Canyon trip.  Start from the beginning by reading the last three entries or so first.

Again sorry for the lengthy delay.  Word has it that several of you have your friends hooked into this like it is an episode of Days of Our Lives or some other soap opera.  I figure that if I wait a week or two between journal entries, this will cause you to visit the site seven times instead of one, which will in turn increase our website ranking.  Just kidding.  I have just been busy as always.   Here it goes…..

Visiting the canyon comes with all the biggies that folks expect like the great scenery, big waters, remoteness, etc.  It is the planning, logistics, and unglamourous details that often get overshadowed.  Fortunately, Dave Meeks, Angela, Steve, and others had done the lions share of the legwork in arranging gear, planning meals, and so much more.

One of these logistical items was poop.  Yes, that is right, I am talking about crap.  Now we are all adults here (except for that little punk kid that we were speaking of in the last blog, right Hailey?), so let it be said that this whole blog is dedicated to excrement.  Don’t like it?  Skip to the next date on the blog.

Taking a dump in the wilderness is usually a pretty straight forward task.  Find a tree, squat, pee, poop, analyze, say “when did I eat corn”, bury and you are done right?  No harm done, we fed some worms and fertilized some plants.  Skip forward to the environment of the grand canyon.   …..desert, no trees, 29,000 people a year times 14 to 21 day trips times 3 plus meals a day.  I am not great at math, but even I can tell you that this equation equals a big giant mess.  Now factor in that all of our drinking water, cooking water, bathing, swimming, etc., would be taking place in this big giant flowing cess lagoon.  Yuck right.  Thankfully, the park service won’t let you leave this stuff behind.  They go so far as to check your gear before letting you in, to see if you have the proper disposal equipment.  You know all those apples, pancakes, chili dinners, cheese snacks, desserts, appetizers and more?  You got it!  This stuff is coming back home with us reincarnate as “THE BROWN BLOB!”  Packing out your poop is commonplace in places that get a lot of traffic or are really dry (nothing breaks down fast in the desert).  Even our campfires took place in a big metal firepan, so as to not leave even a single piece of wood ash behind.  Now I know this all sounds a bit gross, but believe me, I appreciated not having to be throwing down my sleeping bag on beaches littered with crap.

I know, I know, you are all wondering how in the world does a dozen peoples’ waste get transported 21 days on a bucking raft ride without ending up all over the place.  I am expert at this, as our rafts were the designated transport for “THE GROOVER.”   Think rocket box, which is a big metal army cannister for rocket propelled grenades, complete with a sealed lid, and some overbearing latches on each end.  This thing measures about 18 inches tall by 8 inches wide and 24 inches long.  A lot of turds can fit in one of these guys.  We would fill (and I do mean full) four of these dudes before our adventure was complete.  I am pretty sure that at least two of them were filled by “Big Dave” though.   When everyone elses rafts were lightening their load as more and more food was consumed, ours just kept getting heavier.  All be damned if our raft was going to get so light that we risked flipping.

It was about a week into the trip before one of the “old hands” explained how the groover got its name.  Our rocket box was complete with not only an extended piece of metal which let you really fill the box to the max, but also a full size toilet seat.  Apparently the retro versions did not have a seat at all, so it left two red grooves on your kiester.  OUCH!

Groover duty always belonged to the group that had cooked dinner the night before.  These folks now were responsible for carting around the heavy box of waste, picking a scenic but private location, and getting everything set up, cleaned up or broken down.  I am still mad at Kevin for suggesting that we should cook chili.

I must say that the training, orientation, and preparation was top notch on this trip, but Kevin and I must have been totally absent when they covered groover etiquette.  It was the second day of the trip, and I had yet to have a movement. Suddenly it was time. I began scurrying about trying to find out which one of the maze of trails carved into the brushy area adjacent to camp led to the groover site. Suddenly I saw the raft paddle which served as a directional saying “Over here!” I was quite relieved to have found this because I literally was seconds away from crapping myself. …..but, “WHAT, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FREAKIN’ KIDDING ME!” Here sat Lauren, britches at her ankle with a most content smile on her face to have beaten me to the pot. Embarrassed I dropped my head, apologized and turned. As soon as I was out of sight, I began running so fast that sand was kicking up over my head because now I really had to go. Extra shorts and a laundry mat were luxury items I did not have available to me on this trip. As soon as I found a tiny alcove behind a creosote bush I dropped my shorts and let loose. This was completely against the rules. I could have just buried it, yet my conscience would not allow. Begrudgingly I coated it with sand to absorb some of the moisture, then began to carry it with my hands back to the groover for deposit. As luck would have it, here was Lauren walking past me as she exited our wilderness bathroom. I did not speak a word. By the end of the trip, seeing someone or another taking a leak, changing clothes, or trying to catch a bath was just part of the nature of this trip since the small size of the available places to land a raft kept our party quite constrained.

It would be two days later before someone explained that if the paddle is across the trail the pooper is occupied, or parallel with the trail, empty. Another day passed before I overheard something about not peeing in the rocket box either. Number one goes exclusively in the river since the dilution factor with the large volume of water coming down the Colorado makes this a non issue. Even if you are doing number two, you cannot proceed right into number one. Otherwise the box fills too fast and is heavy and messy. So, fellow raft mates, “I have a confession… Sorry about that!!!!” I did not know the rules. After the trip was over, I still found myself not allowing myself to pee after finishing taking a dump.

A little powdered bleach intermittently sprinked into the groover did help to keep this nice and tidy. On one of the last days of the trip when I knew that it was Tom’s turn to tear down a quite full groover, I classed it up a bit by sticking a long stalked single yellow flower into the giant pile of brown. Rumor has it that he was caught bending his head down to see if it smelled pretty.

I know curiosity is about to kill you. The answer to your question is we paid $20 a box to have someone empty and wash our rocket boxes at the end of the trip. Money well spent.

(Steve had suggested a poetry night, and as maybe you have noticed, I like to express myself through writing. Sadly, I did not find the time to come up with anything in advance, so here is what I wrote for my contribution to open mic night on the river.)

I wanted this to be participatory, so I read the first part and they had to come up with the ending which is underlined.

The Groover

By Dave Lindo

I am forged in foundries in a big giant kettle. I’ll stick to a magnet because I am METAL.

This metal is shaped into a square with a lid and two heavy locks. I hold RPG’s because I am a ROCKET BOX.

My retirement ends early when you purchase me from the military store, I am now on your rafting trip and ready for more.

You open up my lid and hide me behind a rock. I served your country and now my tour of duty you mock.

You drop down your trousers with a look of scorn. My God woman who keeps feeding you CORN!

Ten people to go, the vegans number three. I am only for number two and not for PEE.

It is cold outside, but I am steaming hot, watch that tricky red pepper flakes lid before coming to the pot (We kept dumping a lot of red pepper in the food by accident)

Beans, ruffage, and chili dinners twice. Whose idea was it to keep feeding you spice?

When you are finished, you peer back inside. You are grinning ear to ear with a new father’s pride.

My name is garnered not from the food that you pass. But rather from the red lines that I used to leave on your ASS.

So next time nature calls and you start to feel a real mover, don’t say shitter, pooper, or crapper. Tell everyone you are going to the GROOVER!

Until next time, have a great week.