CANYON JOURNAL – A LATE JUNE TRIP

Once again I was at Lees Ferry preparing to begin a rafting journey through the Canyon. I was joined by old friends Art and Carol and son Nicholas. They had brought their friend Bruce MacFarlane for what promised to be a hot but exciting adventure.

We sought shade under the small, remaining tamarisk stand at the ferry as our trip leader laid out the plan for the next thirteen days. Life jackets were fitted, gear was stowed, then there were a few startled exclamations as tentative toes were thrust into the cold Colorado for the first time. Paddlers were recruited for the lone paddle boat and the rest of us were sorted into the four oar boats, and finally we were off.

The second half of the first day on the water, after a bracing lunch somewhere below Navajo Bridge, always induces unexpected thrills and chills, and this year was no exception. Badger, Soap and House Rock provided a solid introduction to Grand Canyon rapids, testing the paddle boat for the first time. I just got cold. For some reason the sun was not sufficient, or we were boating in the shadow of the sharply rising canyon walls. I had to fight to keep my teeth from chattering after the big, splashy rapids so the first camp felt especially welcome.

Most were surprised at how quickly the Canyon enveloped us. At Lees Ferry there is an illusion of being able to give up and leave the canyon easily should one suffer a change of heart. That illusion quickly fades, however, as we were already hundreds of feet below the rim by the time we stopped for lunch. The walls rise precipitously in the first few miles, and many of us experienced for the first time what John Wesley Powell and his men must have felt as they entered ‘the great unknown’. Our trepidation was calmed by the advances in safety and equipment that have made commercial rafting so popular, plus our guides shared well over a hundred trips worth of experience between them. Even so, it was still daunting to ponder the trip that awaited us.

Early on our second day we stopped to hike North Canyon. The scalloped walls of the upper portion of this hike are not seen anywhere else in the canyon and provide a dramatic lead-in to the reflecting pool at hike’s end. The pool was clear and as still as the rocks reflected in its surface. We were held spellbound by the beauty of this alcove that always manages to surprise. Coming so early in the trip, it is natural for visitors to wonder if anything else in the Canyon can compare.

The next few days brought an unwelcome surprise from the northwest. A huge forest fire burning on the north rim near Jacob Lake sent a pall of smoke down into the canyon. We smelled it, but we also watched it turn the canyon monochrome, muting the richness of Marble Canyon and robbing us of the splendor of the layers. But every cloud has a silver lining and this was no exception. The smoke was so thick at higher elevations that it obscured the sun and gave us far cooler temperatures than we deserved in late June. This was a huge surprise, and offered the possibility of some extended hikes if it persisted.

We camped at Saddle Canyon on day three and a hike was organized to go to the pool and falls. I hung back on the trail, wanting to take some scenic shots of the beautiful bend in the river far below me before continuing up the steep climb. At one point I needed to change lenses and turned to the uphill side of the trail where my bag perched on a flat rock. I looked up and instantly made eye contact with a collared lizard, one of the prettiest I had seen. We communed quietly for a moment more, then I began to photograph him. He responded by striking a variety of poses, moving from one rock to another, and generally teasing me on. My hike was completely blown as I let this colorful little creature dictate the next half hour of my tenure in Saddle Canyon. He was a complete charmer.

At the Little Colorado a day later I had a similar experience with a chuckwalla. I decided that I would go on a lizard hunt rather than swim and play with the other boaters. It paid off when I found an old veteran poised and watchful, surveying the hordes of swimmers below him. He was half in a crevice 10 feet above the river and fully prepared to squeeze in there if threatened. I moved slowly so as not to frighten him and managed to photograph him from all angles before he finally retreated and stared out from the safety of his crack in the rock. I moved away and soon he was back out again, watching and wondering at the human silliness taking place beneath him.

At Phantom I received a piece of mail, a letter and good wishes from my old rafting buddy Bob Matthews. Bob and his grandsons and I shared the classic Grand Canyon experience in 1996. We were all in the same boat when it flipped in Hermit Rapid. Bob and I have remained good friends ever since, and it was a pleasant surprise to look through the boatmen’s mail box at Phantom Ranch and find a letter from him.

Soon we were just below Phantom, at Pipe Creek, awaiting the arrival of our new passengers. They arrived in good time, strong hikers, and excellent paddle boat candidates. Underway again after lunch we quickly entered the Land of the Giants. We were challenged by Horn Creek, Boucher, Granite and Hermit, some of the biggest white water most of us had ever seen. Bruce had done some paddling on other rivers and except for Hance, Unkar, Sockdolager and Grapevine, did not think the first part of the Canyon had offered bigger water than expected. That changed at the bottom of Hermit. When we floated past the paddle boat I shouted over at Bruce, asking if that was big enough. He just said, “Wow!” then his face split into a wall-to-wall grin that stayed with him until camp that night.

Unexpectedly, monsoon season arrived early in northern Arizona. Beginning after Phantom we began to encounter ever more cloudy skies towards the afternoons, and our evening conversations were punctuated by the sound of distant thunder and the occasional bright flash of lightning. Thunder in the Canyon has an otherworldly sound as it reverberates back and forth between the walls. It sounded more ominous than it really was. For days the monsoon-like conditions kept our morning temperatures bearable and our afternoons downright pleasant, but the threat of rain was nearly constant. We saw dark clouds on the horizon more than once, and began to wonder when the rain would find us.

Before Havasu we camped on ledges and I was called almost immediately to identify a lizard. Bless me, it was another chuckwalla! He was nearly adult size but still had the more jubilant coloring of a juvenile, so I deduced that he was on the brink of adulthood. Nearby another camper identified an adult, and still another found a true juvenile with his paisley orange body and black and orange banded tail. We had inadvertently wandered into prime chuckwalla territory and I was determined to take advantage of it with my camera. Soon several of my fellow passengers were busily photographing chuckwallas also, and this quickly became one of the memorable events of our trip.

Finally it was Havasu day. Our later arrival was designed to provide a window of lesser visitation, however once again we were greeted by the far sound of thunder as we began our ascent away from the boats. I have read of flash floods in Havasu Canyon and have seen their aftermath. I have never seen one of these flash floods in person but can only imagine what it must be like at the mouth of the canyon when the wall of water blasts through. Here the outlet is so narrow that even the oar boats cannot pass between the walls. The powerful flood would suddenly be compressed in order to squeeze through this slot leading to the Colorado River, and no doubt the waters here would rise 10, 20, 30 or 40 feet in a matter of a few very short minutes. The results could be catastrophic and our trip leader had this very much on his mind. Ever watchful he led us up to the first large pool and paced warily as we enjoyed the swim. Then he quietly gathered us up again and led us back out to the boats and away. The rain and floods did not come that day, but Havasu was no place to try to cheat nature. Our disappointment at having to give up our hike to Beaver Falls was tempered by the knowledge that there could have been no peace of mind in going there that day.

The rains finally came a few days later. Murphy’s Law being what it is, the rain came just at dinner time. This meant rain in our Thai Turkey and slightly soggy couscous, but fortunately the pineapple upside down cake was protected until after the rain subsided and was absolutely pristine at cutting. The monsoon lasted less than a half hour, then the clouds rolled back and we had an evening like no other, bathed in starlight and smelling of freshly washed desert. Most of us slept out, as we had throughout the trip, knowing that this perfection just had to last until morning. And it did. It was a highlight that would travel home in our memories with the scent of the Canyon still in our clothes. –M.C.