This story is Day 8 of my 14-day series which follows our whitewater rafting trip through 226 miles of the Colorado River (June 10, 2026).

Previous Story: Day 7
Next Story: Coming Soon

Big Ben

With Day 8 began the countdown of days remaining on the river. Going in, I had looked forward to this milestone, the beginning of the last stretch.

But everything changed.

My first week was more about fear of Crystal Rapid, choosing the right river guide, and getting comfortable in my surroundings. Now my mindset had switched to taking everything in before the adventure was over.

I was already mourning the end.

No more frightened anticipation in a body ready to play offense. Instead, I welcomed whatever new adventures colored our river days.

I had long thrown away my AZRA guide qualifications checklist and had rafted with every river guide but Ben. Young and strong, his physical appearance mirroring his rugged Alaska upbringing, Ben was our group’s lead boat into each of the major rapids.

With just Garrett and me in Ben’s raft, we took the first plunge into the seventeen rapids we covered on Day 8. As we cleared the whitewater, we would turn to watch the trailing six boats follow Ben’s line behind us. Seeing the guides maneuver the rapids was as much fun as watching their passengers' excitement.

It was Big Ben Day, with his presence as big as the rapids we plowed through.

River Ready

With a week under our belt, our morning routine had become standard procedure. We woke naturally with the sun, ready to take on the day.

Cowboy coffee <check>
Relieve bladder <check>
Brush teeth <check>
More coffee, more body relief <check>
Pack up camp <check>

Like good soldiers, we helped the crew pack the rafts with precision, working our way around the lizards. Once an interesting sight, they were now everywhere, simply part of our campground family.

As we moved downriver, the landscape and temperatures were changing too. Our morning briefing included a nature history lesson from Bec, schooling us on the ever-changing geology and botany of the canyon. As we floated into hotter ground, barrel cacti began dotting the landscape.

Like the lizards, these previous rarities would soon become our common nature neighbors.

Chasing Waterfalls

Ben was quiet with a quick wit. He immediately reminded me of my own adult sons, and it didn’t take long before I was treating him like one of my own. Rather than recoiling from my mothering, Ben opened up, leading to a day full of great conversation about our lives… past, present, and future. And when we weren’t talking deep, we shared favorite brews, shows, and mountain biking spots.

Not only would we cover 19 miles of river that day, but we also got to enjoy two waterfalls. Both came with small hikes. In the Grand Canyon, you always need to work a bit to reach the treasure at the end.

The first waterfall was a short walk right after leaving camp and included a natural slide. Another playtime opportunity our group eagerly embraced.

Bec broke out her toy kayaker, a fun foamie that had become a camp favorite. With no electronic help, the little guy would bob and float in and out of the waterfall, always coming back on top.

Many in our group envied the play kayaker, some with a quiet longing to mimic his stunts.

Adrenaline Junkies

Waterfall #2 involved a more difficult hike, but with a bigger payoff for the effort. This one came with a jump feature. Young Ethan was all over a cliff jumping opportunity.

The night before, he had shared a video reel highlighting his antics on motorcycles, bikes, water, cliffs, and anything else that provided an opportunity to try something dangerous. He was an adrenaline junkie.

Sweet Ethan… who knew?

“What does your mom say about all this?” I asked him.

“Oh… she’s just used to it now.”

So, I wasn’t a bit surprised to see Ethan climbing to the top of the high, imposing rock to take his turn for a jump. Right behind him was Ireke, his older adrenaline counterpart. But then, to my great surprise, I recognized the person at their heels. My husband.

As I assessed the slippery rocks and lack of handholds, I did a double take to make sure it really was Garrett awaiting his turn. Yep, definitely Garrett up there.

Before I could even ask if everyone knew not to dive, I watched as Ethan executed a perfect swan dive. With relief at seeing him safely emerge from the water depths, the next jumpers quickly followed. Garrett leaped in feet first, barreling into the water for his own adrenaline rush.

This was a side to Garrett I did not know. Every day brought new learnings in the Grand Canyon.

Priorities

Back on the river, we later tied to shore as we approached a big rapid so the guides could scout our route. Lying on shore before us was the skeleton of a bighorn sheep.

Although we didn’t know the ultimate demise of this bighorn ram, we imagined a mighty battle as our eyes trailed up the exposed cliff edge above us.

While the guides were scouting, a motorized raft approached and tossed a variety of small bags and boxes onto our boat, asking that we give them to Sanne.

What immediately caught Garrett’s eye was a box of Cheez-Its among the loot. This is a guilty indulgence of his back home.

As the guides returned, their usual rapid briefing turned into an interrogation by Garrett about where the Cheez-Its were going.

“Sanne, who are the Cheez-Its for? Are we breaking them open as a snack?”

More worried about the distribution of his favorite snack than the oncoming 9-rated rapid, Garrett awaited an answer. But in typical Sanne style, she just smiled and packed her stash away.

Then Ben took the lead as we fell into the white maze of swirling water, hitting the waves just right to drench us on the descent. Garrett appreciated Ben’s effort to add some whitewater fun. I was happy for the cool down.

I had long stopped asking the guides if they’d ever flipped a boat. Sanne made it clear this was not PC. So, when Ben shared, unprompted, that he had been on a raft that flipped on this rapid before, I listened intently. I was thrilled to hear it was his only flipped boat and he wasn’t the guide on the oars.

I love free speech.

Play Nice

There are written rules on the river and unwritten ones. One of the latter involved choosing overnight camps. There is no reservation system, so groups traveling the river together generally discuss where they hope to land for the night.

That afternoon, a private boater kept leapfrogging us, apparently scouting camps ahead of his group. Ben finally asked him about it.

“You’re not nice,” he told Ben before announcing that he was going to row ahead and talk to Dennis, whom he considered the guide in charge of our group.

Ben looked at him, then at us, eyebrows raised without a word spoken.

Classic Ben.

Sure enough, farther downriver, there was our friend setting up camp ahead of us.

We waved, continuing downriver to a flatter and more expansive campground. A better one, in our guides’ estimation.

Ben would have told him our plans. All he had to do was ask.

NASCAR Night

We reached camp and found an interesting mesa with rocky cliffs running down its sides. We were giddy to snag a spot up on the rocks and spend the night as cliff dwellers.

When I whined about missing the convenience of Kleenex, I got an unexpected offer from Dayno, one of our young river assistants.

“I have a handkerchief you can have. I just need it tonight for NASCAR night.”

True to his word, Dayno later sported the bandana wrapped around his head alongside his dressed-to-theme guide cohorts. Once the festivities were over, he ran it over to me for my future use.

Dayno, once again, to the rescue.

Theme nights were common for our river guide group, but NASCAR seemed to be the most embraced. Ben wore an orange wig, logoed cutoff tanks were proudly worn, and burgers, brats, and beans were on the menu.

The big event of the night was breaking out the horseshoes. Competition was high, with a constant line of partners waiting their turn to take on the winners. Once again, Garrett surprised me as he gleefully jumped into the horseshoe play.

Yet another favorite of his that I hadn’t a clue about.

Lessons in Chemistry

“First time since the parting of the water with Moses… ice for everyone tonight!”

Ice for happy hour… what??

The announcement came from our trip leader, Jim. But the credit for our great food and impressive ice preservation went to Bec, a master of cooler management.

For our two-week trip, there were no restocks of fresh food or ice. Listening to Bec explain the packing procedures and air-to-ice requirements needed to make everything last was a lesson in chemistry. And Bec nailed it so well that we actually had excess ice after eight days on the river.

You would have thought we’d had our Powerball numbers called when the announcement was made.

The ice was a fantastic reprieve for our increasingly warm drinks. But the reality was just as Bec had promised in our morning briefing. It was hot out and would keep getting hotter.

Camp Cliffhanger

With our ice now fully melted and the sun setting, the horseshoes were carefully packed away. It was time for bed.

Climbing to our penthouse suite on the cliffs, we were thrilled not to have to deal with sand. Higher up, with rock protection and a great view, we thought we had scored.

I got my first hint that our assumptions were awry when I went to take my progesterone. I had carefully counted out the pills and kept them in a small container. When I opened it for my nightly dose, I found the remaining pills melted together like a Rice Krispies bar.

Hmmm… it was still awfully hot at sundown.

Ben had given us advice on how to tackle the desert heat and get a good night’s sleep. Staying cool at night would become a challenge, he had warned, as he carefully laid out his three-part plan for desert summer sleeping:

1. Spread water across your camp area. (We thought this only applied to sand.)

2. Take a river dip right before you go to bed. (Check.)

3. Wet your sarong and use it as a blanket, or have it ready if you get hot. (Forgot.)

We followed one out of three of Ben’s tips.

Big mistake.

Reality on the Rocks

The coolness of Camp Cliffhanger quickly disappeared as we lay on the hot rock, nestled far away from any airflow. And with a climb required to either take another river dip or move our camp, we chose instead to toss our way toward daylight.

With the sound of bats flying above us during those long, restless hours, I was reminded of a lesson I should have known well by now.

Rocks are hotter than sand.

We should have watered them down. We should have known the rocky wall would block the airflow. And we probably should have considered that bats might like rocky cliffs as much as we did.

Our war with the sand was over, but now we were shifting our focus to staying ahead of the heat.

I was changing right along with the river. And around me, the wind, the heat, the landscape, and the challenges were changing too.

The one constant was that Mother Nature remained firmly in charge.