Everyone on the 2007 Extreme Rafting HOP had a wonderful time and can’t stop talking about the beauty and excitement of the Grand Canyon. Following is a beautifully written synopsis written by Cathie Carr, Escapees #3, after her trip in 2006.
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The Canyon Is Grand.
By Cathie Carr #3
It is funny now to look back on the day we (36 Extreme Rafting HOP Escapees) gathered at the rafts at Lees Ferry, the launching spot for our six-day adventure. Our guides shouted instructions as wide-eyed participants rushed around in circles looking for their lifejackets, wet-bags, day-bags, and some superhuman trick that would allow them to shove their all their gear into the allotted space. We looked like a pile of ants that had just been stirred with a stick.
The boat guides remained patient, their smiles in exaggerated contrast to their dark, desert tans. They are young, but highly experienced, and don’t waste time explaining details, satisfied that we will learn the ropes (no pun intended) in the days ahead.
Uncertain, confused, and just plain nervous, the ant colony formed small lines and boarded the rafts. No one really knew what position to take onboard, so we plopped down and held on. The guides are right—it isn’t long before we do, indeed, learn the ropes.
It only took one rapid to learn the proper way to hold on. First, we shove our strongest hand under a rope near our crotch. The rope is pulled taut. Our knuckles, protected by gloves, feel the pressure of the rubber beneath them. We stare ahead at whitewater dancing 10, 15, even 20 feet above the boulders lodged by ancient rage, unbudged by years of battering. We grip and readjust like a nervous bull rider waiting for the gate. Our second hand does not ride free and high, cowboy-style, but instead is locked in death-grip mode on the rope directly behind us, where it senses the nervous tugging of the partner riding close to our back. Our feet dig into the raft’s flanks as it lunges and bucks.
The brave cowboys riding the nose of the beast quickly realize that when a guide says, “suck rubber” they mean bend forward and kiss its snout. The riders behind them lean hard into their backsides. If you are too shy, chances are your hat, your glasses, your shoes, and possibly even your soul, will be mercilessly dislodged. Even if you follow the commands, you will be whipped, jostled, and doused with ice-cold water (warmed to about 48 degrees). Either way, you will yelp! Some folks spew out a series of yeehahs! while others babble incoherently, except for the occasional obscenity—but no one cares and everyone high-fives their partners on a successful ride.
Once a cowboy, always a cowboy. Riding rapids that peak the charts (using a scale of 1 – 10) is addicting. And now, every time you spot whitewater, you’re quick to saddle up! You soon find it difficult to give your front row seat up and rotate to the back. However, that said, there is a wonderful middle section on the boat, where those who are a little less adventuresome, or simple don’t have the ability to hold on in the upper scale rapids, can sit and laugh at the idiots who ride on the front pontoons. They remain stable (physically and mentally) and seldom ever cuss.
The rapids remain an exciting event throughout the six-day adventure, but to be honest, the beauty of the canyon quickly becomes the focus of the trip. Add to the beauty the fact that you are drifting on water that has cut its way through rock estimated to be 1.7 billion years old (yes, that’s billion with a “b”!) and you will find yourself changed. It’s just that simple. You cannot be the same once you’ve witnessed this kind of majesty.
The upper layers are formed by sedimentary rock, while the lower levels are thrust straight up from the bowels of the earth. Regardless, the combination creates canyon walls nearly 5,000 feet high. The Colorado River is harnessed in between and is typically contained to 200-300 feet wide, but, in some areas, it narrows to a 75-foot rushing rampage, while other times it pans out into a calm pool, ideal for swimming, bathing, and smiling. (Note: When someone is waist deep and smiling, chances are they’re peeing. Canyon etiquette allows you to carry on a conversation, act clueless, and go on about your business or, if necessary, smile back!)
As our rafts make their way down 187 miles of Grand Canyon, our Great Western River Expedition (GWRE) guides will tell you straight up that this is an expedition, not a cruise, but they take unbelievable care of you just the same. First, however, they teach you how to fend for yourself. They want you to pay close attention to your hydration, for instance, because if you don’t maintain an adequate intake (and output), you could easily suffer heatstroke. Temperatures in July can easily push up into the triple digits, but with ice water splashing on your bare skin, 105 actually feels nice.
One of the most amazing feats our guides performed was the way they managed to store the awesome ingredients and cookware needed to prepare all our meals. Using Dutch ovens and griddles, they created masterpieces that could compete with the finest restaurants. Some of us actually gained weight on this trip! (Eegads!)
Once supplies were offloaded from the rafts (which by the way, is a team effort that involves everyone), the guides quickly transformed into chefs who prepared breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
We, on the other hand, were responsible for setting up our own tents (if we wanted one) and preparing our individual campsites. GWRE provides a comfy cot, collapsible chair, sleeping bag, sheet, tarp, and tent. It is up to us to make good use of those items, while guides prepared the meals.
In the evening, a single blast from a conch shell indicated that hors d’oeuvres were served. It could be crab dip, nachos, hot wings, or even shrimp cocktail! Two blasts meant the main course was ready. We ate steak, rainbow trout, spaghetti, chicken, and so on. To top it all off, a final conch blow gave notice of dessert—German chocolate cake, pecan pie, and even bananas flambé were served! Breakfasts were just as notable. Bacon, eggs, blueberry pancakes, pork chops, eggs Benedict, muffins, fruit, and more! And lunch included chicken wraps, sub-type sandwiches, and other tasty treats. You would never believe you were hundreds of miles from civilization at mealtime.
During the days, our guides gave us history and geology lessons that were interspersed between hikes, sliding down creeks, and bathing in cascading waterfalls. Nights were a time for quiet reflection, usually christened by a rain shower that helped cool the air and clear the sky. We seldom needed more than our sheet and rarely wanted to separate ourselves from the blanket of stars with its infinite succession of blackness pierced by pinpricks of light. We often drifted off to sleep, making faces out of mountain peaks silhouetted in twilight or searching for a falling star.
Now that the trip is over, I hear myself boasting about rafting the most severe rapids in the world, and I catch myself smiling each time I think of the new friends we made. But at night, when all is quiet, I still see the canyon in all her glory. I see her sculpted masses of reds, browns, and pinks as she cradles the Colorado and stares, never blinking, at the sky. I can’t quite fathom that she is so old and magnificent and that we are so young and insignificant in comparison. I am pleased that she is blind to the world outside her vision and comforted knowing that she is ignorant of brother-lands shaken by bombs and littered with poverty.
Finally I can drift off to sleep confident that I will never forget her, for the canyon leaves her mark on all that she touches.
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