The Grand Canyon River Expedition (Day 4 of 14: Rafting the Colorado River)
This story is Day 4 of my 14-day series which follows our whitewater rafting trip through 226 miles of the Colorado River (June 6, 2026).Previous Story: Day 3
Next Story: Coming Soon
Ready to Hike
With a 5:30 a.m. wake-up call, it was game time. Well… hike time. And time to find out whether Sanne’s warnings about the Diving Board were worth the hype.
I dug my hiking shoes from the bottom of my dry bag. They had been listed as an essential packing item with the promise that our rafting trip would include incredible hikes along with the river rapids. But with a June launch date, we had also been warned that the heat might keep us on the water more than on the trails.
Four days into our trip, this was our first chance to trade river shoes for hiking shoes.
Thirteen of our twenty campers chose to take on the infamous Diving Board hike. We were told to keep pace. Once the sun rose over the canyon walls, the temperature would climb quickly. When we returned, we would eat a quick breakfast, load the boats, and get off the sand before the heat became unbearable.
Winding behind the cliff that held the iconic rock formation known as the Diving Board, we immediately began scrambling over rocks. Any loosened rock, regardless of size, required a warning shout of “Rock!” to the person behind us.
The higher we climbed, the harder it became to tell how much climbing remained. I stared at the heels of young Dayno in front of me and just kept moving.
As the climb steepened, our initial burst of morning energy quickly disappeared. Two hikers turned back to join the breakfast crew as the rest of us approached what the guides called the No Fall Zone.
I reassured myself that it couldn’t be that dangerous. Surely our guides wouldn’t take on that kind of liability.
Clearly, I had misassessed the situation.
One glance down confirmed we had entered Alex Honnold territory. Apparently, I would soon be adding free soloing to my résumé.
Follow the Leader
As I entered the No Fall Zone, every step required a little more convincing. Noticing my tentativeness, Sanne quietly stepped in.
"There are great handholds," she reassured me as she effortlessly scaled the rock formation in sandals before looking toward Dayno. "Just follow Dayno."
Dayno had been a camper on a previous river trip before returning as Sanne's assistant. His given name was Nick, but guides called him Dayno, so the rest of us quickly did the same.
"Dayno, show her the way."
I never looked down again.
Instead, I matched every foot placement, every handhold, and every move Dayno made around the exposed cliff. Without fanfare, he quietly guided me through the most intimidating section of the hike.
Observe Height Awareness
With one final climb, our group reached the top of the cliff. A short hike across the plateau was all that remained before reaching the Diving Board itself.
Relieved to be back on solid ground, I immediately became less careful with my steps. Attempting to walk through a prickly plant rather than around it, I felt a deep scratch down my shin. Before I even looked down, I could feel the blood dripping down my leg.
It looked far worse than it felt.
Shrugging it off as a badge of honor, I followed Sanne and Dayno to the highest point of our hike and our Diving Board destination.
Our group celebrated the accomplishment by immediately pulling out phones and cameras for the obligatory photo session.
Before anyone ventured too close to the edge, Bec gathered us together with the calm confidence of a veteran elementary school teacher preparing kids for a field trip.
"Observe height awareness," she reminded us. "Know where you are standing at all times."
Then came the rule that caught my attention.
"If anyone wants to look over the edge or take photos from the Diving Board, it needs to be on your stomach. No standing."
We had just navigated the infamous No Fall Zone, yet this was where the guides' attention sharpened. Apparently, history had taught them that the greatest danger wasn't getting to the Diving Board, but what people did once they arrived.
I had absolutely no desire to crawl to the edge for a better look. The view from a comfortable distance was good enough for me.
Follow Me Down
After safely snapping our Insta-worthy photos, we turned around to retrace our route. Once again, Sanne quietly paired me with exactly the right person.
This time she asked Andrew to lead me through the No Fall Zone. Although Andrew was a fellow camper, his confidence on the rocks made him the perfect guide. Just as Dayno had done on the climb up, Andrew calmly pointed out the best handholds and foot placements while I followed behind.
As we descended, Andrew and I passed the time talking about Indonesia, California, and marine biology. Once we cleared the No Fall Zone, Andrew and Dayno dropped back into their own conversation while I continued down the final rocky descent with Bec nearby.
Ironically, after surviving the most dangerous section of the hike, I slipped twice on the loose pebbles—a combination of fatigue and premature celebration. One fall left me with a sizable gouge on my inner thigh. Less dramatic than my bloody shin, but considerably more painful.
At the time, I thought little of the scratch on my leg or the two slips. Looking back, I suspect Bec was paying much closer attention to all of us than I realized.
A Different Ride
It was hot by the time we got back to camp for breakfast. The hot sand burned our feet as we changed back into river shoes, ants competed with us for every patch of shade as the wind arrived with a vengeance. Garrett resumed what would become his daily battle with the desert, frustratedly shaking sand out of our gear only to watch it blow right back in.
Ready for relief, Garrett and I climbed aboard John O's raft.
Until then, I had quietly assumed the dories were the stars of our Grand Canyon adventure. The rafts? I figured they simply hauled passengers and gear.
I thought we were simply taking our turn away from the dories.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
Positioned low in the water, the large rubber rafts delivered a completely different river experience. Rather than watching the waves roll toward us, we plunged straight into them. Every rapid felt bigger, revealing the Colorado River from an entirely new vantage point.
John O had spent thirty-four seasons guiding for AZRA. Now, with grown daughters and a retired pediatrician wife, he was back spending more time on the river. Unlike most of the other guides, who rotated between different boats, John O exclusively rowed the rafts.
For the next several hours, we alternated between rapids, stretches of calmer water, and watching the canyon slowly unfold around us. The morning's adrenaline gave way to a slower rhythm as we floated toward one of the day's most anticipated destinations.
By lunchtime, the heat had settled in for good, and the wind found an even higher gear. We searched for slivers of shade to enjoy our napkin-less, plate-less lunch over the open water while humpback chub and rainbow trout patiently waited below for anything we dropped.
Welcome to Nature’s Water Park
The next destination sounded simple enough... the confluence where the Little Colorado River meets the Colorado River. But reaching it was another story. The afternoon winds had gone into their highest gear, leaving our guides to battle relentless gusts while the rest of us sat comfortably in our boats. Garrett and I contributed little more than our collective body weight.
But once we reached the confluence, we immediately understood why the destination was worth the effort.
The water was a shade of blue unlike anything I had ever seen in nature—a cross between baby blue and light turquoise. Against the muddy Colorado River, it almost didn't look real.
Then came the group announcement.
"Everyone out of the boats! We are going to have some fun after a short hike."
What? Another hike? Did they not see me scaling cliffs this morning?
Hot and tired from the morning's climb (while conveniently forgetting I'd done absolutely no work on the raft), I grumbled under my breath as I followed our entourage on what felt like another long-ish walk.
My complaining disappeared the moment I heard childlike giggles echoing through the canyon.
Following instructions to wear our PFDs like oversized diapers, we took turns sliding down the Little Colorado's natural water slide. Childish screams echoed through the canyon as young and old raced back upstream for another run, while several of the younger guides and campers linked legs into a human train before launching through the little rapid together.
No Wind at Our Backs
The return ride to camp proved far less playful. The afternoon winds had become even more brutal, forcing our guides to battle every mile back downstream. When we finally reached camp, one of them laughed, "We lost ten years off our life with that one!"
As I sat on my ass watching the guides pull the rafts ashore and secure the ropes, I couldn't argue with the assessment.
We thanked John O for all his hard work with the gift of one of our river-warm beers. With no drama or bravado, he simply assured us it was all in a day's work on the river. He had likely battled days like this a hundred times before.
John O said he would sleep well that night. Then, with the dry wit that seemed to come naturally to him, he added that he always slept well, wind or no wind.
"It's not a clear conscience but a short memory."
Without hesitation, John O earned a spot on my Crystal-approved guide list. The list just kept growing, right alongside my confidence that I might actually survive this river.
Steak Night for the Fish
The wind continued to lash at anything loose it could capture. The guides poured water over the kitchen area to keep sand from seasoning our dinner. Holding onto our plates for dear life (there was one casualty), we enjoyed a feast of grilled steaks with mashed potatoes and broccolini.
Before dessert was served, Bec made an announcement as she held up a metal bowl.
"Save your steak scraps and put them in this bowl. We will be feeding the humpback chubs from our toes tonight!"
Sitting on the edge of the boats, the flourishing humpback chubs feasted on bits of steak carefully tucked between our toes. Once again, we giggled like children as the fish took our offerings with reckless abandon.
Laughs suddenly turned to screams when a goggled Dayno erupted from the middle of the feeding frenzy, perfectly executing his prank. The fish didn't seem to notice one more creature joining their school.
Once nearly extinct, the humpback chub had made an impressive comeback in the Grand Canyon. And along with Dayno, they'd become the most entertaining characters on the river that night.
Camp Dust in the Wind
As we set up our tent for the night, Garrett again complained about his disdain for sand.
"And you wanted to go on a two-week river trip through the desert?"
But he continued his mild tirade, shaking sand out of the tent only to watch it blow right back in. Like Bill Murray and the groundhog, Garrett wouldn't let it go.
Feigning sleep, I wondered if our tent might actually blow away as the wind ripped at it from seemingly every direction. Hearing Garrett's soft snores beside me, I assumed he'd finally made peace with the sand. Reflecting on our windy but adventure-filled day, I christened our camp Dust in the Wind.
Eventually, I joined Garrett, falling asleep to the background noise of nature's roar. I could no longer distinguish between the sound of the wind and the rapids, but drifted off... just blowin' in the wind.
