LOCALadk Magazine

Summer 2015 LOCALadk Magazine 45 LOCALadk colors of the walls change as the afternoon dragged on. The orange cool- er once filled with filtered water was now full of a vodka, beer, powdered lemonade, cayenne pepper, lime juice mixture. Our complimentary Grand Canyon coffee mugs lined the kitchen table and we filled them one by one. It was Mikey, our very own Dad-to-be's birthday, and we were celebrating. Periodically conversation was interrupted by the sound of Danny hitting the water after hucking himself off of a nearby cliff. He liked the splashes to come as a surprise and tested the group's reaction to jumps with pants as well as jumps without. As we started to entertain the idea of dinner, the familiar yellow OARS boats floated around the bend. Ruth Ann called up, asking about groups who'd passed us. We were their last safe chance before Havasu, a must-see destination on any trip in the canyon. "Just stay with us!" Justin yelled. After some polite back and forth and then a pleading and sincere, "Are you really sure we can stay?" She motioned her guides to pull into our eddy. They spilled onto shore, finding tent spots and a flat kitchen space out of our way.v Once her group was settled, Ruth Ann walked up to our circle carrying a bottle of 1800 Tequila and a tray of orange slices sprinkled with cin- line. She surfaced a second time to two throw bags within her reach and was pulled to safety. Before Bedrock we had rowed 131 miles and over 70 named rapids with success and growing confidence. But for the first time, we'd been unwit- tingly heaved into the heart of danger and forced to turn on a path that we did not choose. A perfect display of the power and prowess of the river, our beloved. This, the same river who rocked us, so sweetly while we slept on our rafts under a fine flecked sky. She taught us that loving her meant loving all of her - even the sharpest of bends and the darkest of waters. Underestimation was a mistake we would not make again. Chapter Seven: River Karma By day 10, we were a well-oiled machine. Kitchen setup and break down was seamless. Boatmen were dialed. Our rafts were rigged and off of the beach every morning by 8 or better allowing us to easily cover miles and land at camps early. Such was the case with Ledges. We hit the 152 mile mark before lunch giving us all day and night to reach into our drag bags, the beer-filled rice sacks which tailed each boat. We put up a sun shade, gathered our chairs beneath it and watched the

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