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Upper Granite Gorge,
Adrenaline Alley, Bass Camp (Mile 108)
I slept pretty
well. It got a little chilly toward morning, but I snuggled down in
the bag and put up with it rather than pulling on the fleece that
lay close at hand -- it probably would have been too much, anyway.
Practice made getting around in the morning a little more organized,
and not having a tent made it a lot simpler. Today would be a big
day, I knew, with lots of getting wet, so I left the polypro
underwear on for an extra layer, rather than packing it up as in
past mornings, and hoped it wouldn't get too warm.
The river had come up some
overnight, changing what had been a simple walk along the bank and a
short climb into a scramble through the tamarisk to get to the
kitchen. After hauling the first bag down to the beach, I got a cup
of coffee and took advantage of no line at the groover to make use
of it. Once again, the crew had made good use of Fletcher's dictum,
and the view from the rocket box was particularly good this morning,
looking out over the river.
Breakfast was soon served,
pancakes and sausage -- very good, indeed. It went quickly, and soon
we were loading the rafts and getting things tied down extra tight
-- with only one exception, we'd face the biggest rapids of the trip
today, and the biggest concentration of them we would see.
The first of them was right
around the corner, Unkar, which we ran in the shadow of a canyon
wall under the otherwise bright, clear blue sky. Unkar was one of
the heaviest rapids we'd seen so far, but we were getting a little
used to the drill by now, and though we got wet, it was only the
first time of many. We ran on for another couple of miles to the
next rapid, Nevills, somewhat smaller than Unkar, but with a nasty
rock right in the tongue.
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Joe and Parker
changing the motor after a mishap in Nevills Rapids that bent
the throttle arm.
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Parker was at the motor
today -- she hadn't run some of these rapids at the helm before, and
Joe wanted to give her the experience. Usually she did great, but
this time one of those little accidents happened. I'm still not
quite clear on what happened, but apparently while she was trying to
raise the motor with what's called the "jackass arm", she wasn't
quite quick enough, and the lower unit hit the rock, throwing us
sideways. The lurch threw her against the throttle arm, putting
about a ten degree bend in it. We got flushed sideways over another
large rock -- we could feel the boat bump over it -- and backwards
out the bottom of the rapids without other apparent damage, but
handling the motor was difficult. With a little bit of trouble, Joe
and Parker nosed the raft into shore. A serious look at the motor
revealed the damage, and it was clearly time to change to the spare
motor. Joe and Parker managed the change in about ten minutes, and
Joe told me later that he hoped that the accident hadn't made Parker
nervous, what with what was coming up.
What was coming up was
Hance, the third toughest rapids on the river. The canyon narrows
here; we'd reached the hard Vishnu Schist, a metamorphic rock,
sandstone compressed by heat and pressure and time into a black,
shiny rock that the river doesn't cut very easily. Gone were the
wide views and easy slopes; the walls of the Canyon rose above on
each side nearly vertically, with few spots for landing and not much
chance to rest.
Just above Hance, we nosed
into a small talus pile so the boatmen, and others that wished to,
could go up and scout the rapid prior to running it. It was a steep
froth of water, with considerable drop, but at least the line
through it was fairly clear. Soon, we were back on the boats,
settling down into the heavy water positions and hanging on as
Parker backed us out into the current and pointed us downstream.
When you fall off the horse,
the best thing to do is to get back on it, the old saw goes, and so
it proved for Parker. She ran it perfectly, the raft bucking up and
down in the waves, with us passengers -- and the boatmen -- being
continually splashed by walls of green water that splashed up over
the bow of the raft as it nosed into the huge waves. When we finally
reached the quiet water below Hance, we all let out a yell, and
threw congratulations back at Parker, who had a deserved big grin on
her face following the great ride.
The next rapid downstream,
Sockdolager, was not as tough a ride as Hance but technically more
difficult, and it proved that to Parker and the rest of us. I'm not
too clear how it happened, but partway down the rapids I guess she
got the raft a little too far over the eddy fence, and we were spun
around, bounced the side tube off one of the canyon walls, spun the
other way around, took another canyon wall on the nose --
fortunately not hard, and we only bounced off that -- these big
boats will take hits like that. We wound up getting spat out of
Sockdolager backwards, not the worse for wear, wet and relieved.
These big boats will take mistakes and abuse, and mistakes are a
part of training, after all, but the incident showed just how
ultimately safe these big boats really are, and how much room for
error there is.
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Josh's raft
following
us in Upper Granite Gorge, somewhere
below Sockdolager.
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We proceeded on
down the Canyon as the skies clouded up, and it almost looked like
we were in for more rain, but it must have only been a line for soon
it cleared off to scattered cumulus, and it got warm. The next
several miles had a couple smaller rapids -- well, smaller than
Hance, anyway, although some were as big as anything we had run the
first day. We thrilled to the steep canyon walls, the interesting
steep, narrow side canyons, and the patterns of the black schist.
(Yes, the word "schist" was the cause of many bad puns, but I'll
spare the reader . . .)
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Pinnacle in
Upper Granite Gorge, nearing the Phantom Ranch area.
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Nine miles below
Sockdolager, we got to the "populated" area near Phantom Ranch. Here
we would see about the most signs of man that we would see anywhere
between Lee's Ferry and Lake Mead. First, the Kaibab Trail Bridge
went overhead, and we passed a cable stretched overhead as part of
the river gauging station. There was a landing shortly below, and
several rafts were pulled up there, doubtlessly to let the
passengers hike the half mile up to Phantom Ranch and its telephones
and store, but we didn't stop. We went on through a small rapids
right at the Bright Angel Bridge (Mile 88), got a glance at the
Bright Angel Trail working its way down the steep cliff -- making me
glad I didn't decide to walk down there, after all. A mile or so
down stream we went through Pipe Springs Rapid, where many of the
half-trips make their exchange, got another glance as the Bright
Angel Trail, and civilization, such as it was, was gone.
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Josh's raft
running Horn Creek Rapid, below Phantom.
Worse was to come.
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A mile or so was
Horn Creek Rapid, another tough one, the first of four really big
ones below Phantom Ranch that we'd face this afternoon. Horn Creek
has a very narrow entrance between two large rocks, but Parker aced
it, and we pulled out in the eddy below. There's a nice small beach
and a narrow side canyon just below Horn Creek, and it was a good
place to stop for lunch, and, in my mind, one of the prettier lunch
stops. Lunch was cold cuts, and I found a shady spot along the dry
wash to sit and balance my blood nicotine level and work on my
notes.
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Lunch stop just
below Horn Creek Rapid.
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While hanging
around, Joe told us a story of the last trip he'd been on down
there, only a few weeks before. This was the seminar trip, and
apparently was a bit on the casual side, as it had various sorts of
rafts, along with kayaks. One kayaker came blasting through a
particularly exhilarating run of Horn Creek, at the bottom let out a
big yell and shouted, "Wow! That was outdoorsy!" We'd hear that
phrase over and over again for the rest of the trip.
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Josh's raft
running Granite Rapids.
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We didn't linger
long at the lunch stop, but were soon back on the river. The
Colorado ran fast here, and we covered the three miles to Granite in
a hurry, under skies that were clouding up again, and soon came to
Granite Rapid, which had a tough bend in the center. Again, we
crashed through the huge, bucking waves, getting wet in the process,
and ran on another couple miles in a few minutes to Hermit, just at
tough, and getting just as wet. Farther on, we ran a smaller rapid,
Boucher, and now under a solid overcast pulled in just above the
next rapid, Crystal to look it over.
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Grand Canyons
Expeditions Raft running Crystal
Rapid -- a wild ride!
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Crystal, at Mile 98 has a
reputation, and it's well deserved. At one time, it was considered
the worst rapid on the river, and it's flipped a lot of rafts,
although at somewhat higher levels than we saw. It's relatively new;
formed by a flash flood in 1966, and at higher levels than are
commonly seen today, especially in 1983, it was a killer. Frankly, I
was more concerned about Crystal than I was about any other rapid on
the river, so I joined virtually everybody else in walking up
through a boulder field under gray skies to look it over. Huge
waves, huge hydraulics were easily in evidence. As we stood there
watching, a trip from Grand Canyon Expeditions came through without
scouting, and at least one raft got a little crossed up in the lower
part. Supposedly, the right side run at Crystal is the "sneak"
route, but it takes some maneuvering that was beyond our big rafts.
The center run was the planned one, rough, but doable; you're
supposed to stay out of the left side due to big waves crashing in
from reflections along the left wall. There was nothing to do but
run it. We got back on the rafts, dug in, hung on, and Parker
motored us out into the river.
The run down the river, a
little to the right of center, started perfectly. Again, I'm not
real clear on how it happened since I was looking out the wrong side
of the raft and it happened pretty quickly, but somehow a cross wave
or an eddy or something caught us, wrapped us sideways, shot us over
the center line, spun us around, and down the hairy left line we
went, backwards, with Parker trying to get the boat spun around to
at least proceed down though this monster in normal fashion. She did
finally get back under control as we went through the lower part,
still crashing into huge waves, spray and green water crashing
aboard, getting us all soaked. We teased Parker for the rest of the
trip about how she'd made the left run at Crystal backwards, just to
prove it could be done -- and once again, it proved that these big
boats are pretty safe, after all.
Frankly, the rest of the
afternoon is a little bit of a blur. The scenery was awesome, and we
ran a lot of rapids, many of them wet, many of them where we had to
hang on tight while waves crashed over us, but none anywhere near as
intimidating as Crystal had been. These rapids are known as the
Jewels -- while an odd jewel, Tuna, snuck in there somehow, the next
few are Agate, Sapphire, Turquoise, and Ruby. Serpentine and 104
Mile also snuck in there somehow. Early in the run, we passed "Nixon
Rock" -- Joe said it was because "It's a little to the right and you
can't get enough water to cover it up." Finally, we reached Bass
Rapid, where a trail comes down from the rim to an old camp, right
in the middle of the rapids. A private party was camped at a small
camp there, and Joe ran us on to Bass Camp, on river right, at 108
Mile.
The last four camps of the
trip were all pretty nice, and it would be hard to pick the best
one, but on reflection, I think it would have to be this one, by a
narrow margin. It was large and open, with a few rock outcroppings,
but a hard sand surface on most of it. We had a little virga
sprinkle just as we landed, but it was just a few drops, and I'd
already decided to sleep outside again. A pretty good breeze was
blowing, and I hunted around for a good place to call home for the
night -- "Indecision is the key to flexibility" -- and finally
settled on a protected spot in some tamarisks ten feet or so above
the river. It was not a large spot, but big enough, and soon the
trees were hanging with wet clothes, polypro and raingear and
whatnot. I spread out a little, did some chores, and after a while
Joe announced a short hike up a small sidecanyon to a waterfall on
Shinumo Creek.
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Shinumo Creek
running high, keeping us from hiking up to a waterfall. No
matter; we were off the river after a tough day.
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With rafts unloaded now, we
all clambered aboard and ran a couple hundred yards down to a poor
landing, and climbed up over a small talus slope and down the other
side, to discover the creek running high and muddy from some
rainstorm up the canyon -- obviously not a safe place to go, under
the circumstances. A little disappointed, we turned back, got on the
rafts, and headed back to the camp.
The batteries in Jason's
cameras were getting low -- and he used a lot of batteries -- but
ARR had brought a portable generator to charge them. Although the
generator wasn't particularly loud, no one particularly wanted the
noise of the generator around the camp -- the noise of the outboard
motors was irritating enough among the natural sounds and silence of
the canyon, so Josh and Jay loaded the generator and battery packs
aboard his raft, and headed back down to the tieup at Shinumo Canyon
to charge them, making sure they took a drag bag with them. They
were down there for a couple hours, just hanging out and taking it
easy while the motor did its put-put routine.
With some time to kill, I
decided to take a bath -- besides, my pants could use some hang time
to dry out. The Supplex clothes -- shirt from Cabelas, pants from
Bass Pro Shops -- were a blessing. Advertised as "quick dry", they
were indeed that. Sometimes they'd get wet a dozen times or more a
day -- more this day -- and usually, if we didn't hit another big
rapid, they'd be dry within minutes in the low humidity and wind of
the Canyon. I can't imagine doing this trip wearing cotton, although
many did. They were long pants, and the shirts had long sleeves, so
I never had to apply sunscreen to more than my hands and face, and
didn't get more than a touch of sunburn, which is easy to get down
in the Canyon and which has made many a trip miserable.
Wearing my swimsuit, I
headed down to the river, next to one of the rafts. Yes, that sucker
was cold! I could get into it up to my waist all right and soaped
down pretty good, but to rinse I had to duck under water, and I told
Joe, sitting on the raft diddling with something, "All right, here
we go with the involuntary gasp reflex", and ducked under. Yeeeehaaa,
it was cold! I didn't stay in long after that, but dried off quickly
once out of the water and in the warmth of the dying sun.
As a consolation prize, Joe
offered to lead a hike far up the canyon to a little butte we could
see high overhead, and he had some takers, but I wasn't one of them,
preferring to put to the side what would obviously be a tough climb,
for the sake of sitting around camp and tapping the drag bags a
couple of times myself. "You know you've had a tough day," Dick
commented while pawing through a drag bag, "When the paint is sanded
off the beer cans". After one of the regular MGD hunts -- made
harder by the removed paint -- I had an unopened beer in my hand as
I walked back on one of the rafts to take advantage of one of the
boatmen's seats -- it had a back, and I'd appreciate the rest --
when I slipped on a boat cushion and wound up crashing into a side
tube, skinning my knee on a side board. I picked my self up, cussed
a little, drank the beer, had a cigarette or two, then headed back
up to camp, carrying another beer, and ran my head right straight
into a nubbin where a tamarisk had lost a branch. All right, two
strikes, and I wasn't looking forward to number three.
The tamarisks are
interesting. They're an imported, invasive species, and are
established all along the river bank on virtually all the sand bars,
sometimes in thick pockets. They're not a big tree -- big ones run
ten or twelve feet -- but they've pretty well crowded out the
natural cottonwoods. They have a thin, fine leaf, and add a welcome
touch of green to an otherwise earth tone landscape. Efforts were
made in the past to control them, to no avail, and now they're
spreading up the side canyons. Joe told us that he'd made a trip
with the National Park Service in November to go and cut back
tamarisks in some of the side canyons, where they're taking over,
causing problems for several endangered species that depend on the
natural willows.
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Lynn and Parker
working on dinner at Bass Camp, our fourth night out.
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The hikers got back some
time later, just as it was getting to be time for dinner, and
reported seeing a big thunderstorm to the north, which was probably
the cause of Shinumo Creek running high. Dinner was grilled pork
chops and baked beans and applesauce, very good, and again it was
hard to avoid overeating, and again it was getting dark as it
finished.
Since the grill had been set
up, Joe used the opportunity to throw half a Dura-Log in it after
dinner, and a number of us sat around shooting the bull until late,
in best campfire tradition. The talk ranged over a lot of things,
but much of it was concentrated on Troy, his plans to start an
outdoor expeditions business of his own and his decision on whether
to get started on the business plan he's already written, or go
ahead and get his Master's first. Somehow the talk drifted to
computers and the Internet, and there were a number of us there that
were Internet old-timers -- in other words, we go back before
graphic web browsers, to the days of 2400 baud modems -- and slower.
One guy told of saving money from his paper route to spend $700 on a
1200 baud high speed modem. These young punks don't know how tough
we had it in the bad old days. From there, it drifted to the
restaurant business, and on to other things, just like any good
free-form campfire discussion. Finally, one by one, we drifted off
to bed.
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