The Grand Canyon River Expedition (Day 10 of 14: Rafting the Colorado River)
Garrett celebrates his birthday on the river.
This story is Day 10 of my 14-day series which follows our whitewater rafting trip through 226 miles of the Colorado River (June 12, 2026).Previous Story: Day 9
Next Story: Coming Soon
Birthday Boy
Day 10 on the river came with an unexpected wake-up call.
With a slight shake, I opened my eyes to find Garrett standing above me, a concerned look on his face.
“Where are our coffee mugs?”
Back home, Garrett was always the first one up to make the coffee. I am the lucky recipient of my first cup in bed.
A man of routine and responsibility, Garrett had continued this morning tradition in the Grand Canyon. So when his party-planning committee snuck our mugs from their usual spot the night before, I knew their plan might have a flaw.
Garrett would notice.
Knowing exactly what had happened to our mugs, I played dumb and stalled until two steaming cups of coffee arrived.
“Happy Birthday!”
Out of sorts, Garrett nodded but continued his questioning.
“Did you move the mugs?”
Careful with my wording, I truthfully declared that I had not.
The interrogation finally ended when our fellow camper Danny delivered cowboy coffee to the birthday boy. Garrett beamed at the gesture.
Never one to do much more than acknowledge his birthday, I wondered how all this river attention would play out.
Prince for the Day
Sipping his delivered coffee, Garrett smiled again when he looked down at his wrist.
“I got balloons on my watch!”
Even running off-grid in the middle of the Grand Canyon, Apple intel was still on point.
Breakfast brought another birthday surprise. The Cheez-Its delivery he had teased Sanne about a few days earlier was his gift from the AZRA guides. Wrapped in a repurposed cereal box, Garrett was visibly delighted to score his favorite guilty indulgence from home.
The birthday boy was quickly becoming prince for the day.
It was another sack-lunch prep morning and another big hiking day. Our hike up Kanab Creek would be close to ten miles, with boulders to scale, rising temperatures, and long stretches where our path wasn't a trail at all, but a bed of rocks.
Once again, we were given a choice: go hard or go easy.
The easy group would set their own pace and turn around based on time. The hard group had a destination to reach, a swimming hole beneath a waterfall, and a timeline to get there.
Half our group chose hard.
Garrett was the first to raise his hand. I was right behind him.
We would spend his birthday battling Kanab Creek, just to say we did.
River Poetry
Bec guided us for the day as we joined Celia and Bill for a short river ride to Kanab Creek.
The Colorado River was a beautiful green-blue, typical of early summer before monsoon rains and tributary runoff can turn the water the muddy brown so often seen in photos of the canyon.
Under clear blue skies, Bill asked if we would like to hear some poetry.
Absolutely.
Pulling up a poem saved on his phone, Bill began to read, complete with his best English accent to match the poet. I was once again surprised to discover yet another poetry lover in our group. Day by day, I was learning the poets might actually be the majority.
Garrett broke open his birthday Cheez-Its and passed them around as we enjoyed Bill’s performance.
Farther downriver, Bec pointed out a massive Great Blue Heron nest perched atop a rock in the middle of the river. Great Blue Herons often reuse their nests, adding to them over time. This nest looked enormous, about four feet across, with young herons squawking from inside.
As we floated closer, the scale surprised me. Even the birds did things big in the Grand Canyon.
I snapped photos, hoping our young camp photographer, Owen, would capture what my phone couldn't. So much natural beauty surrounded us that photos rarely did it justice.
Our best shot came through Owen’s eyes and camera.
As we prepped for the hike with ultra-processed orange crackers, I listened as Celia told us about a recent adventure race in Costa Rica. Teams of four. Miles of unfamiliar terrain.
It sounded both captivating and intense. Would I survive an adventure race in the jungles of Costa Rica with only a map and compass?
Probably not.
Hiking the Kanab
Reaching Mile 143.5, our guides tied up the boats along the muddy, rocky shore of Kanab Creek. Our group split in two.
Bec led the hard hike in her typical style, thoughtfully noticing every interesting rock and plant in her path while somehow gingerly strolling ahead.
I stumbled along behind her, determined to stay close.
Pebbles and rocky terrain remained my nemesis. For me, there was no rhythm to be found, just one foot after another.
Celia stayed close by, offering silent encouragement. While I wore my scrappy determination like a badge of honor, Celia seemed genuinely happy to be getting in a training workout.
As we neared our halfway turnaround point, I finally let myself fall back while the others eagerly climbed a slimy, moss-covered rock formation to reach our lunch spot.
Taking my best guesses at footholds, I slowly traversed the slippery, narrow incline. The slick green wetness encompassing me, coupled with an exhausted brain, brought an image to mind.
“I feel like we’re going through Jabba the Hutt’s bowels.”
Behind me, Ireke heard my strange remark. Always quick with encouragement and a smile, he helped me through the final stretch.
“Well... I guess I’ve never thought about Jabba the Hutt’s bowels.”
With one final shove out of the green abyss, it was time to eat and rest.
I made it to the swimming hole with the others, and I was spent.
Trying not to think about the rising temperature, or the rocks and miles still between me and the boats, I ate my sandwich while most of our group played in the cool water.
Faster, Sandy, Faster…
When Bec gave us notice to pack up and head back, I made a decision. I would pace myself with the back of the pack rather than trying to keep up with her. I was hot. I was tired. And I was done trying to be an overachiever.
But the birthday boy had other ideas. Garrett wanted to stay up front with Bec. As much as I tried to convince him to take off without me, he wouldn't have it. He also wouldn't accept being at the end.
“You need to pick it up. We’re holding the group back.”
I looked behind us. Several fellow campers and half the guides were back there. Some weren't even in sight. But it was his birthday, so I kept trying to keep up.
Garrett was on fire.
Halfway through the return hike, my water ran out. I felt defeated, just wanting to finish. How strong the finish was didn’t matter to me. But apparently, it still mattered to Garrett. Perhaps he was determined to prove something about his 61-year-old fitness level.
We did still have a stream of water to walk through, intermittent shade, and stellar canyon views. I barely noticed any of it. I was in survival mode. The birthday prince wasn't giving in.
At Bec's next check-in, I decided on a new strategy.
“Bec, am I slowing the group down if I join the people behind us? Do you need us all to keep up?”
She explained the guides' accordion strategy. Some stayed toward the front while others swept from behind, keeping everyone moving at the pace they needed. As long as I stayed ahead of the trailing guides, I was fine.
Vindication.
Garrett continued moving at record pace. I settled into the middle as a compromise and found company with Danny, who checked in on me. Perhaps he felt a little guilty after fueling my husband with extra birthday caffeine that morning. I was the collateral damage.
When we finally reached the boats, I collapsed into my dory seat and searched for water. Garrett jumped directly into the river. It was mid-afternoon, the sun was relentless, and temperatures had climbed to around 105 degrees.
I once again sang the praises of my multi-use sarong, soaking it in the river and pouring the cold water over my head like a shipwreck survivor.
The Prince Gets a Party
After nearly ten miles on foot, we would spend less than five miles on the river, taking on one major rapid before pulling into camp and immediately seeking shade.
As we unpacked, the guides warned us that this would likely be the hottest night of the trip. Warning taken. We drank plenty of water while cooling ourselves, and our beers, in the 60-degree river.
To my complete surprise, Garrett loved all the birthday attention. During happy hour, he shared the rest of his Cheez-Its over warm beers as everyone wished him happy birthday. He told stories and soaked in the final hours of his special day against the backdrop of a Grand Canyon sunset.
After dinner, Andy gave a history talk on women river guides, including more great intel on river icon Georgie White. Then someone decided we needed a new game for the remainder of the trip.
It was a variation of Clue, played out in real life with campers and guides as the targets. Everyone secretly drew the name of a person to “kill,” along with a location and murder weapon. Think: the handwashing station with a spatula.
The goal was to eliminate your fellow campers and guides until only one person remained.
We were all in.
We fashioned cards from ripped pieces of paper and wrote on them in pen. We drew our assignments, vowed ourselves to secrecy, and waited for the killing to begin in the morning.
Just when Garrett thought his birthday festivities were over, the group circled around him and presented him with a crown. Cut from a cereal box, covered in aluminum foil, and decorated with Sharpie drawings, it was river-trip royalty at its finest.
Next came chocolate lava cake and the AZRA birthday tradition of pounding on the table while singing “Happy Birthday.” Wearing his new crown and eating his cake, Garrett had one more surprise coming.
Andrew had handmade him a birthday card with watercolors. On a boat. In the Grand Canyon. Everyone had signed it.
This was the best birthday planning committee Garrett had ever had.
And just like that, the prince became a king.
Camp King Garrett
Once the light faded and the lava cake was gone, it was time to prepare for a hot night. Garrett and I went through our now-established hot-night-in-the-desert survival routine.
Pour water on our sleeping area. Check.
Take a moonlight dip in the river. Check.
Soak a sarong to use as a sheet. Check.
Then Garrett carefully placed our coffee mugs on a nearby rock, ready for morning. After the day's wake-up confusion, apparently he wasn't taking any chances.
But then he did something I didn't expect. Garrett placed his crown next to his PFD and water bottles. Surely he would pack it away in the bottom of his dry bag with the card.
“What are you doing with your crown?”
Without hesitation, Garrett made his proclamation.
“I’m wearing it tomorrow!”
Of course he was.
A new king had been crowned.
