18 day adventure 6/25 - 7/13/96 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 5000+ words

Mail By Mule

This column has reached you by mule train from Phantom Ranch, the halfway point on my 225-mile, 18-day rafting trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. I will write it like a diary, chronicling events as they happen.

Today is Monday, June 25, in camp after our first day on the river. The week leading up to this day has passed in slow motion.

The drive to Arizona, the meeting of the other 15 members, the orientation at the raft outfitters, and the ranger station launch passed like a dream in which I want to run but can't move my legs.

I was preoccupied with the arrangement that I was captaining my own raft down one of the biggest rivers in America. Now I'm into it, and there is no turning back.

My first day was less than auspicious:

I fell out of the boat at Badger Creek, the first rapid, after running my raft into the only hole on the river. After watching four other boats zip through the tongue cleanly, I thought I was lined up correctly, but I was too far right.

By the time I saw the maw of hell, it was too late to move left, so I hit it head-on and the raft folded up like a taco. I tumbled out as the raft spun sideways and I disappeared into the foam.

When I came up, I grabbed an oar and tried to pull myself in, but we kept hitting bigger waves, and I kept falling out. Finally,

at the end of the wave train, I got back in with the help of Professor Ludwig, a crew member. We rowed to shore, where I had to face the uncontrollable laughter of Ron West, my pal and other virgin captain, who had made a perfect run.

The others just stood shaking their heads as Benician Rosemary Pantestaff scrambled to find another raft to ride in. Poor Rosemary had done a face-plant against the bow of the boat and ended up with a black eye.

I'm now alone in the bushes, writing and reflecting on my first day and wondering what new adventures await me for the next 17 days. Badger is one of the smaller rapids on the Colorado.

Day 2:

24 miles downstream. Today I did fine. I took my time, scouted each rapid, and followed the most experienced captains.

Every moment, we drop deeper into the canyon and the walls grow taller. Soon they will tower one mile above us.

We are fighting tremendous headwinds in the slow water and making poor time. Also, the eddies on the Colorado are huge. If we get stuck in one, it takes us 50 yards back upstream. Tonight, we all have sore hands from rowing.

The big rapid today was House Rock, a bend in the river with a tremendous suckhole in mid-current. To avoid it, I had to row backwards and to the right with all my strength. I made it.

On a rapid farther down, I hit a standing wave so high my boat couldn't get over the top and drifted backwards. The water in the trough flipped my boat straight up in the air and twisted it sideways. I fell out of my seat but grabbed a loose strap just before falling in. An improvement over yesterday.

We are camped just above 24 1/2-Mile Rapid, the biggest, ugliest rapid so far. A giant suckhole sits mid-river, with very little chance of avoiding it. In my bed, writing this, I hear it thundering against the canyon walls. It's hard to sleep.

Day 3:

We ran 24 1/2-Mile Rapid without a hitch. I backed into the rapid, straight for the hole, then backstroked like a madman to the left and slipped by. The rest of the day we floated easy, enjoying the beauty of the inner canyon. I let Professor Ludwig from Germany row and I lounged in the front.

We had lunch at Redwall Cavern, a huge hole in the bank that could hold 50,000 people. Our outfitter company, REO, has stocked us with an abundance of fresh food. We had guacamole tacos for lunch and chicken burritos for dinner. I'm feeling much better today - more confident and relaxed. Ron has had a flawless trip so far. We are becoming part of the canyon.

Day 4:

Friday, June 28 - an excellent day. Today we had no big rapids. We floated gently through the canyon with no wind, so we made excellent time, doing about 16 miles.

We stopped at Saddle Canyon, a day hike to a clean waterfall a mile up a side canyon. At the falls, we met a dozen people traveling with a commercial rafting company. We paid $600 each for our self-guided trip. They paid closer to $2,000 to have professional guides and private cooks. Either way, we were all enjoying the scenery. We took turns standing under the warm waterfalls, getting an effortless bath.

Most of the people we talked to on the trail were over 60, and nimble as teen-agers. Like us, most had waited years for reservations to raft the Colorado.

I'm feeling much more relaxed today, even though bigger rapids are still ahead. It is impossible to relax completely, because the biggest rapids on the river don't come until the final days. That will be the true trial by fire. No matter what we encounter, the next day will provide a higher wave and a deeper hole. Lava Rapid is the grande finale - a Class 10. It will haunt us until the end of the trip.

I wish I had room to describe the other 15 members of the trip, because each one is a special person, who deserves a page apiece. Our river leader, Bill Campbell, is the most experienced of us all. Not only has he been rafting for 20-plus years, but this is his fifth trip down the Colorado.

His calm, jovial personality gives us all a sense of security when we grow apprehensive looking at the maps of the river ahead.

We also have a doctor traveling with us. Andrew and his wife, Rita, though his services probably won't be needed - he's a plastic surgeon.

Besides our fine big boats, we have four kayakers. While we push and pull down stream, they zip around the rapids like water spiders, finding the safest, or the most exciting routes.

The funniest guy on the trip is Charley Beazell, a retired pharmacist. He handles the toilets and the biggest boat. Weathered by a lifetime of adventures, he seems more like a part of the canyon than a mere visitor. Each evening, in shorts and shoes, he sits in the circle of chairs making jokes and telling stories of his near-death experiences. This is also his fifth trip down the Colorado.

Later, when I have more time, I'll tell you about Jon Brommeland, the main man who put this whole trip together.

Day 5:

Lots of rowing, steady, easy rapids. We stopped at Little Colorado River, Mile 61. It is crystal blue and full of giant carp. We floated its rapids in our life jackets. I was on cook detail tonight. I'm very tired. Good night.

Day 6:

Today is another day in limbo because the big rapids begin on Day 7. We stopped shortly after noon at the top of the run.

Tomorrow will be the true test of my abilities. If you look down and see an entry for Day 7, you'll know I made it. If it's there, jump down and read it. It will be far more interesting than this. It's midnight, 97 degrees. I sweat under my sheet on the beach.

Day 7:

The final entry before reaching Phantom Ranch, where this diary will be mailed. Today we ran many big rapids - Nevill's, Hance, Socdolager, and Grapevine.

Hance is the biggest rapid we've seen so far, a Class 9. The standard rating of rapids - Class I to Class VI (with Class VI considered as unrunnable) - does not apply here. On the Colorado, they found the biggest rapids, rated them as Class 10, then rated the rest from 9 down to 1.

I ran Hance without flip nor fall. I followed River Leader Bill Campbell through a maze of rocks, past the biggest holes, and into several giant waves. We got wet, but we made it.

The kayakers haven't been so lucky today. We did three rescues. Dr. Pichler flipped on Nevills and swam several hundred yards before being pulled to shore. Jon Brommeland flipped on Hance and swam twice as far. All five rafts raced to catch him but the currents made it difficult. We threw three life lines and missed all three. Finally, way downstream, we pulled him into a raft. He was so tired he just knelt silently for 10 minutes. His kayak broke a foot peg and was disabled. On Socdolager (which means "knockout blow"), Dr. Pichler flipped and swam again, much farther this time. Fatigued, he lashed his kayak to a raft and accepted a ride.

Jon

A wonderful sight was watching and old pro, Bailing Bob, deal with disaster. At the top of Hance, the left oar on his raft broke in half. Spinning wildly, he quickly and calmly removed the broken oar, untied his spare and popped it into place, just in time to miss the last big hole. I stood on the bank grinning with admiration.

My raft hit the big hole at the top of Socdolager. A ton of water washed over the boat and we shot cleanly over the top, hooting and hollering with the exhilaration.

Pulling into camp, it was my turn to laugh. Ron West's crew missed our fakeout eddy and floated away downstream. The caught an eddy farther down and worked like madmen pulling the raft upstream along the bank. It took them 20 minutes and we had to float a lifeline down stream to him to assist. Doesn't this stuff sound like fun?

We are all resting in camp. I will now fold this mess of wrinkled pages up to mail out in the morning. We are at Mile 84. Only 141 more miles to go. Only 66 more rapids to run. I'll be off the river in one piece in 11 days, God willing. See you then.

Part 2 - written upon my return to reality…………………….

Drummer Column Special, Gibbs, 3,395 words

Peter

The journey continues…

DAY 8 on the Colorado River: We visited civilization today, Phantom Ranch, the campground for all the hikers who come down from the Grand Canyon's Southern Rim. It felt strange to see all these people without boats. It felt even stranger to step into the air-conditioned canteen, drink frozen lemonade and use flush toilets.

The air buzzed with helicopters rushing out hikers who had collapsed from heat exhaustion. The most frequent victims were macho men in their 20's who hiked full speed without shirts or rest and then dehydrated at the bottom. This day one energetic hiker who did not carry enough water died on the trail. So it goes.

Shirley

After a refill on the lemonade, I dropped my postcards and the first installment of this adventure into the mule saddlebag that hung from a wooden peg on the wall. We bid farewell to Dr. Pichler and his wife, Rita, who hiked the nine miles out, and said hello to John and Shirley Hazlett, their replacements for the rest of the trip. John is a Class V kayaker who came for the bigger waves downstream.

We launched around 1 p.m. Jon Brommeland, the big daddy of the trip, had broken a foot peg in his kayak the day before, so I asked him to row my boat so I could hang over the bow and eat a few waves.

He happily obliged. As he said to Ron, "If Steve wants to eat some waves, I'll make sure his lips get wrapped around his ankles." Around the corner came Horn Rapid, a Class 9. We stopped to scout and all agreed that we could go on either side, as long as we missed the big curling wave in the center. All the boats launched before us and by-passed the curler. Bailing Bob

I lay my chest on the bow tube, head jutting out, and waited for Jon to take us safely through. He did, straight through the curler. Peter turned around just before we hit to see if Jon was panicked or frantically backstroking. He told me later Jon had an evil grin on his face and was rowing straight toward this Paul Bunyan-sized wave. We crashed into it with an explosion of whitewater and shot up over the top. I was buried in water when I yelled and drank a gallon of Colorado.

DAY 9: We camped last night above Hermit Rapid, famous for two things. It has the tallest waves on the river, and it's safe - no holes, no rocks. It is possible to flip a raft if one were to go over the highest point of the waves, but for us it was a risk worth taking.

Jon still hadn't fixed his kayak, so I put him at the oars again and hung over the front, daring him to drench me again. He took the dare. We all ran center river over the big tops without flipping. This time, instead of yelling, I snapped pictures at the crest and trough of each wave.

A few miles later, things grew serious. We were approaching Crystal, one of two Class 10 rapids. It's the rapid in the postcard I sent out by mule. We stopped to scout along with a half-dozen other rafts. The roar was deafening. The water tumbled through the gorge like some insane flash flood come to destroy a city. Huge waves crashed and curled in every direction. Nothing friendly about this stretch of river.

First through was John Hazlett, our champion kayaker. He flew through the toughest waves as straight as an arrow, disappearing from time to time under the foam only to pop out on the far side in a clean run.

Next came Bill Campbell, our champion rafter in his little 14-foot boat loaded with toilet cans. He hit the first wave fine, but the second one spun him sideways and he crested over the biggest wave at a dangerous tilt. At the very top, the raft paused for a second, unsure whether to tumble backwards in a flip or go on. It slid over the far side and proceeded into the canyon in another clean run. Behind him came expert Bailing Bob. He rode Crystal like he was out for a Sunday drive. If he could have released an oar, I'm sure he would have waved at us from the thick of it.

Ron West came next. He took the same run as Bill, spinning the same way. The oars popped free from Ron's grasp at the peak of the highest wave, and we watched Ron dive belly down across the frame of the boat to highside. Somehow it worked, and Ron and his boat disappeared into the foam on the far side.

For the last time I let Jon oar my boat, partly so I could highside over the bow again, and mostly because this rapid scared me silly. Jon, again like a bulldozer, ran it right down the middle, burying us in water. When all the spinning and bouncing ended, we were still afloat, right-side up. We were all ABC - Alive Below Crystal.

Tonight we are camped at the start of calmer waters. Our next few days will consist of stops for some long hikes. I rest easy.

DAY 10: 4th of July, just another day in paradise. Today was the epitome of an average day - up drinking coffee by 5 a.m., eating breakfast and using the groover by 6 a.m., packing by 7 a.m., and on the river by 8 a.m.

Charlie

Groover is the term for toilet. The name comes from using an ammo box as the container. The sharp sides put grooves in a person's butt. Nowadays, we have a real toilet seat to place over it. Ah, the joy of modern conveniences.

Today we visited Elves Chasm, a waterfall in a narrow canyon that we could swim under and climb above. Dozens of people joined us from other rafting groups and we had an impromptu afternoon swim party.

We floated easy until sunset, then found a sandy beach and celebrated the 4th by waving a small flag and saying "Whoopee!"

Marla

DAY 11: Today we ran a few good rapids - Specter, Bedrock, and Dubendorff, all Class 7. We're becoming a bit blasé about scouting. We usually just read and run, which means we stand up on the highest point in the boat and examine the rapid until we're perfectly aligned. The trick is to enter the rapid sideways, so we can row right or left, then turn the bow downstream just as the fun begins.

Ron almost got plastered in Bedrock Rapid. A rogue wave spun him the wrong way and he came close to wrapping against the department-store-sized bedrock in the middle. Pure adrenaline saved him.

Presently, everyone is off on another too-long-for-me, 6-mile day hike to see another creek waterfall. I held back with Ron and a few others and watched the Colorado from a shady chair. It's about 112 degrees.

Today is also special because it's my 10th wedding anniversary. Susan and Jane West are in New York City on separate vacations. For some reason, they thought that would be safer. We promised each other a timed toast, but with the time difference we didn't want to make any mistakes, so we toasted every hour from 6 to 9 p.m.

After 11 days, the thrill of adventure and uniqueness of experience is about gone. Now, a new state of mind is setting in. We are here with 100 miles, eight days, and untold rapids ahead. We must survive. It is just our daily routine - eat, sleep, raft, apply sunscreen and skin lotion by the quart. Ruth

The skin dries up like dead rattlesnake hide down here. Cracks and crevices appear on fingertips and toes. Hands are so dry we could light matches across our palms. When we apply lotion, we can almost hear the sucking sound as it gets absorbed. My poor thumbs look liked dried-up muddy riverbeds. Also, cuts don't heal because they are always wet. Infections are common. I cut my leg on day one and it's still pink and raw.

DAY 12 - Woke up this morning to 30 extra feet of beach. The water had dropped due to the July 4th diminished power consumption. The Glen Canyon Dam released less water and we are a day's flow from it. Luckily, we planned ahead and parked our rafts in deeper water.

Today we stopped at one of the most beautiful spots yet - Deer Creek. At the river's edge, a 50-foot waterfall pours through the wall into a deep pool. When we climbed into the pool and tried to walk under the falls, the wind was so powerful we couldn't make it. Finally, Cora Ludwig, a kayaker, made it by wearing a helmet, goggles, and crouching down until only her head appeared above water.

After this, we followed a trail up the ledge where we could follow Deer Creek back a narrow canyon to a smaller waterfall that we could stand under. Again, we got a free, effortless bath.

Dave

Today we also had our first equipment disaster. The Maravia, one of our big 18-foot boats, got too hot and burst a seam. The whole front went flat six miles from camp. We used duct tape and rowed like mad. Tonight we patched it while dinner was cooking. We'll know tomorrow if the patch holds.

We are camped at Kanab Creek, without a doubt the warmest water we have experienced yet. We walked 100 yards upstream and lay down in pool until sunset. Clam chowder tonight. I'm resting easy.

DAY 13: The patch on the Maravia seems to have held. It stayed inflated all day. We spent the afternoon at Matkatamiba Canyon, an extremely narrow, water-worn side canyon. We climbed up the stream to a beautiful, shaded clearing where half of us took naps while the others hiked. I was a napper. (I hike enough when I'm not rafting.)

Rosemary

The water turned muddy today - must have been a storm upstream. The opaque water makes the rapids look more ominous than ever. In late afternoon, we reached Upset Rapid, Class 8. The brown water made us all apprehensive. We put on helmets and strapped our jackets extra tight. The map described a center hole notorious for flipping boats.

Entering a rapid is the most exhilarating time - the water is still flat and undulating as it begins its decent. The tongue narrows into a V until tiny white crests appear, then all hell breaks loose. At Upset I tried to get left, but the current insisted I go center, straight into the hole. Recalling my swim from day one, I pointed my bow straight into the hole, slid down deep in my seat, and held on for dear life. I hit the hole dead on. Wham! The boat stopped and water flew everywhere. Peter and I shot up into the air, in the boat, flew over the top, and down the other side. We eddied out at the bottom and breathed sighs of relief. The rest came through in somewhat similar fashion.

Bill

Tonight, camped on stone ledges, we were hit with our first downpour. It rained heavy for 20 minutes, warm enough that no one did much to escape it. Most just sat in their chairs and continued their discussions. When the rain stopped, we celebrated Phil Meyer's 30th birthday. Phil is our youngest, a madman with more courage than skill who takes an inflatable kayak down the deadliest rapids. Skill, however, comes quickly on the Colorado.

Cora

DAY 14 - We explored Havasu Creek, which runs up to an Indian Reservation for the Havasupai Indians, if one wanted to walk 30 miles. Most hiked 11 miles to Mooney Falls and back. Mooney, a 330-foot waterfall, was named after an explorer who had Indians attempt to lower him down the 330-foot cliff in his chair tied to ropes. The ropes snagged on a rock and trapped Mooney halfway down. He sat there for two days while the Indians tried vainly to rescue him. On the third day, a failed attempt tipped him out of his chair and he fell to his death. They buried his bones at the top.

Tonight, camp life is subdued. We are camped 14 miles from Lava Falls, the biggest rapid on the river.

Phil, the Mad Man in the IK

DAY 15: Lava Falls. Need I say more? Just the words make people shudder. This is the day that has haunted us for the whole trip. Lava is the biggest, meanest, irate rapid on the Colorado, created when a volcano beyond the northern rim erupted, sending a river of molten rock down the canyon to meet the river of cold water. In the boiling and roiling that ensued, a lava ledge was created across 70-percent of river center. Over this ledge, water drops 14 feet into a boat-eating hole that is not funny. The rest of the river comes crashing in from the sides in huge lateral waves to converge and continue beyond the hole another 23-feet down a steep slope that puts Lava Falls in the record books as the fastest runable rapid in the western hemisphere.

All morning we floated slowly toward Lava. For hours we rowed in silent contemplation. The fortunate ones are those who have been here before. For us first-timers, our imaginations ran wild with the potential of this mighty rapid. For me, a miniature Niagara Falls kept creeping into mind.

In the distance, we heard a slight roar that didn't remain slight for long. Our river leader, Bill Campbell, finally rowed to the right shore and motioned us over. It was time to scout. As we walked along the bank, the deep, throaty roar made my heart pound. It was too late to row back upstream to the put-in, so I kept walking.

Last to climb a stony bank, I looked ahead at the others on top. They were transfixed by what they saw beyond. No one moved. Visions of unfinished lesson plans and long-term substitute teachers raced through my brain. I'd had a good life. What a dramatic way to go out.

I reached the top and looked down at Lava Falls. My God. This can't be real. There must be another way around it. Monstrous curling waves crisscrossed the river like a maze with no exit. To heighten the tension, the water level was still low, causing the so-called "Chicken Run" on the left side to be dried up, exposing a garden of jagged rocks where would otherwise be a side route around this madness.

While standing there, we got to see two professionally guided giant rafts with high-paying customers make the run on the right side. The first boat spun out of control immediately. The oars snapped from the guide's hands and the boat vanished inside the curl of a wave. It shot out the other side, sideways, flew over the top of the next few waves, under a couple more, and floated away downstream.

The next raft wasn't so lucky. It too spun violently sideways at the first trough, tipped up on its side, and dumped its passengers into the river. The guide lay spread-eagle across the frame and held on, as the boat and its swimmers dashed off down stream.

"Let's scout the left side," said Bill. Good idea. Meanwhile, we heard from others of another recent accident involving people who had rented boats from the same outfitter as us. A husband and wife team, trying to go left, didn't make it. Their boat washed into the hole. The force of the water ripped the metal D-rings off the boat, tearing it from its oar frame, and both people went swimming with all their gear. The wife, while hiking back up the bank below was bitten twice by a rattlesnake. Their emergency radio couldn't get a signal out and someone had to climb halfway up the canyon wall, where he contacted a commercial airline. The airline forwarded their May Day signal and a helicopter flew in to life-flight the woman to a hospital.

Next. It was our turn. After a left-bank scout, Bill picked a line for us all to follow, just right of a jagged rock and barely left of the hole. "It's all we've got," he said, and jumped into his raft. "Steve, follow me through." And off he went.

So, I was to be second out of five rafts. Oh, well. No time to think. I hopped into my boat while professor Ludwig untied us. We had on wetsuits as well as helmets, slim comfort. With a feeble wave to those on the beach, we pushed off.

Bill got an earlier start than I and with a smaller, lighter boat, he entered the rapid before I was set up. I had to turn away from him to row closer and didn't see his line. "Which way did he go?" I asked the professor. He shrugged and pointed vaguely downstream. It was too late for options. We were picking up speed. The current had us and was pulling us toward the ledge.

I turned the boat sideways but couldn't row yet or I'd hit the rock. We flowed closer to the hole, waiting for the critical instant. The thunder of water surrounded us. We made the first drop, slipping past the rock and rushing toward the hole with increasing speed. When it was right in front of me, so close I could hear the angels singing, I backstroked three hard pulls, all I had time for, and spun the bow downstream. We entered a world of whiteness, deep in a trough. My right oar snapped out of my hand, and for a second, time stopped. I looked around. It was a second to keep forever, and I was savoring it. My fear was gone, replaced by awe. The hole slipped away to my right, and we shot up over a tremendous wave, entering the slope of standing waves that would carry us raucously to the bottom. We made it.

Ron West followed on the same line. He even lost his right oar in the same wave, and he made it through. We all made it, even Phil in his inflatable kayak. The only swimmer was Ruth. Her kayak flipped beyond the hole and she couldn't roll up, but swam safely to shore.

It's hard to describe the sense of elation we felt at the bottom. We had survived the worst the canyon had to offer without a flip. We sat on the bank and laughed and shared our feelings of how it felt to be so close to the hole.

That night we lay on our tarps on the beach totally relaxed. As soon as we fell asleep a windstorm blasted us with sand. We simply pulled our tarps over us and went back to sleep. Then the biggest thunderstorm of the trip opened up and drenched us. We kept sleeping as the rain pelted our tarps. We awoke in the morning to find ourselves buried in wet sand, sleeping in pools of water in soaked sleeping bags. It was warm. We were ABL (Alive Below Lava) and we laughed it off.

Steve (aka me)

DAY 16: Easy day. We just floated and floated, dodging eddies and making miles. Peter rowed while I slept in front. Tonight we all have our tents up, though there is no sign of rain.

DAY 17: Last day on the river. Tired as we were, the river provided plenty of excitement. We traveled 17 miles and encountered four good, big rapids. We took them with great calm. I fell out of my seat in one big wave that threw my boat right up on its side, but it didn't seem like such a big deal. We camped five miles from the take-out.

DAY 18: We were up and launched by 7 a.m. and docked at the take-out two hours later. Quickly, and with alacrity, we derigged the boats, stacked the gear, let the air out of the tubes, and waited for our shuttle vans to come and haul us out of the canyon. Good-bye, Colorado River. Good-bye, Grand Canyon. We were ready to go home.

Actually, Ron and I drove to Vegas to meet our wives who had rooms at the luxurious Luxor Hotel, but that's a story for another time.

Visit the Flow Line for the South Fork American.