This story is Day 9 of my 14-day series which follows our whitewater rafting trip through 226 miles of the Colorado River (June 11, 2026).

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Sleep Deprived

“How did you sleep?”

Ben, our river guide who offered great desert sleeping advice the night before, was checking in.

While I brushed my teeth in the hand-washing pail, Ben diligently worked the coffee detail. I was slow-moving and looked the part.

“Well…”

I had to fess up that we didn’t sleep well. And that was on us, not him. We followed only one step of his three-part system. The result was a hot, restless night.

But with more nights left on the river, we were given the gift of a redo. Sand and rocks would be wetted down, with a river-soaked sarong ready as a cooling cover. A dip in the river before bed clearly wasn’t enough.

Ben directed one raised eyebrow my way but spared me the well-deserved scolding. For all remaining nights, we would follow his nighttime formula with canyon precision.

Ready for Anything

We weren’t alone in our sleep deprivation. Several other campers stumbled into the morning briefing alongside us.

We learned the day would include our longest hike yet. Although it wasn't highly difficult, we would scale larger boulders and traverse an exposed slot canyon. We packed sack lunches to take advantage of the cooler morning temperatures.

But first, we would get in some miles down the river.

With the daily choice of boats and guides no longer causing me angst, Garrett and I hopped on the first dory we saw with two open seats. Sanne was at the oars, joined by Andy, our trip historian, and Kim, a river assistant.

As we tackled rapid after rapid, I followed Sanne’s lead when she chose to wear the optional helmet. I grabbed the handholds when instructed but didn’t prescreen the upcoming rapids. Instead, I rode each one open-eyed as the dory rocked and weaved through the whitewater.

On Sanne’s cue, we bailed the water at our feet once each roaring rapid was cleared.

Guide of All Trades

After passing through a series of difficult rapids, Sanne took off her helmet with an air of relief.

“Glad to have that behind us.”

Looking at my waterproof map, I noted the rapids we had just finished:

Spector Rapid (class 8) – mile 130
Bedrock Rapid (class 8) – mile 131
Deubendorff Rapid (class 9) – mile 132

All this time I had earmarked Crystal and, later, Lava as the rapids that would give the guides heartburn. I hadn’t even heard of these. I was wrong once again.

But just as quickly as Sanne packed her helmet away, she was pointing out our next canyon landmark. Like a seasoned natural history expert, she and Andy shared stories about the land surrounding us and the rock layers revealing billions of years of history.

I thought I was coming into this trip needing to learn the individual strengths of our river guides. Instead, I discovered the breadth of skills each one possessed.

Reading currents and running rapids were only the beginning. They were well-versed in natural history, geology, and the colorful stories of early river guides. They became medical professionals when needed, cooks, experts in nutrition and sanitation management, equipment repair technicians, bartenders, babysitters, and occasional psychologists.

They made rowing the boat look like the easy part.

Are You Fast and Far?

Reaching our desired mile marker, Jim put on his hike leader hat and marched us out of the boats. With sack lunches in tow, we lined up to fill our water bottles.

Jim explained that with a longer hike ahead, we would split into two groups. Who wanted to go fast and far with him?

Determined, I joined the fast group. We would go far together.

Thinking Jim had previously labeled me as hiking inept, I wanted to prove my athletic worthiness.

Following directly behind Jim, I noted his flip-flops while my feet fumbled on loose stones, trying to keep up. I coached myself along, trying longer steps and firmer footholds. Still, I occasionally lost my footing.

In front of me was confident and athletic Celia. Older than me, I didn’t hold a candle to her fitness. I decided to stay close and follow her lead. She was who I aspired to be like: steady, calm, and without a hint of struggle.

As we encountered multiple waterfalls, instead of stopping to admire their beauty, we looked to them for a cooldown. With the sun pushing our body temperatures higher, we soaked ourselves, clothes, and hats at every opportunity.

Behind the Lens

Young Owen pulled double duty on every hike. Along with his hiking gear, he packed a photographer’s camera and lens and carried it with him every step of the way. While the rest of us simply followed the trail, Owen would climb a ledge or retrace our route to capture the best shots.

Behind the camera, we would often find Owen with a broad smile, knowing he had just captured another great moment from our trip.

Our turnaround point was another waterfall. This time, we enjoyed the serenity of the trickling water while catching our breath over PB&J, nuts, and an apple before turning around and doing it all again.

Starting to wear down, I stayed close to Celia, who didn’t seem to mind or notice. Later, I would need to ask her for pointers on her hiking fitness game.

Choosing wet socks over loose sandals, I had finally learned that footwear on these hikes mattered. Proof: I hadn't had a single fall or scratch.

Finishing strong with the fast-and-far group, I looked to Jim for affirmation.

None given. He didn’t give me a second glance as he instead focused on gathering the group back onto the boats.

Perhaps I had been overthinking this. My hiking ability was mine to prove only to myself.

A Rim-to-Rim Swim

As we meandered downriver on calm water, the canyon walls narrowed around us. Reaching the narrowest stretch of the Colorado River in the canyon, Dennis made an announcement.

“Who wants to swim from the North Rim to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon?”

Laughing, most of our camping crew jumped in. Some headed south, others north, all earning bragging rights for their rim-to-rim swim.

At approximately river mile 135, Granite Narrows is only 76 feet across. Its beautiful green-blue water enticed most of our group.

But I wasn’t going to mess with karma, even in play. Instead, I recorded the others accomplishing their feat on my GoPro, staying true to my mantra of “stay in the boat.”

River Toys

As the swimmers bobbed or swam from side to side, Ireke and Shantel pulled out their water guns and took aim at the other boats. The narrow river put everyone within easy firing range.

While my pre-trip packing focused on the cotton content of my underwear, Ireke and Shantel had packed water launchers. Clearly, the seasoned river rats knew what was truly important. As their shots landed, everyone wanted a turn with the power shooters.

The rim-to-rim swim was a wet success. Getting everyone back into the boats was another matter. It took plenty of grunts and failed first attempts before we were moving again.

Looking ahead, Sanne asked us to find the Ducky Choo-Choo. We scoured the rocky landscape like searching for a face in the clouds.

As we got closer, Garrett, Kim, and I saw it. The rock formation atop the cliffs really did look like a rubber ducky pulling a little train of cars.

Our historian, Andy, wasn't seeing it. His literal interpretation of the canyon apparently left little room for fancifulness.

“I don’t know what you guys are on to see this, but I’ll just trust you.”

It is good to know we had a historian who stuck to the facts.

You Did What?

We were thrilled to settle into a well-shaded camp. Having learned our lesson, we laid our sleeping bags on the ground rather than a cliff, with barrel cacti looking down from the rocky ledges above. Now much closer, the Ducky Choo-Choo was even more distinct in its toy-like outline.

Joining our camper counterparts riverside on the wobbly three-legged camp chairs, I was anxious to talk to Celia and her husband, Bill. Celia was a hiking badass. What was her secret?

I soon learned that she was part of an adventure racing team. She and Bill had been married for years, with Bill also competing in the early days. Now he serves as her support crew while Celia takes on long multi-sport challenges, navigating unmarked wilderness with only a map and compass.

Well, okay then.

When Bill asked how many hours a day I worked out, I took it as a new approach to my post-trip training. Goals.

Still wishing for an extra leg on our wobbly camp chairs, I turned my attention to the father-son duo of Brent and Owen.

Although my questions began with how Owen became such a great photographer, I soon learned he had a much more colorful background than I imagined, including a stint in the Peace Corps in Africa and working as a snowboarding instructor in Big Sky.

But what impressed me most was how warm and kind he was.

With Ducky Choo-Choo silhouetted against the setting sun, Garrett began preparing our campsite, this time following Ben’s nighttime instructions to a tee.

Party Planning

Owen took the opportunity to pull me aside. Assuming he had another photo in mind, I leaned closer to hear his whisper.

“We are planning G’s party for tomorrow. I have ideas I want to run by you.”

Whispering back, I was confused.

“Who is G?”

Equally puzzled by my response, Owen calmly explained that G was Garrett. My husband. The guy with a birthday the next day.

As deliberately as this trip had been penciled into our calendars, its overlap with Garrett’s birthday was merely a coincidence.

I had forgotten, but our camping cohorts and guides had not. Thoughtful Owen was right in the middle of the planning. They would start the day by bringing G his cowboy coffee in bed (i.e., sleeping bag). Where did we keep our cups? There would be cake later and other surprises over dinner.

My original plan for his birthday was a simple toast over warm beers from our wobbly chairs sinking deeper into the sand. But Owen made it clear this group was going to put on a party.

As the cacti and Ducky Choo-Choo disappeared into the night, I wondered how long it would take for Garrett to notice that our coffee mugs had gone missing…