January 2003

I can't say I put a lot of time into thinking about it over the next four and a half years. It was just laying there on the list of something I wanted to do, someday, if I ever got the chance. I can't even say it was at the head of the list, at least at first, but I read some books, and did some research now and then, nothing much.

One of the things that I have to do in my job is to type obituaries. Actually, these days, I mostly scan them, but sometimes one comes in via fax that the scanner just won't handle, and I actually have to be old-fashioned and keyboard it. Sometimes, it's a depressing job, especially when I have to type up one for someone that's younger than I am, which is happening all too frequently any more. One day in early January of 2003, I was doing just that, but my mind was wandering. How many things had this person had on their "maybe-someday" list that they'd put off for a retirement that never came?

I got back into kayaking for just that reason. When you get to be my age, you become aware of the fact that the somedays may never come. I'd had big plans to do some serious back-country trips out of the kayak, but for one reason or another, most had never come off. Maybe this was the year I ought to do the French River trip I'd planned for years, or go off whale-watching with a group of people I know. I tend to think about those things in January, when it's cold, and warm thoughts of trips to come help to pass the seemingly endless days.

But, there were two problems: the biggest one is that I have to take off weird weeks. I can sometimes manage a Wednesday through Monday trip, allowing me to get a paper out each week. But, I've worked out a deal with the guy that publishes the paper in the next town, who has the same "can't get away" problem. Once a year, most years, we'll put out joint issues -- he'll put one out, and then a couple weeks later, I'll put one out. That gives us each a chance to be gone someplace longer than six days. But, it doesn't always come off; there's a lot going on in the summer, and sometimes we can't get our schedules together.

The other problem is also related to my age and health -- basically, my wife has laid down the law, no solo backcountry trips. I've chafed under the rule a bit, and it's blown up several good trips, since I can rarely get someone that can be gone on my odd schedule to go with me. My wife? No. She doesn't do kayaking, she doesn't do camping -- a Motel 6 is roughing it for her, and I can't get her to do that often. At least she does let me go off with a group on outdoor trips the last few years, but it's only a lick and a promise toward some of the trips I would liked to have done.

So, there I was, staring at the computer screen halfway through the obituary, realizing that I didn't really want to even think about planning some even mild backcountry trip with the near likelihood that it wouldn't come off, and be disappointed again. What I ought to do, I thought, was take some commercial trip, where getting someone to go with me wouldn't be an issue at all. Let someone else worry about the logistics and the scutwork; just show up, flash some plastic, have some fun.

I typed a few more words . . . survived by, arrangements in charge of . . . face it fat guy, you're not getting any younger. If you're going to do something, don't waste a year with something penny-ante. Do something grand. Grand Canyon. I finished the obit, saved it, and got online. On the Kayak Place "Links" page there's was a link to "Grand Canyon River Running" I followed the link.

I didn't get a lot of work done that afternoon, but learned quite a bit. In the beginning, I was looking for non-motorized trips -- let's face it, I'm a paddle person. But, there are problems.

The biggest problem is that even the shorter full-length trips took more time than I could get away, even with the help of the guy in the next town. It is possible to take a "half-trip", hiking up or down the Bright Angel Trail, and I thought about that real hard. I used to be a fair hiker, but haven't been for years. Hiking up that trail, 5000 feet ascent in seven miles, a steeper trail than we used to consider "desirable" on the North Country Trail, back when I was involved with that? I don't think so, not any more. Twenty years ago, that would have been a different story. Hiking down? Well, maybe -- but a little thought made me realize that it's a killer on knees and ankles. Worse, the raft companies that I looked at all wanted to have a meeting on the rim at maybe five or six in the morning, and then have you down to the river by noon. Not undoable, but still a killer. If I could take my time, go slow and take frequent rests, well, maybe, but that wasn't going to work. Take a mule? $800, and a 200 pound limit. I didn't waste a lot of time on that web page.

Besides, I got to thinking that joining a trip that's already halfway through isn't the funniest thing to do. The group that you're joining has had several days to develop a group dynamic, develop their cliques, and you're just going to be an outsider. Worst of all, a half-trip was only half a trip -- a teaser; you know you're going to miss the best part, whichever half you take. Finally, reluctantly, I ditched the idea.

A couple of companies offer shorter than normal paddle or oar trips, and I thought hard about those. They're expensive, and worse, the dates just didn't work. Well, maybe a motor trip wouldn't be that bad. A lot of people deride motor trips as "boloney boats", and say that it doesn't give the true Canyon experience, and they may be right -- but, given the time restraints, I could take a full-length motor trip and see twice the countryside, although not as thoroughly as on a paddle trip, and still emerge capable of walking. And, it cost less -- a shorter time having something to do with it -- still way over budget, but not as far out of reach.

So, I went through the websites again, noting down possible trips. There's a potload of companies that do Grand Canyon trips, and each one is a little different. Schedules are different, prices are different, and pickup and drop-off arrangements are different. One very appealing trip, for example, delivers you right to the airport in Las Vegas at the end of the trip -- but at the beginning, you have to find your own way to Page, Arizona. There's a $200 car rental right there, a nicely hidden little cost.

You normally think of a Grand Canyon trip as a summer thing, and that's when most people are out there -- but trips start as early as the first part of April, and they aren't as crowded. It turns out that the companies get booked pretty solid well in advance in the summer, but the early spring trips often don't even fill up; one particular oar trip in early April I investigated didn't have anyone signed up! Besides, looking at my calendar, there were a couple of holes, one in mid April, the other in early May, when there wasn't anything special planned at work, and it would be less crowded and cooler in the Canyon. Hmmm.

It was still over budget, but I had some stuff sitting in the shop that I hadn't used for years. A guy I know had expressed interest in one major item; one day, I called him up and cut him a deal. Then, I sold an article to Sea Kayaker Magazine. All of a sudden, the trip was almost within budget. One by one, a list of a dozen possible trips got whittled down, one for this reason, one for that, until I finally had it down to a list of three possibilities. And, on Monday, January 13, 2003, I picked up the phone and dialed the 800 number for Arizona River Runners, which had the trip that led the list. Yes, there were spots open, the friendly gal on the phone said -- quite a few, in fact. Fine, I said, let me nail down an airline reservation, and I'll get back with you.

I put the phone down and stared at it. It was a lot of money -- I'd never before even thought of spending that kind of money on a trip just for myself. By the time I got through with the trip, the airfare, a new camera, trip insurance, a couple pieces of gear, a hotel for a night in Lost Wages and other odds and ends, I'd spend as much as I spent on my Nimbus Telkwa. Fat guy, you're not getting any younger, I thought, and tomorrow may not come. Thinking of what it would be like to look up at the Navajo Bridge and see someone looking down and wishing, I picked up the phone and called the airline.