Danny enjoying the waterfall (photo by our camping photographer, Owen Abrahm)

This story is Day 6 of my 14-day series which follows our whitewater rafting trip through 226 miles of the Colorado River (June 8, 2026).

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Good Morning, Grand Canyon!

Having the Grand Canyon sunrise as my first view of the morning was a spectacle to behold. Taking in this beauty without the obstruction of a tent was worth the inherent risks of sleeping without tent protection.

With that… our tent-dwelling nights were officially retired.

Packing for two weeks on the river with only two dry bags required hard decisions on skin and cosmetic routines. My decision was basically between no makeup and minimal makeup. Going for minimal, I packed eyeliner, mascara, and a small mirror in my mini-Ziploc bag of toiletries.

But like my smartwatch, I soon wished I had packed the mirror away for the duration of the trip. Ignorance can be bliss…

Mirror, Mirror…

Putting on makeup in a small mirror revealed the flaws I hoped to conceal. Up close and personal, there was no missing my facial lines, sunspots, and under-eye bags.

Although I now slather on sunscreen and cover every inch of my body in SPF, this was not the case in my youth. I did plenty of damage during my sun-worshipping teenage years. I hadn’t a clue that youthful skin and a golden tan were eventually going to conflict.

My water wear has evolved as well. In my teens, if given a venue with water, I would have simply worn a swimsuit. The less coverage, the better.

These days, my judgment has been thoughtfully replaced with more coverage in mind. So I pulled on a long-sleeve water hoodie, baseball cap, and wrapped a sarong over my already sunscreened body.

The proverbial ship has likely sailed, along with my desire to display much skin to others. But I will continue to aim for high marks in effort.

Anxiety No More

For Day 6 on the river, we had been warned to expect a day full of high-rated rapids. My mantra of “Two good handholds” and “Stay in the boat” would be repeated under my breath for the remainder of the day.

Today would not be a Crystal Rapid day, nor would we take on the famously difficult Lava Rapid. But a day full of whitewater rapids rated above a 7 (out of 10) got my attention.

Surrendering to AzRA trust, I gave no input on our choice for a guide for the day and followed Garrett into Jim’s dory. This was our second time with Jim. He was very experienced and always calm under pressure.

Earlier, I had overheard Jim describing his attachment to the river to Andy.

“I’m comfortable in the uncontrollable.”

His words stuck with me because I was the complete opposite. To thine own self be true. I loved the controllable. Thus, Jim was the guide, and I needed to stop putting myself in assessment mode.

Two good handholds. Stay in the boat.

As Jim guided us through the level 10, Hance Rapid, our first rapid of the day, I should have been terrified. Instead, I was strangely calm as I held tight, watching the whitewater awaiting us ahead.

We dropped in. As the waves seemed to engulf the boat, Jim skillfully guided the dory to calm waters.

Two good handholds. Stay in the boat.

Maybe I was getting the hang of this.

Dory Meets a Rock

Our second rapid, Sockdolager, was rated an 8. After tightening my helmet strap and securing my handholds, we plunged into the abyss of whitewater. Eyes wide open, I shifted my body into the waves as instructed.

We made it through.

But instead of enjoying the elation that came with Jim’s words of a good finish, a large thud and jolt threw our boat off its path.

We had hit a boulder.

In our premature celebration, a large rock had gone unnoticed. We were not yet in the clear. With minor damage to the dory, we waited for the other boats to come through and watched another one hit the same boulder.

Something was off.

The guides knew this rock. They knew where it was and the line they typically took around it. Yet with the current water flow, the familiar markers had shifted enough to make it feel as though the boulder itself had moved.

But it hadn’t. What changed was the water flow.

“I swore we passed it,” Jim said. “I was sure we were through the rapid.”

We moved on through an 8, 5, and another 8 before stopping for lunch, cold and soaked.

Like the taste sensation of sweet and salty, the river’s combination of hot and cold was both a thrill and a pleasure. We stepped off the boats wet and cold from continuous rapids running 60 degrees. Then we were scrambling over rocks heated by the 100-degree sunshine, our hands burning as we grabbed for handholds.

Cold water. Hot rocks.

Just another day in the Grand Canyon.

Chasing Waterfalls

With no-fall-zones behind us, our hike for the day included a great destination feature—a waterfall. Inspired by our river guides effortlessly navigating all terrain in sandals, I followed their lead.

Ultimately, it was a bad idea for me. If you can’t hike well in hiking shoes, do not try out a less sturdy model of footwear.

To get to the highly touted waterfall, we climbed over hot black boulders. With my good clothing choice of gloves, I survived without a fresh scratch. After a quick scramble down, the hike through the pebbled and shaded slot canyon felt like a walk in the park.

And just like our first hike, the hype was real.

In the middle of the desert, we found another playground in nature. Young and old, everyone took a turn under the waterfall, laughing in delight.

Among them were Danny and his son, Andrew, two of the five in our group connected through Indonesia. Danny went under first, emerging completely drenched and grinning. Andrew followed, taking his own pounding from the water with the same enthusiasm.

Apparently, there is no age limit for standing under freezing water in the middle of the desert.

Owen, always with a camera in hand, captured the antics and brought out the personalities of our increasingly river-hearty group.

Happy with our recreation and the work we had put in to reach the waterfall, we scrambled back to our boats to take on the remaining rapids of the day.

Navigating Through the Horns

As we continued downriver, we cohabitated with nature’s true residents. We watched an osprey carefully choose his fish catch for lunch while a bighorn sheep family of three watched us float by like we were the endangered species. Animal sightings were becoming as normal as people-watching in a city.

Although the sun was dropping and we would typically have been setting up camp by now, Jim wanted to get Horn Creek Rapid behind us.

Yet another difficult rapid that was nowhere on my radar.

Although rated an 8 at higher water, Horn Creek was a full-on 10 at the lower level we were running. And lower water does not necessarily mean an easier rapid. The obstacles change depending on the flow, as does the room available to maneuver around them safely.

Once again, my assumption that lower water would work in favor of my fear factor was completely wrong.

At this level, Horn Creek turned into a rabid animal. It was a short run, but extremely tricky for our guides. There was little room for error. One small shift from the intended line could mean a flipped boat.

Our last rapid of the day really got my attention when every river guide put on a helmet. As they scoped out the lines from above, Jim’s demeanor turned serious.

Shit was getting real. And yet, somehow, I was calm.

Jim was comfortable in the uncontrollable. I clearly was not. But maybe I was finally getting better at controlling the only things I could.

Two good handholds. Stay in the boat.

As the lead boat, Jim navigated us beautifully through the soggy, rapid-whipped ride. There was no premature celebration this time. We waited until boat #7 reached calm water. Then we all cheered.

A late but exuberant end to our day on the river.

Water Lessons

When I quizzed Jim about why Horn Creek was so daunting to the guides, yet had completely bypassed my radar, he explained that it was all about water levels.

At a flow of about 10,000 cfs (cubic feet per second), the horns of the rapid were more difficult to navigate.

Another assumption busted.

Going into our Grand Canyon rafting trip, I often commented that the Colorado River's low water might work in my wimpy favor. Less water, smaller rapids. Right?

Wrong again.

It’s also a misconception that low water levels in Lake Powell and Lake Mead mean there is little to no water flowing through the Grand Canyon. I had read enough headlines about the shrinking Colorado River that I wondered about this myself before our trip.

But the Grand Canyon sits between Lake Powell and Lake Mead, with Glen Canyon Dam upstream. Water is released from Lake Powell through the dam and into the Colorado River, maintaining flow through the canyon even when reservoir levels are low.

And as Horn Creek had just taught me, sometimes less water can make for a more difficult ride.

Dark Skies

Although our daylight at camp was cut short by conquering Horn Creek late in the day, the staff still pulled together a full dinner of carnitas. Like magicians, they produced fresh avocado, onion, and cilantro from the coolers. No PB&J for us.

Our nightly history talk from Andy was appropriately about dark skies. As the sun disappeared, we gathered in a big circle, clumsily navigating our three-legged stools sinking into the sand.

Andy shared that he came on this trip seeking silence, solitude, and darkness.

Then he turned the question to us. What brought each of us here?

Garrett went first.

“I wanted to see and experience the whole Grand Canyon, unplugged. And I wanted to get to know other people who wanted to experience the same thing.”

For me, this had originally been Garrett’s bucket-list trip. My intent was to share the experience with him. But somewhere along the way, I had been lured by an unknown adventure of my own—and the experience of sharing it with new friends.

Camp Honeymoon

Our group of twenty campers fit our hopes for this trip. Although we all shared a central connection to Fort Lewis College, Garrett and I had joined the group as virtual strangers. Five shared a connection through Indonesia and nine through Farmington, New Mexico.

At the center of the Farmington group were Allen and Gayla. Approaching their 50th wedding anniversary, this Grand Canyon adventure was part of commemorating the milestone.

During our round-robin sharing, I learned that Gayla and I had something else in common: adventurous husbands who had lured us onto a trip somewhere near the fringes of our comfort zones.

As I listened to the younger members of our group share their Grand Canyon aspirations, I thought about Danny and Andrew playing under the same waterfall earlier that day. Father and son. Different generations. Same playground.

Sitting in that circle, we represented a lot of different stages of life. The young ones reminded us of where we had been, while Allen and Gayla gave us a great view of what might still lie ahead. Some of us had simply traveled farther downriver, navigating more rapids with a few more unexpected flips and swims along the way.

But that day, we had all run the same river. Together, we had nailed the tricky Horn Creek Rapid. And together, we would fall asleep under the same dark sky. Although in different stages of life, the canyon had a way of leveling the field. For Allen and Gayla, there had been nearly fifty years of intentionally sharing a life and agreeing to unexpected adventures.

Camp Honeymoon slipped into darkness as we surrendered to the lure of the dark skies, some with a familiar hand to hold and others surrounded by friendships only six days old.