She has humor, too, in the dancing waters of the rapids. We shriek with delight as we are tossed willy-nilly through the spray and then cast out once again upon the tranquil river. Everywhere there are splendid vistas of butte and mesa, rampart and talus. But there I go again - trying to describe the beauty of God. "We are but pygmies..." wrote John Wesley Powell, the first Canyon voyager. All who come later must live it to believe it.                                    6-1-98 

The rapids were great. There are two "horns" on the front of each boat where the side tubes end. They give the most fearsome ride. At the back of the boat is the "chicken coop" or "tea room" which is the driest place to be. I rode the horn almost the whole way, except when we were not allowed to. The worst rapid was Hermit, which is not normally so bad but when we went down it had a 20 foot standing wave in the middle. I caught a glimpse of our boatman, J.P., as we went in and his eyes were bugging out like a bullfrog in heat. I thought 'uh-oh" and then I was hit by a wall of freezing water weighing several tons. We seemed to be underwater for an hour, struggling to hang on while being bombarded from all directions. Actually it was only about 30 seconds. Amazingly we all came out with the boat intact. When I was able to see J.P. again he was streaming with water, his hat was gone and he was wearing a grin from ear to ear. By comparison, Lava Falls (usually the worst) was a doddle. This is the most "technical" (difficult to navigate) of all the rapids but not always the wettest. I asked J.P if he was going to stop and look at it first. He said, "Naw, I saw it last week, it's the same old rapid and if I stop to look at it I just get scared." As we entered it he announced "You are now about to enter the fastest stretch of navigable whitewater in North America. Hold on tight and have a nice day." 

I decided that when I got home I would describe the rapids to my wife this way: "Imagine going to the fridge in the middle of the night and finding it unexpectedly full of water". 

The scenery is stunning all the way. I could have set up the camera on the front of the boat and taken a picture every five minutes and every one would have been a masterpiece. I'd be talking to someone, forget where I was, and then look up and have my breath taken away by the view. Even the Portapotties were set up so that we had sensational vistas to contemplate while crapping. 

We saw coyotes, mule deer, peregrine falcons and bighorn sheep, among other things. Howard found a rattlesnake which was fortunately too sleepy to raise a rattle. One night, while I was sitting on a rock writing this journal, a bighorn sheep came down right beside me to drink in the river. In this protected park, all the animals are so unafraid of humans that they seem almost tame. During Paul's talk in the "slickensides" canyon, a lizard jumped into Bob's pocket. Had Bob not jumped and shook the lizard off, it probably would have stayed to learn about how rocks move along fault lines and how geologists stroke the rock to find out which way they moved.

The hiking seemed much more challenging this time - or maybe I'm just getting older. I really stretched myself, scaling a huge wall of gneiss at Clear Creek near Phantom Ranch and scaling dizzying heights to look at beautiful little side canyons. I would never have done stuff like this on my own. It's amazing the effect peer pressure has. None of it was really unsafe, just terrifying. 

Our boatman, JP Running, has an encyclopedic knowledge of the Canyon and its folklore. Professor Paul, our leader and ASU geologist of renown, was unable to fault him on his geology. JP is also a source of wit and humor. After relaying the textbook theories of the origins of the inner gorge, he said that his favorite theory was that it was an energy mine excavated by aliens. Upon first sight of the great wall of schist that lines the inner gorge JP struck a Robin pose and exclaimed "Great shades of shiny schist, Boatman!". Well, you had to be there to appreciate it, I guess. The other boatmen from our outfitters (Hatch River Expeditions) were Jack and Jimmy and our "swamper" was Meg. She is to marry JP in September. They were a great crew and we all got to know them well. I was impressed that they knew all 37 of our names within two days. I, on the other hand, did not know some names even by the end of the trip. 

One night it began to rain just as we were setting up camp. I crawled into my tent and did not come out even for dinner. I was snug as a bug in a rug. Others were not so lucky. A few tents leaked badly and about 9:00 I heard cries for help. Some people had inadvertently camped in a dry creek bed which started to run after it had rained for a couple of hours. The boatmen picked up their tents and rushed them to a dry spot.

   

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