Grand Canyon Rafting and Kayaking (Continued)
This story is part of a series. To read from the beginning, start on the blog below dated 5/8/09.
When we last left off on the Grand Canyon story, Kevin and I had just completed the South Kaibab trail which led us from the rim to the bottom. We now were staring the chocolate milk waters of the Colorado River in the face.
Several rafting parties had passed, but our group was not around. Once you are on the river, you are cut off completely from civilization, unless you pull out the satellite phone, which is pretty much sacriligous (sp?) unless it is a dire emergency. Our hopes were that the group we were meeting up with had not been delayed by weather or other unexpected conditions. We were at their mercy, because we chose to not pack tents or other gear to save weight hiking down. Furthermore, we had no permit to camp overnight at Phantom Ranch. Enforcement of permits by the park service is pretty darn strict at the bottom of the canyon.
After crossing the giant bridge over the Colorado, Kevin and I began traversing a barely visible footpath upstream. When the trail got so steep the it was cliffed off all together, by a side canyon, we stopped. Neither of us was certain that this was the rendezvous spot., but we plopped down in the shade in view of the river, hoping that our wait would not be too long. …hoping that they would actually show.
Our hiking boots, socks, and the bottom third of our bodies were covered in the pinkish orange dust from the trail. The feet inside those boots were sore, but not blistered. It felt good to be off them, as we recounted the amazing experiences we had in this first four hours of this two week adventure while we soaked our “dogs” in the fifty degree waters of the river.
The panorama was more than one ever gets to experience from the comfort of the rim. Vistas right out of a coffee table book were around us the entire way down. Best of all, the desert was in bloom. Less than thirty minutes into the hike, Kevin was already reprimanding me for asking him to take yet another wildflower photo, or picture of a cactus blossom. “I better not run out of batteries,” he whined. Two endangered California Condors flew overhead, catching thermals off the canyon walls. At one point they nearly seemed close enough to touch. As a birder, this was truly “one for the life list.” Kevin clearly could not have told the difference if it had been a turkey vulture, so I proceeded to let him think that all the buzzards we would see on the trip were also condors. By mid canyon, we had seen dozens of lizards on the trail as well. Not bad for a day that started with snow! Kevin is not big on cussing, but I think I heard him say, “Isn’t this place effin’ awesome,” over one hundred times each hour. Even my threats of washing his mouth out with my Dr. Bronner’s biodegradable camp soap were no deterrent.
Not even twenty minutes into our daydreaming, a yellow raft harboring a middle age woman whose appearance screamed river rat, appeared from around the upstream bend. I knew instantly that this was the first of our rafting crew. This eighteen foot oar raft would subsequently be followed by another one, a sixteen, and a cataraft. The flotilla also included two Liquid Logic Remix 79 whitewater kayaks, and an inflatable kayak. We whistled to them and began to wave so they would notice us in the shade of the boulder we were hiding behind. We were more than a little relieved to find out that we were in the correct spot.
The rafts were upstream at a campsite on the other side of the river. No access to the site was available from the south side of the canyon. This meant that they had to raft downstream in the strong current of the river (nearly 13,000 cubic feet of water per second), pull over to get us, and try and ferry back upstream against the current a considerable distance. This would prove to be no problem for our fearless leaders and the bearers of the permit, David Meeks and Angela Huemmer.
The trip was an eclectic bunch from all walks of life. Only a couple of us were not Prescott College grads. My understanding is that Prescott is a place where hippies go to get degrees in things not really recognized by any other college as worthy of diplomas. Yes, you can get a degree in whitewater rafting! But, who am I to judge? Funny thing is that every last one of them turned out to be successful beyond belief. Kevin and I truly felt like we might have went to the wrong school ourselves. Angela and her husband Steve invest in real estate. Their children Zosha and Anna, are college students. Randal, our doctor on the trip practices dentistry and is a rancher. Will is a professor at Prescott. The other doctor aboard, Tom, a PhD, consults with companies to improve their efficiency. Dave Meeks owns a giant construction rental firm. Bruce and his daughter Lauren own a mineral springs resort. Scott trims trees. Kevin is a developer and programmer. And, then you had me, the lowly kayak guide.
Most rafting trips on the canyon hold the common tie of the geographic region where all the participants reside. (ie, the Idaho group or the Colorado boys) Our group was from all over the place. We had San Diego, Oregon, Oklahoma, Colorado, Seattle, Sacramento, and even a German gal on the trip.
Introductions were made upon our delivery to the correct side of the river. Everyone was visibly tired, a little weathered from the sun, and obviously, “on the river for a week.” Imagine my surprise when I offered out my hand for the young German gal to shake. She spoke absolutely perfect English. Turns out she was not German after all, she just had not shaved her armpits for a week and was now sporting about an inch of fur. (One week, really Lauren??? It must get pretty cold in Oregon).
During the planning phases of the trip, Kevin and I had to come up with our own breakfasts and lunches. We were only allotted a minimal amount of space on the raft, and we darn sure weren’t packing a bunch of heavy groceries down with us, so we decided to just eat peanut butter and grape-nuts the entire trip. Needless to say, this got old pretty quick. Luckily the group was quick to share their spoils, and Kevin was quick to accept. My pride made it a little harder to do so. I just did not want to feel like the unprepared mooch who did not bring his own food. It was apparent from the first night that the group was going to be far nicer to me than I would be to them over the next couple of weeks. We ate the first of many fantastic dinners, each of which was prepared by a member or two of the group on a rotating basis. The rafts allowed for loads of fresh fruits and vegetables, coolers full of meats, and many other “luxury items.” We even had appetizers each night. We would each actually gain weight on the trip.
The temps were nice, the bugs nonexistent, and the sky clear, which was a good thing. A lot of the gear we would be using, we were borrowing from Zosha and Anna. They would not be hiking out until the morning, so tonight we were sleeping out under the stars while they slept in “our” tent.
An early raft ride ferried the two girls back to the trail where they would hike back up the hill to attend college. The rest of us headed over to Phantom Ranch to send a postcard via the mule that delivers mail from the bottom of the canyon. Several members of our group had mail and packages waiting for them here as well. This was the first and only civilization that would be seen on the three week trip, so most of us took the time to send a postcard or make one last communication with the outside world. You could tell who the tourists were that had ridden the mule down. They were quite fun to watch as they painstakingly tried to walk with their bowlegs from the rough ride down.
It was afternoon before we would actually really start the trip. I was nervous because I had heard about a giant rapid in the first several miles of the trip. Everyone else had seven days to practice, years of rafting experience, and lots of big rivers already under their belts. I had only done day long raft trips, and felt very under qualified for the massive waters of the Colorado. I had also worried about the raft flipping, as it does happen regularly on these trips. My concern was that if there was going to only be 2 or 3 people on an eighteen foot raft, we would be more susceptible because we would be running really light. When I had rafted in the past it was on paddle rafts with eight people aboard. These were oar rafts with a metal frame, and a welcome load of lots of heavy gear. Luckily, my job today would to simply be a passenger on one of the largest rafts. Tom would be our Captain today. Tom, Steve, Angela, Zosha, Anna, Randal and Big Dave (Angela dubbed me “Baby Dave, because she is old enough to be my grandmother.) all had loads of experience guiding trips, many professionally. As Tom put it, they all figured out that there are loads of upsides to being a raft guide such as fitness, seeing great places, etc., and only two downsides. He explained these to be bad pay and the fact that it is hard on relationships. (Should have chosen kayak guide, Tom. That is where all the money is.)
Well, it is once again time to sign off for the evening. What do you say we come back again tomorrow and start to tell some real adventure stories from the mother of all river trips? Giant rapids, deadly holes, standing waves, naked people??? Okay see you then.