The Grand Canyon River Expedition (Day 7 of 14: Rafting the Colorado River)

Aug 24

This story is Day 7 of my 14-day series which follows our whitewater rafting trip through 226 miles of the Colorado River (June 9, 2026).

Previous Story: Day 6
Next Story: Coming Soon

Light Reading

Finishing my morning cowboy coffee, I enjoyed some quiet reading time before breakfast. Like my choice to read The Emerald Mile before the trip, my river reading also centered on a rafting adventure gone awry.

The Emerald Mile told the story of an insane run through the Grand Canyon during the historic 1983 flood. And it was what fed my fear of Crystal Rapid. She was the untamed villain in the heart of this story.

For reading on the river, I packed the book Brief Flashings in the Phenomenal World.

In the spring, I had attended a book signing for Katie Arnold’s memoir. Although the book is an exploration of Zen and running, a big part of the story centers on her recovery from a massive leg injury sustained while whitewater rafting.

As she was signing my book, I told her that I would be rafting the Grand Canyon in a few months. We laughed about how we both found ourselves on rafting trips accompanying our adventurous husbands. She promptly wrote in my book:

“Stay in the boat!”

Excellent advice.

It became my mantra… along with keeping my handholds in a death grip, feet firmly planted, body in an athletic stance.

And, most importantly, all while having fun.

Halfway There

Day seven on the river came in the blink of an eye. Somehow, we were already nearing the halfway mile marker of our 226-mile journey. River life that had felt so foreign just a week ago was now our everyday routine.

Going into the trip, I worried the river days might become monotonous. Instead, every day brought new interactions and explorations. It’s something I have a hard time explaining when someone casually asks about the trip, but becomes clear when I look through my many photos and reread my handwritten journal.

Today was a big day for another reason. We would finally be rafting the notorious Crystal Rapid.

Although my early days on the trip were filled with assessing which river guide would best get me through Crystal, by this point I had ditched all strategies. The night before, we asked Katie, a guide new to us, if we could reserve seats on her raft.

My day would not include a dory and would be with a guide I hadn’t yet spent time with on the river. This was certainly not my strategy coming into the trip.

Where my fear of Crystal loomed front and center on launch day, by midway she had become just another major rapid to tackle, one at a time.

Somewhere over the first 98 miles, my need to control every detail had loosened its grip.

The River Gives Back

Steph started our day with poetry readings. A lovely way to begin the big day ahead. Her reflections on being present with ourselves and with nature continued a shift I felt happening. Simply being in nature, rather than trying to control it, was much more enjoyable.

Listening to Steph’s soothing words, I glanced at my wrist. There was a bare spot where my pink quartz bracelet had made its home since the beginning of the trip. It reminded me of something Steph had said just two days earlier.

“Sometimes you give to the river, and sometimes she gives back to you.”

After her practice swim through a rapid a few days back, Steph had lost one of her colorful beaded earrings. When I pointed out that it was missing, these were her words to me. Then minutes later, I spotted the missing earring on the seat of the dory.

Apparently, the river wasn’t done giving back. While packing up camp, Garrett found my bracelet.

What’s Your Favorite?

Securing my seat on Katie’s raft, I glanced down to make sure my bracelet was still intact and not the river’s bounty. Safely there, I read my temporary tattoo placed just above it: “Listen”.

At the Little America on our last night in civilization, I had applied the tattoo. It was my reminder to stop overthinking and instead focus on making new connections. Just listen.

Filled to the brim with dry bags and camp gear, it was hard to believe petite Katie could navigate this monstrosity of a raft. But with strong shoulders and years of river knowledge, Katie knew exactly what she was doing.

Garrett and I took our spots in the front while Dayno sat behind Katie. The combination of Katie and Dayno’s youthful energy lightened the conversation. Instead of quizzing Katie on Crystal and the other 15 major rapids we would tackle that day, the four of us played a game of “What’s your favorite?”

From movies to death row last meals, we took turns coming up with questions and enjoying each other’s answers.

Fully immersed in river life, we had little awareness of the time of day, with the sun as our only guide. Katie plowed us through the next four rapids with ease.

Then, at mile 99, it was time for Crystal.

Helmets On

The dories and rafts pulled over and tied off so the guides could scout the rapid from the cliff above. Campers were invited to join to get a glimpse into how the guides read the river.

I chose to stay in the boat and work on my own version of preparation.

Helmet on tight. Good handholds. Feet firmly planted. Stay in the boat. Have fun.

When the group reemerged, our typically jovial crew carried an air of seriousness. Helmets were optional on the river, and it wasn’t often that our guides wore them. For Crystal, helmets I didn’t even know existed were pulled from boat cubbies.

Jim instructed the lead raft to start while the rest of us waited. In quiet focus, we watched raft #1 set its line and disappear into Crystal’s white water while Jim gave instructions to the next boat in line.

The scene gave me flashbacks to the movie Sully, with Tom Hanks as Captain Sullenberger calmly giving instructions before landing Flight 1549 on the Hudson River. Like those passengers, we listened closely to every directive as our boats launched into Crystal one by one.

Faint shouts of celebration came from downstream. My anxiety dropped.

It was our turn.

Meet Crystal

I had read it would take about 25 seconds to get through Crystal Rapid. So, as we entered the engulfing white water, I held on for dear life, feet tucked in and handholds firm, and slowly counted my way through.

Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

As the white water began to dissipate, I was thrilled it was over.

“Nice job, Katie! Yay!!! We made it!”

With a soothing smile and increasing power in her rowing stroke, Katie quickly corrected either my count or my cadence.

“We aren’t done yet.”

Shit.

Katie drove the oars with precision, making the turn through the final leg of Crystal. Through the rest of the rapid, she perfectly navigated 1,000 pounds of fully rigged raft, with the three of us contributing nothing more than additional weight.

Then we all cheered.

Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot

Clearing Crystal, it was time for a break. We pulled over for lunch, knowing we still had another ten major rapids ahead before reaching camp.

Fueling and stretching our legs were important, but so was refilling our water bottles and electrolytes. The guides constantly encouraged us to drink. Each night, they rotated the tedious job of filtering bucket after bucket of river water, filling the jugs that would carry us through the next day.

At every stop, those water jugs appeared. And we needed them.

The Grand Canyon desert heat was brutal in June, with temperatures climbing toward 105 degrees. Yet flowing right beside us was our built-in cooling system: the Colorado River, hovering around 60 degrees.

One of the most underrated items on AzRA’s packing list was a sarong. Before the trip, I wasn't quite sure why it qualified as a must-bring. By day seven, mine was either on me or getting soaked in the water.

Draped over us, the sarongs offered protection from the relentless sun. Dunked in the river and wrapped around our bodies, they became instant relief from the heat. We dangled hands in the water, dipped hats, and repeatedly soaked ourselves.

Our daily comfort strategy had become one giant cold plunge: hot air, cold water. Repeat.

Refueled and cooled off, we headed back onto the river. Our afternoon was filled with rapids named after gems. From Sapphire to Turquoise and Serpentine, Katie powered us through rapid after rapid, ranging from Level 4 to 8.

Things Shift

By the time we reached camp, we had perfected the fire-drill method of unloading boats. Bags were passed from person to person as camp supplies, sleeping pads, water buckets, and everything else we needed made their way onto shore.

Once unloading was complete, the hatch holding our personal burlap booze bags was opened for anyone who wanted to grab a drink. Now halfway through the trip, I decided it was a good time to inventory Garrett’s and my remaining stash. Were we on pace to have enough refreshments to carry us through the second half?

A few of us began rifling through the hatch looking for our tagged bags. Some were missing, only to be found in another spot. Others had opened, leaving loose cans rolling around. John O’s raft was the designated booze hauler, so he helped us locate the strays while offering a simple river disclaimer.

“You know, things move around on the river. Things shift.”

Eventually, Garrett and I found our bags, along with a few punctured casualties. More importantly, our inventory confirmed we had properly paced our midway consumption.

Camp Life

Once camp was set, Andy once again entertained us with an evening history talk, this time on condors and bighorn sheep. For his condor demonstration, he came equipped with a small stuffed animal to show its impressive flight patterns.

His discussion of bighorn sheep anatomy, particularly testicle size, generated considerably more questions. Our final deduction was that the scale of things viewed from the river was not always what it seemed.

Another great evening talk. Another satisfying dinner. Another circle of campers sharing stories over river-warm beers. And another river bath. This time I chose a seemingly secluded spot that appeared perfect. Until Steph shouted that she was on the groover directly behind me.

“I won’t look if you don’t!”

In agreement, we both went about our business.

No Mile Markers

As I settled into our campsite, which I had dubbed Camp Halfway, the midpoint of our river journey was easy to measure. We knew exactly how many miles we had traveled and how many were still ahead.

Unfortunately, life doesn’t offer the same mile markers.

At 58, I have no idea where my own halfway point falls. But I do know that, like our burlap bags moving around inside a raft hatch, things move. Plans change. Time passes. Things shift.

Just seven days earlier, I had launched down the Colorado with Crystal looming large in my mind. Now, looking back on the day, my memory of Crystal wouldn’t be one of survival or even fear. It was a big day, with big water, and a whole lot of fun.

Who knew I was so adventurous?

Maybe that was Crystal’s gift. I had spent months preparing to survive her, only to discover how much fun I could have when I stopped trying to control the experience.

Steph’s words from that morning came back to me.

“Sometimes you give to the river, and sometimes she gives back to you.”

Today, the river chose to give back to me. And so did Crystal.