This story is Day 2 of my 14-day series which follows our whitewater rafting trip through 226 miles of the Colorado River (June 4, 2026).

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Morning Etiquette

5:15 am: “Good morning, campers… Coffee is reeeeeeeady!”

My first night of Grand Canyon camping, and I was up for most of it with a pounding headache. This cowboy coffee announcement from a cheerful AzRA guide would become our recurring wake-up call for the next 12 mornings.

Welcoming the invitation of caffeine, I was grateful for the continuation of my favorite morning ritual. Just like at home, Garrett had a hot cup of coffee next to me before I had time to open my eyes.

With coffee in one hand, I shuffled through my dry bag with the other, locating a bottle of Tylenol while making a mental note to do a better job of staying hydrated. Water and electrolytes, always available and encouraged by our AzRA guides, were a must on the river.

Instead of following this good advice, I had been overthinking the inevitable consequences of consuming liquids. Drinking large quantities of water also meant spending a lot of time peeing. By day, this meant peeing in the river. By night, it meant peeing in a plastic cup.

But Sanne’s potty talk from the night before was already ringing true.

The reality of our bodily functions and how we handled them in the Grand Canyon was becoming second nature. Pooping in the portable groovers already felt like a camping luxury. And peeing in the river? It took less than 24 hours for our entourage to be fully on board.

As I poured out my nightly pee cup, noting it was far too yellow, any remaining modesty disappeared with the discarded liquid. Two men from our group were peeing not far from me like happy toddlers exploring their free will, while I squatted into the water without a hint of embarrassment.

This was a far cry from Garrett's and my recent trip to Japan. There, it was all about modesty and the luxury of relieving yourself in pampered privacy.

On the river, self-consciousness was gone. And the ability to pee freely, basically on demand, turned out to be its own kind of luxury.

6:20 am: “Breakfast is ready! Wash your hands!”

No Assigned Seating

Thinking our daily breakfasts would be like a complimentary Motel 6 grab-and-go, I was completely wrong. Pancakes, loaded with fruit and nuts, were served hot off the grill with sausage links. Protein-packed Greek yogurt and granola sat next to freshly cut cantaloupe.

Cleaning my dishes, I started thinking through my strategy for the day. My overall goal was to figure out which guide was most qualified to get me safely through Crystal Rapid. My research from The Emerald Mile had convinced me it was the rapid to be reckoned with.

Yesterday, our river guide was Bec. She had passed with flying colors. That left six more guides to assess.

Unsure of boat-choosing etiquette, Garrett and I packed up camp without a plan.

Each of the four dories held four passengers, while the remaining passengers rode the rafts. After the last dry bag was secured, Garrett and I looked for two open seats.

There weren't any.

Giving me his familiar "it's all good" look, Garrett hopped onto Ben's raft with Ethan. I climbed into the nearest dory, filling its fourth and final seat.

Leaders of the Pack

Still sorting out our group dynamics, I was happy to find myself next to Dave, the Fort Lewis College (FLC) Foundation lead and organizer of our trip. Through my volunteer work supporting FLC, I'd come to know Dave and looked forward to learning more about our group's connections and the Foundation's initiatives.

In the front of the dory sat Dr. Andrew Gulliford, our trip historian, alongside Greg from Indonesia, whom I hadn't yet met.

Our guide for the day was Jim, the AzRA team leader. Beyond guiding his own boat, he coordinated the crews, chose our campsites and hikes, determined our daily mileage, and generally kept our floating community running smoothly.

Garrett and my lack of planning turned into a win for me.

I had landed the A-team.

Not only was I confident I was in good hands, but I also had a front-row seat to the people shaping our expedition.

As Jim shared details about campsites, mileage, and the logistics of running a Grand Canyon river trip, I found myself fixated on a completely different question.

Before the trip, I'd learned it took nine Grand Canyon expeditions before someone could become an official AzRA guide.

Were any of our guides still on a training run?

The Roaring Twenties

Jim was professional and incredibly knowledgeable about everything Grand Canyon, but I knew I'd be crossing a line by asking for the résumés of the other guides. So instead, I focused on enjoying a stretch of canyon known as the Roaring Twenties. Obsessing over surviving Crystal Rapid could wait.

We began our second day at Mile 11. My back-of-the-envelope calculation told me we'd need to average about 17 miles a day, assuming the first and last days would be shorter.

Today's stretch would take us through the twenty-something mile markers, where the Roaring Twenties earned its name from a seemingly endless succession of rapids.

Wave after wave crashed over our dory, many large enough to engulf the boat. Jim skillfully navigated each one, and with every rapid my confidence in him grew.

Maybe I really had landed the right boat.

Determined to improve my odds of riding with Jim on Crystal day, I casually asked what it took to become an AzRA team leader.

His answer was both reassuring and disappointing.

"All seven guides here are team leads. I was just assigned to this trip."

So much for my strategy.

Come Bail Away

Being a passenger in a dory didn't include time on the oars, but it did require manual bailing.

What was expected on a dory trip was a little bailing after the bigger rapids. What wasn't expected was that Jim's electric bilge pump wasn't working. Despite his valiant efforts to fix it, the unit simply wouldn't kick in.

That meant more manual bailing for us and Jim occasionally resorting to a portable suction pump to relieve the boat of overflowing water after the wettest runs.

Rapid after rapid, the dory filled with varying amounts of water depending on the impact of each encounter. Once Jim had skillfully navigated the rocks and eddies, he'd bellow the instruction we'd all come to expect.

"Bail!"

We'd unclip our handheld scoops and bail away like motivated fishermen trying to keep our boat afloat. The scoops looked as though they'd once been plastic bottles, sliced in half and given a second life.

Bail, bail, bail your boat...

The tune played through my head as our arms got a workout, rapid after rapid.

Partners in Safety

Our lunch stop featured pesto, bacon, and mozzarella wraps served under the shade of umbrellas and prepared with the culinary skills we'd quickly come to expect from our guides.

The older generation of our group struggled with how to eat them without a plate, fork, or napkin. Owen and Andrew, our two youngest campers, quickly schooled us in the quarter-fold wrap technique, creating a handhold that resembled an ice cream cone.

Edible. Enjoyable.

And just like that, we'd mastered another new river skill.

When we relaunched after lunch, our dory shuffled the seating arrangement. Dave and Greg swapped seats, putting Greg next to me in the back of the boat.

As we ripped through rapid after rapid, Greg and I proved to be compatible seatmates. Both sticklers for safety, we secured our optional helmets the moment we heard the distant roar of a major rapid. Greg was so covered to protect himself from the sun that I had memorized his eyes for later recognition.

Greg and I were rule followers.

Safety first. Then the fun.

Together, we held on for dear life through the Roaring Twenties, laughing like children after every plunge and sharp turn through the big rapids. Then we'd grab our scoops and start bailing again, taking in the immense beauty of the canyon between each adrenaline rush.

Hot as Shit

After a long day of whitewater, we pulled into camp around 3:00.

The sand was hot as shit.

It radiated through the bottoms of our sandals, while ants claimed the few patches of shade. As we unloaded the rafts, Garrett and I decided to wait for the sun to drop before setting up camp.

We weren't the only ones.

As more people joined us in the shrinking sliver of shade, conversations naturally formed. It felt like the start of happy hour. Shantel discovered a shaded sandbar just deep enough to plant our wobbly camp chairs in the river. As the sun slipped lower, someone pulled out a bocce ball set.

Our AzRA camping family was beginning to form.

Young and old(er), strangers just yesterday, were slowly finding one another.

Ethan told me he had "ridden the bull" on Ben's raft. Perched on the front tube, he'd held on with one hand while the other waved triumphantly in the air through the rapids. Unlike Greg and me, Ethan was a thrill seeker, and Garrett happily gravitated toward his kind.

Shantel and her husband, Ireke, were no strangers to river life. They owned their own raft and full setup back home in New Mexico, and Ireke had already floated the entire Grand Canyon on a private permit. Even so, Shantel laughed as she described herself as more of a "passenger princess" than a skilled oarswoman.

I liked her immediately.

After my ration of river-temperature beer, I felt more hydrated, more relaxed, and increasingly at home with the people I'd be sharing this adventure with.

Getting Schooled

7:20 pm: “History talk in 10 minutes.”

With the sun settling behind the canyon walls and our stomachs full from fajita dinner, it was time for our nightly capstone—a history talk by Andy.

One of the perks of joining a Fort Lewis College Foundation trip was having Dr. Andy Gulliford along to share his immense knowledge of the Grand Canyon. Most mornings before launch and evenings before dinner, he transformed our campsite into an outdoor classroom.

That evening's lesson centered on the California condor.

Earlier in the day, we'd watched these magnificent birds soaring above the canyon. Now Andy filled in the story behind their remarkable comeback from the brink of extinction. Sitting in camp beneath a sky slowly filling with stars, it felt less like a lecture and more like storytelling around a campfire.

Andy has spent a lifetime studying and writing about the American West, and his passion for its history was contagious. The canyon wasn't just becoming more beautiful. It was becoming more meaningful.

As Andy wrapped up for the evening, darkness settled over camp. More stars than I knew existed filled the sky.

Fully hydrated and finally down for the count, I christened our campsite Camp We Got This.

Our first full day was in the books.

We finished at Mile 31, covering 20 miles.

Crystal Rapid was still waiting at Mile 98.

I had plenty of time.