LOCALadk Magazine

44 Summer 2015 LOCALadk Magazine LOCALadk Chapter Three: Gore-Tex We had officially been set free on the river. Temperatures for the first two days were in the 50's, while the water at lower miles hovered in the 40's. We were prepared for sun - armed with umbrellas and sunscreen bought in bulk, but many of us had only brought the bare minimum in terms of warm and/or dry gear. April 14th, our put-in date was arguably one of the most sought after because of the likelihood of perfect river weather. We rowed - all of us to keep warm. Never had I ever stared so intently at the water. The swirling eddy lines danced from river left to river right and back again. Hidden among green tongues and fun splashy waves were boat-pinning rocks, raft-flipping holes and unassuming pour overs. These pour-overs once passed revealed themselves as the man-eating, recirculating monsters that they really were. Luckily, our boatmen were experienced whitewater kayakers and raft guides, so most of the time they pushed and pulled with finesse and precision, and led the rest of us to the right lines. By the time we landed at camp on night two, despite fleece beneath go- re-tex, our lips were purple, and our feet numb. Complaints were stifled. We remained upbeat and reminded each other that no adventure was complete without a little suffering. The rain started mid-way through dinner. It was not a light rain but a bold, drenching one, which gathered in our tarps and then spilled into our camp chairs when the wind blew. We huddled together and passed around a bottle of brown liquor until it was gone. When the sky did not give, and darkness settled in, we decided to retreat to our tents, leaving the kitchen mess until morning. Chapter Four: Lifted Just 1.5 miles of rowing on day 3 landed us at Redwall Cavern. Redwall was a giant amphitheater which seemingly doubled in size and depth as you stepped from your boat to its perfect sandy floor. We dug the football from under the foot brace of our raft, and mixed up a couple of rounds of bloody mary's. After the vodka and a game or two of catch, our bones were warm and the clouds had lifted just enough to unveil patches of sky. We played and laughed and were ready then, to push on. We turned the corner at mile 52 to find that all three camps at Nankow- eap were occupied. The promise of good weather in April meant more trips on the river and competition among sites - especially large, popu- lar ones with access to good hiking. We pulled into the main site, which was the largest of the three. Justin leapt to the beach as the rest of us waited. OARS, a commercial rafting company was there. They had waved politely as they passed us the day before. "Ruth Ann says it's cool. We just have to keep it down." Justin called out as he came running back. Ruth Ann, an experienced Grand Canyon guide technically wasn't sup- posed to share the camp with us, but knew that if we moved on we'd miss out on an incredible morning hike up to the granaries. We built our beach home, kitchen and all, and then celebrated our tiny river victory as quietly as our gratitude would allow. Chapter Five: A Higher Love The sun had officially come out of hiding and illuminated the entire trail to the granaries. These stone and mortar ruins were used by the ancient Anasazi people to store and protect their seed stock. We sat, feet dan- gling, basking - sunlight to skin, looking down on Marble Canyon and the river below. As the morning went on, we broke off into groups and wan- dered back to breakdown camp. Matt and Kellee had just returned to the states after two years of teach- ing in Taiwan. They'd spent most of their free time surfing and living in the shadow of their celebrity of a dog, Moose. Matt had sent away a cou- ple of stones they'd found on the beach to be made into an engagement ring - blue and orange, her favorite colors. While the rest of us made our way back to camp, Matt convinced Kellee to traverse across a cliff to an- other cave, where he revealed the ring and proposed. For the rest of the day, we rode the stoke of their engagement wave all the way to the warm, turquoise waters of the Little Colorado River. We tied up our boats, stripped to our swim suits and hiked the short path past the Confluence and to the LCR's limestone edges. We swam and floated and worried about absolutely nothing but holding our beers above water. Chapter Six: Bedrock A large schist island splits the river current in two forming Bedrock Rapid. The clean and suggested run is to go right, and as the guide book so justly puts it, "The left run is not recommended, but has been done." Of our five boats, two ran left, neither on purpose. I don't know how many times Ed pulled me to the high-side as we slammed into black rock walls. Our 2,000 pound raft, in the strongest section of the flow, jerked and twisted with violence. The oars were more dangerous than helpful - and Justin, while trying to wrangle them, took a hit to the chest. Instinct interrupted thought. Hands gripped. Muscles moved. My body was the vehicle, but it was being driven by someone other than me. By the time it was clear that we had evaded a pin, a swim and several flips, we turned around to see Petey, Grieco, Danny and Celeste's raft standing vertically against the rocks. As it crashed back down, upright somehow, only 3 of the 4 remained in the boat. Celeste's head surfaced long enough for her to get a breath. She had cleared the rocks but was getting churned and dragged down in the eddy

• Cover