Down the River in Four Boats

the expurgated version

May 18, 1991, leave Vermont, two cars, stop en route for crab salad sandwiches and waterproof bags, arrive New Jersey, clean a house for extra cash, part of which is summarily blown on hacked chicken and fortune cookies at a local Chinese restaurant.

Leave New Jersey, one car, camp gear, fresh cannolis and clean towels in the back seat. After 11½ hours of westness, Indianapolis and relatives, who appear tranquil till the cannolis hit the bloodstream.

Southwest through St. Louis, Tulsa, Oklahoma City, then west in the night until a tumultuous thunderstorm stops the car. Had we been a boat we would've capsized. Slip soggily into a Shamrock Texas motel.

West to an Amarillo egg breakfast, a Gallup fruit stop, a Flagstaff pasta supper. Sleep on Bob & Jan's back deck, new house, airy and skylit, with a dogdoor for giant Kancho, the back yard full of trees, rocks and the attention grabbing song of Santa Fe Railroad engineers leaning on their klaxons.

More travelers arrive from California, already tan and crammed with boat lore. Too late to pick up the Time-Life Book on rafting?

Load raft gear onto a pick-up truck with bald tires and gimpy suspension, more onto the shuttle bus which also transports the 16 of us 126 miles to the launch site, Lees Ferry, an average of 10.125 miles per rafter. Inflate the four boats, startle a rattlesnake in the brush, get warned about scorpions and red ants (don't mess with 'em), dine on salad, pick out a campsite in a field around the corner, turn in at dusk as folksingers cleave the night air with songs about shoes.

Up at dawn, then down again, then up for good. Back at the boats, more stuff is loaded, the group's divvied into work details of three to pump (inflate) boats, cook dinner, cook breakfast, pump (purify) water, set up and tend the portapotty, and smash cans. S&I draw Bwana Bob. On the river at 11:55, four boats and four inflatable kayaks. Lunch somewhere downstream. Soon, the first big rapid, Badger, is misjudged. Three kayaks flip and our boat nearly does, we fish cold wet unhappy rafters out of 43 degree water, camp at Soap, bright moonglow on the cliff.

Up at dawn again, coffee, breakfast, pack the boats, crash through Soap and Hosue rapids, row a bit, camp at North Canyon, hike a mile to a stagnant pool, canyon wrens guide our way with calming song. Still, it doesn't help my rower's elbow, finger blisters, sunscorched feet.

In Bob's boat, the Roaring Twenties (rapids from mile 21-29). At 24-mile rapid a boat flips, no one hurt but a lot of bread gets soggy, dies. Stop at Silver Grotto, Vaseys Paradise, Redwall Cavern, camp at Nautiloid, S sees a zillion faces in the cliff wall, stares back well into the night. A cricket climbs into the sleeping bag, tickles.

Eagerly anticipated breakfast brownies resemble a science experiment gone very wrong. I test drive a kayak, head downstream, a novice with only a vague sense of left and right, blast into a rapid, get wet and tippy but somehow don't flip, do lunch with some researchers at mile 43, later spend the afternoon paddling into a hateful headwind, finally reach Nankoweap late afternoon, pooped. Put up the tent, a neighborhood ensues. Spread the bread on a tarp to dry. It rains.

Layover day, rain ends, late breakfast. Hike to ancient Indian storage granaries, great view, no camera. Meander back, rinse off in the river, lunch, dinner, birdsongs, night, moon.

Layover day #2, back to the granaries with camera and snacks, stay a while, on the way back a zillion violet-green swallows zoom around us in a feeding frenzy, a birdatorium gone mad. Our turn on dinner, a more sedate feeding frenzy. Nighttime, lulled to sleep by canyon moonglow and river whispers.

Back on the river, low water creates insidious new currents, also jazzes up Kwagunt and 60-mile rapids. Stop at Little Colorado River to frolic in warm turquoise water. Camp at Carbon Creek. In the distance, setting sun glints off Desert View Watchtower. Ravens swoop down, fly off with a lot of dead bread.

Through Chuar and Tanner rapids, stop to scout Unkar, a two mile uphill hike to a dizzyingly high vantage point. Clouds scud, disappear, now it's hot. Lunch in the shade. Shoot through Unkar, stop above Nevills to await higher water. Long afternoon naps.

Up early, 23 miles to go today. Crash through Nevills, stop to scout Hance. Campers here, the first we've seen. Big roller coaster waves, scary but fun. Likewise Sockdolager, Grapevine, Zoroaster. Calm water now, couple of miles to Phantom Ranch and a two hour sojourn to fresh up at the flush toilets, mail postcards by mule train and purchase souvenir knickknacks at the air-conditioned canteen. Four folks leave to hike out, things to do back in the real world, their choice. Back on the river through Horn, Granite and Hermit rapids, thrilling rides all, then camp just above Crystal, weary from bailing.

Crystal, one of the two biggest rapids, probably the most dangerous one, we're underway by 7:00, safely through by 7:02 as turkey vultures watch in anticipation. On through the other jewels: Agate, Sapphire, Turquoise, Ruby, Serpentine, Zircon. In Turquoise, Bob's boat kisses the wall, shatters a spare oar. Stop at Shinumo Creek for a short splash to a warm waterfall, crash through big water at Waltenberg and Rancid Tuna rapids, cruise down to scenic Elves Chasm. But it's late, getting dark, gotta go, row another mile to camp. Set up tent 10 feet from the river under starry sky. Drift off to sleep longing for more sunscreen, aloe, moisturizer, seltzer.

Dawn and canyon wrens. Water receded 30 feet during the night. Today we ride with Detlef, a haughty rower. Stop at Blacktail Canyon to make magical music in a resonant alcove, but we're beaten to the punch by a bunch of baloneyboat passengers. Later, bored with flat water, Detlev gives me the reins, and I row through surprisingly bouncy 127-mile rapid, vaguely aware that the raft in front of us has flipped. More dead bread. Leery now, we stop to scout Bedrock, likewise powerful Deubendorff. Camp above Tapeats. Lizard haven.

Back in the kayak through Tapeats and Helicopter Eddy, then a placid float through the Narrows, spot Christmas Tree cave, beach the boat, climb up and have a look. Find a palm tree but no Christmas tree, tear a hunk of salt off the wall for a souvenir, paddle down to Deer Creek, big waterfall, wet power. Follow the trail upstream to another sublime grotto, splash pools of churning water, siesta locale. Later, downstream to Kanab, a relatively harsh campsite amidst the canyon majesty.

Bang hand, foot, other body parts on the rocks here, a red ant sanctuary. Three and a half miles to Matkatamiba Canyon, takes an hour to secure the boats, then a happy clamber over fluted rocks to a paradisiacal garden, amphitheater, stage, library, Roman bath. Gurgling water, ferns on the cliff face, cool shade. Innumerable stone angles. An unseen person stops by, pipes a flute, a raven alights in the uppermost balcony, listens. Otherwise, silence, the serenest place in the world. On the river again, spurt through Upset, float past more cliff gargoyles, stop at new ledgey campsite dubbed Hobart's Hotel.

Three-quarters mile downriver, Havasu, another magically verdant canyon. More people here, a standard rest stop for river tourists. Four hours to walk around, we leisurely follow the creek towards Beaver Falls, 3½ miles, don't make it, instead spend time lounging in lagoons, surveying lizards, gawking at cliff faces. Searing afternoon sun in the boats downstream to Tuckup, layover day tomorrow.

Layover day cancelled, back on the river to Lava Falls, the biggest rapid, carefully scouted. Pirate Bill rows us into the ferocious water, much of which stays in the boat, takes 20 minutes to bail. No casualties, so continue downriver to mile 183, a good beach with a black lavacliff backdrop.

Start in Honeymoon boat, transfer to kayak, a mistake. River currents are fierce again and in innocuously named 205-mile rapid I'm washed overboard, sucked under, dragged to shore via Peter's kayak. Rescue follows. Back in my kayak, I'm warned of the next rapid, told to stay center because a nasty hole, bigger than life, lurks on the right. In I go, there's the hole, I paddle away, too late, I'm swept in, under, then casually spat out, sideways, no thanks to me. Cheers from the onlookers who assume I planned it all. Later I negotiate aptly named Little Bastard rapid, but just barely. Camp at Pumpkin Springs, named for a spring pourover shaped like a watermelon. Two years ago I performed the AzRAP here. The ants are unimpressed. Thirty miles today. Overhead a golden eagle. Out on the promontory the portapotty, great view, just don't lean forward too far.

Just outside our tent the ants have awakened and are investigating the GoreTex. Late morning, hot sun, another river party stops, swaps cake mix for boxed milk. We proceed leisurely, done with all the major rapids, still a minor one dumps a kayak. River level is up, the water's murky, laden with debris. Diamond Creek, the take-out, is just ahead. Nevertheless we continue downstream through all the wiggly water so we won't have to secure gear to the boats tomorrow. Camp on a pristine beach, Diamond Creek in sight. Gaity into the night.

One mile to go. Then the boats are beached, unpacked, rinsed, deflated. One squirrelly boat tries to get away, head for downstream freedom, fails. A truck is loaded with gear, garbage, us. We jounce up the creekbed road five miles an hour, sometimes six. At the top, an indian reservation village, we drive to the landfill, dump 15 containers of refuse, elating the flies. Later, the Californians head west, the rest return to Flag. to unload the truck, enjoy real showers, sleep in real bed, the end.

Not quite. There's a lot to clean up. At the house, gear is sorted, crammed into an already full garage, clothes are washed, leftover food is categorized, dead celery discarded. Not at the house, metal storage boxes are steam cleaned, human waste product trucked to the Flagstaff landfill and dumped in front of a bulldozer. Later, three out of four manage to stay awake through Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death, a movie of sorts.

Early oat pancakes and poached eggs at a local eatery, good-byes, then east. Decreasing elevation, increased humidity, an OK motel.

The rest of Oklahoma, then Joplin, Rollo, Saint Louis, Terre Haute, Indianapolis, hazy not and humid, bad news for a black car without air conditioning. Luckily, that's not a problem.

Late start and heavy Ohio traffic make for a long day. Turkey club sandwiches at Howard Johnson's then the newly exorbitant turnpike. Western Pennsylvania brings angry tractor trailer pilots, eastern Pennsylvania brings rainy roads, New Jersey brings familiar tap water.

Shopping day #1: go for a lamp, come back with a sofa.

Shopping day #2: raspberry seltzer and picture frames. Shake sand out of the sleeping bags, load Redcar, eat fish, sleep with the birds.

Optometrist neighbor Bob offers to adjust glasses, accidentally switches lenses, a 30 minute job balloons into a two hour project, consequently we reach the hateful Hartford corridor at peak drive time. Takes an hour to get through the hot stupid city, necessitates an ice cream sundae stop in Brattleboro. Two more hours to a cooler clime, more expensive gasoline, plus five weeks of unsolicited mail: home.