The Grand Canyon River Expedition (Day 1 of 14: Rafting the Colorado River)
This story is Day 1 of my 14-day series which follows our white water rafting trip through 226 miles of the Colorado River.Previous Story: Prequel Story
Next Story: Coming Soon
Ready to Launch
Still fresh and clean from city living, our group gathered promptly outside the hotel lobby at 6:30 a.m. Bags were collected and loaded by Arizona Rafting Adventures (AzRA) staff onto our awaiting bus along with us.
Like summer campers from our days of youth, we took our seats, ready to start our grand adventure. Visions of future river rapids and campsite solitude grew with the anticipation.
Garrett was in his full-on Boy Scout mode, while I chose to take in the last taps of modern-day communications. With a 2½-hour ride to our launch site, Lee’s Ferry, I knew my time was limited before internet and cell reception were gone. Seeking new beginnings coming out (which meant an empty inbox going in), I was responding to and deleting messages in rapid fire.
My final text was to my three adult sons. “And we are off! Love you all. No cell for 2 weeks 😘”
After reading their responses of “Stay safe”, “Good luck!!”, and “That’s badass”, I turned off my phone.
I was officially off the grid.
The Heat Is On
Arriving at Lee’s Ferry, we were greeted by our AzRA crew of nine and 104 degrees of Arizona desert heat. We also had our first glimpse of our river transportation. Four dories sat waiting next to the three rafts that would carry us down the river.
We were instructed to help unload the bus, tossing bags to the guides who craftily stacked them onto their boats, using every available crevice like a game of Tetris.
Jim introduced himself as our crew lead and then graciously led us out of the direct sun. Although the shade of the covered shelter was welcomed, the instructions were overwhelming. The list of risks, to-dos, and not-to-dos was long. Would we get a printed list to review later?
Shake your clothes for scorpions. Don’t get dehydrated. Maintain safe handholds on the boats. You could fall into a rapid. You could fall on a hike. We would need to play an active role on the boats.
Like eager campers, we hung on to his every word until Jim asked his final question…
“Is anyone not able or willing to perform all the responsibilities I just mapped out?”
<silence>
The bus driver, obviously waiting for this ‘all clear’ sign, gave a thumbs up, putting the bus in gear as she pulled away. With the landing down to just campers, the crew, and the packed boats, it was official. Launch time.
With Safety Comes Strategy
Our assigned personal flotation devices (PFDs - mandatory) were each labeled with the name of a rapid or hike unique to the Grand Canyon. Our helmets (optional) were marked with our name. After Jim tightly adjusted my PFD to his satisfaction, the extra pounds I was attempting to cover were now spilling out my sides.
Top of mind for me was a personal risk assessment. My strategy was to assess the abilities of each of the river guides early on and then secure the best guides for the most treacherous rapids.
Seven boats. Seven guides. Having recently read The Emerald Mile, I already knew Crystal Rapid had a legendary and intimidating reputation. My plan was to be in the boat of the top guide for that run.
That was my strategy. Survive Crystal, and I would be golden and could enjoy the rest of the Canyon.
Garrett and I took two open seats in the front of a dory. Bec took the middle rowing spot and introduced herself as our guide for the day. Taking in the last glimpses of everyday life, Garrett softly patted my firmly gripped handhold as we launched into the river. Our adventure had begun.
River Guide #1 Makes the Cut
Bec proved to be a pro at the oars as well as guiding us through the beautiful river landscape. We chatted with the other two dory occupants, Ethan and Kim, and learned they had just met as well.
Ethan, a young and energetic engineer from New Mexico, was a mirror of the mixed personalities of Garrett and my adult sons. We hit it off right away.
Kim was part of the crew as an assistant. This was a ‘work to play’ role where she was invited by a guide to join. By helping out, the tradeoff was a two-week trip on the river. We found out that it was a perk of being a river guide to be allotted assistants to bring on trips with them.
Bec skillfully schooled us on the rocky terrain and billion-year-old history of this early stretch of the canyon. We were on the lookout for Juniper trees as she was helping a conservationist log their Grand Canyon whereabouts. Blue herons, ravens, and condors majestically claimed their spots in the mountains we passed. The big horn sheep simply looked up at us in gentle curiosity. Why were such strange beings floating in the river?
Guide evaluation so far: promising.
The Grand Canyon is unique in its rapid rating system, which uses a scale of 1–10. Anything above a 5 rating had my attention. My nemesis, Crystal, is rated a 10+. But I had a few days before I needed to worry about it.
I carefully quizzed Bec about her background and found that she had a long river history on all boats, including the dory. With her confident demeanor and skills through the rapids, she made the cut for my ‘top dog’ river guide short list.
One guide down. Crystal remained the final exam.
No One Goes Hungry
Midway through the day, the boats lined up, pulling into a small, sanded camp. Bec explained that we were stopping for lunch. This was our first experience watching the AzRA crew efficiently unload necessary accommodations to provide top-notch, nutritious fuel for us campers.
I expected PB&J with packaged cookies, nuts, and chips. We did get that, but as the ‘extra’ table. The lunch main course was chicken salad wraps, made with all the ingredients chopped, tossed, and served fresh in plentiful servings.
Living the mantra ‘leave no trace’, the river was our napkin. If something fell, we would contribute it to the river, feeding the eager fish. Hand washing was not only a must but frequently monitored. We were reminded of hand washing constantly and for good reason. Our common goal was no norovirus while in the wild.
What surprised me wasn't just the great flavor and freshness of the food. It was the lack of plates and napkins. Unbeknownst to me, I would not use a napkin again until back in Flagstaff fourteen days later.
Our First Major Rapid
Crystal remained several days away. My scouting continued.
Taking on our first highly rated rapid, I clipped on my optional helmet and followed Bec’s careful instruction of having ‘two good handholds.’ We were also schooled on doing our part as passengers with our body engagement. Lean into the waves. No bobbling. Have an athletic stance.
I did my job and followed Bec’s final instruction of “Have fun!” Together we rode our first Class 8 Grand Canyon rapid.
In my previous rafting experiences on row boats, I would close my eyes through the difficult rapids, while holding for dear life to the guides ‘stay on the boat’ strap. I clearly wasn’t doing my part.
But for this trip, I needed to keep my eyes open at all times. Waves needed to be assessed, and my body needed to respond. It was shocking how easily Bec would pick up a slight movement to one side.
“Garrett, can you move to the left by half an inch please?”
Although we didn’t row the oars on this trip, we always had an active role.
Tent Set-up 101
Jim chose Mile 11 as our overnight campsite. Disembarking our boats, we all immediately sprawled, scoping out our camp spots for the night. We scurried like gold miners marking our territory. Then Jim shouted his directive, bringing us back to reality.
“There is plenty of great spaces for everyone. Come back and help get your shit off the boats!”
After helping empty the boats and grabbing our night dry bags, bedding bags, sleep pads, and tents, we realized that Jim was right. There wasn’t a bad spot in the place (although Jim warned of not pitching tents too close to the water).
Setting up our personal campsite, I tried my best to be a team player, unpacking bags and pretending I knew what I was doing. Garrett handed me a bundle of metal posts. As I bungled them, trying to figure out how they worked in the tent set-up process, I quizzically asked Garrett for instructions.
Next to us, young Ethan was setting up his tent like a pro. My question about what the metal poles were to be used for caught his attention.
“Wait? You’ve never put up a tent before?”
I paused.
“Nope.”
I had slept in a tent before (less than 10 nights in my lifetime and never more than 2 in a row), but had never been part of the tent set-up crew.
And now, here I am. The first night of thirteen nights camping in the desert on the river in the Grand Canyon. This would not be a glamping trip. I would be working for this experience.
Everyone Shits
Once our tents were up, next up was the bathroom talk. How and where would we empty our facilities?
Our fearless guide, Sanne, delivered an award-winning monologue explaining these intricacies to us. She introduced us to one of two groovers that would be set up each night in discreet spots, but typically with an excellent view.
“I shit. You shit. We all shit. Get over it. Just shit in the groover. If pee only, use the yellow pot. If pee and poop, use the groover. If unsure, use the groover. No poop in the yellow pot.”
Toilet paper was to be used sparingly or we'd be rationed. Please do the next inhabitant a favor by sprinkling sanitizer on your leave-behind.
Peeing instructions were simpler. Just pee in the river. Except at night. At night, pee in your assigned cup and watch out in the river in the morning. Avoid long walks in the dark to the powerfully flowing river.
Camp Anticipation
Now that we knew where to go to the bathroom, drink rations (3 per person per night) were taken out of our burlap bags and put into a shared bag to cool in the river. According to the guides, this was an eight-minute process that led to slightly cooler than room temperature drinks. But we learned to enjoy this nightly ritual of sitting by the river, sharing conversation and warm beers, and making new friends.
Writing in my journal with the last bits of daylight, I marveled at the beauty we experienced that day and decided to give each nightly camp a name to symbolize the day. Our first night’s campsite would forever be Camp Anticipation.
As I have often professed in the outside world…
We can do hard things.
