8 minute read
A GRAND ADVENTURE
Experiencing the Grand Canyon from rim-to-river on a seven-day rafting trip with Western River Expeditions
Written and Photographed by Bridget Williams
Lava Falls. The mother-of-all rapids in the Grand Canyon had been lurking in our collective consciousness ever since we disembarked in the tranquil waters of the Colorado River at Lee’s Ferry, mile zero of our 188-mile, seven-day rafting adventure with Western River Expeditions late last summer. Up to this point, I’d spent the previous five days with my head cocked back like a Pez dispenser stuck on open – the antithesis to my normal cell-phone gazing stance – trying to comprehend the magnificent and nearly incomprehensible grandeur and scope of this world wonder.
As if the scene were scripted, there was a clap of thunder and a lone dark cloud unleashed a torrent of rain just as the roiling waters of the rapid came into sight. A herd of bighorn sheep, the most we'd seen all week, clustered along the river's edge as though they were jostling for the best view of the potential carnage. I could have sworn I heard "The Ride of the Valkyries" playing. "Suck rubber!” our guide exclaimed with more emphasis than at any other point on our journey, and I, along with the seven other brave souls straddling the banana-shaped rubber tubes at the front of the raft, clenched the ropes with all our might, lowered our torsos, kissed the rubber-like it was our one true love and hoped for the best. In less time than it takes to type this sentence, we were back in tranquil waters – though, at least for me, my heart was still lodged in the back of my throat. A quick headcount to confirm all were accounted for was followed by a chorus of cheers to release the pent-up adrenaline from such an exhilarating ride.
To be honest, deciding how best to fully express my awe in the space allotted for this story proved to be a daunting task, that after several rewrites seemed best likened to squeezing the proverbial camel through the eye of a needle. The beauty and vastness of the landscape aside, there were a million soul-stirring moments afforded by a rafting and camping experience such as this, and I worried that my simple words on paper might fall short in conveying their impact.
Sleeping under the vastness of a pitch-black night sky, seeking out familiar constellations among a billion pinpoints of light; bathing in the ice-cold water of the Colorado River or a gentle waterfall; stuffing ourselves silly at every meal on food so tasty it was hard to imagine that it was prepared in a makeshift kitchen set up on a riverbank from perishable goods stored under a raft; watching the endlessly fascinating interplay of light and shadow on the towering canyon walls; hearing stories of the roughnecks and renegades from past generations who tempted fate by running the very same rapids in vessels I’d be nervous to launch in a pond; becoming friends with people from all walks of life who’d been strangers when we started the journey; being forcefully disconnected from technology for a week; and, tackling my fear of heights are just a few of the indelible memories.
Founded in 1961, Western River Expeditions is the largest licensed outfitter in the Grand Canyon. Each of their 60 licensed guides completes 300 hours of training in swift water rescue certification, CPR and First Aid Certification, a state licensing test, food handler's education, on-river cooking courses, geology and interpretation classes, and Western's renowned custom guide-training program before escorting his or her first guest down the river.
We met our guides and fellow travelers at Lee’s Ferry, an area that served as an important river crossing starting in the mid-19th century up until the construction of the Navajo and Glen Canyon bridges. Here, at the northernmost end of Grand Canyon National Park, the Colorado River is much calmer than the waters that lie above and below. Prior to the trip, we were given a detailed itinerary and packing list (note: even though you think it’s August in Arizona and you’ll be plenty warm enough, don’t forget your raingear).
We learned how to pack our dry bags and loaded our gear and ourselves onto the J-Rig rafts for a safety talk as we floated down the tranquil waters. While this is a fully supported trip, there is plenty of hands-on activity, from gripping the ropes of the raft and holding on for dear life, to helping unload the kitchen and campsite equipment each night as part of a fire line and setting up and taking down your tent each day.
Being among those who thought there was no way I could possibly experience cold on a summer's day in Arizona, a dousing splash from the first rapid we encountered taught me otherwise, and I quickly made a beeline to retrieve my rain gear, which I donned faithfully every day thereafter.
Lunch was had at Redwall Cavern, a vast limestone cave whose opening reminded me of a whale shark with its mouth agape. The soft sand within provided cool respite from the blazing sun and an ideal spot for a game of Frisbee. The remainder of the day was spent riding a few “warm-up” rapids, each of which has an accompanying anecdote, before stopping at our first campsite for the night and the moment the less “outdoorsy” folks in the group had been anticipating with a little dread.
Feeling adventurous (even after spending a good deal of time pondering a very hairy tarantula that seemed to venture out of his subterranean home each time I wandered by), we decided to eschew a tent and sleep under the stars, finding the “perfect” spot on a rock outcropping near the river’s edge. All was perfect until a sprinkle turned into a steady rain and we spent the remainder of the night huddled under a plastic tarp hastily thrown across the branches of a scrubby bush. Any hint of lingering drowsiness was quickly eradicated by my morning bath; I could linger in the frigid water just long enough to lather up, run out and catch my breath, and run back in for a rinse.
From day two onward, we fell into a comfortable rhythm. Periods of tranquil water were interspersed with rapids of varying intensity. Sprinkled in-between were pit stops to explore magical places like Hidden Elves Chasm, Deer Creek Falls, and Havasu Canyon. At the latter, I found myself in a precipitous state of being frozen in fear while trying to navigate a narrow path that meandered along the edge of a several-hundred-foot drop deep within Havasu Canyon. Lured by the promise of a Shangri-la-like experience in the arid environs, I’d written of our guide’s very frank description of this section of the trail, jauntily traversing boulders along the steep ascent that took us high above the river. Time seemed to stand still as I allowed the others in the group, who were unaffected by what I viewed as certain death, to pass me by so I could will my feet to inch along this tricky section of the trail.
Guide Mackay Crabbe patiently spurred me on by promising a special treat the other’s missed as they hurried by. After what seemed like an eternity, I traversed the tricky spot. As I stopped to catch my breath, Crabbe directed my gaze high on an opposing rock to where the ghostly outlines of a series of ancient pictograph handprints were visible. As an ardent admirer of Southwest culture and archaeology, I considered it my reward for a job well done.
Each night our campsite was unique and somewhat random; while our guides had an idea of where they planned to stop for the night, multiple variables factored into where we actually ended up. One thing was for certain: we never went hungry. Anticipating mediocre camp food, I was in awe of the multi-course, restaurant-quality meals we were served. Prawns, Caprese salad, thick-cut steak, barbequed chicken, grilled rainbow trout and even ice cream, were a few of the all-you-could-eat offerings available. Each morning I looked forward to a hearty breakfast, washed down with a strong cup of “campfire coffee,” as a surefire way to jumpstart my day. Lunch was a more casual, though no less hearty affair, during which I learned that peanut butter and jelly and jalapenos rolled into a tortilla is quite tasty.
The sun was the director of our days. With no electricity to extend our outdoor activities, as the shadows grew longer and daylight waned, we bid our travel mates adieu and headed to our respective campsites. As the first rays of dawn lurched over the canyon walls, the chorus of sounds created by breakfast being prepared served as our wakeup call.
On our last evening, following the wild ride provided by Lava Falls, I waded into a deep eddy for my final bath in the frigid water. I let the gentle current pour over me while turning 360 degrees to capture a mental picture of this moment, hoping to make it an indelible one before an impending feeling of numbness in my lower extremities finally forced my exit from the water.
We exited the canyon at mile 188 in grand fashion – via helicopter – that took us to Bar 10 Ranch where a warm shower awaited us. Te shower was greatly appreciated; the Wi-Fi access and the more than 1,500 emails received while I was away, not so much.
Deer Creek Falls. Photo courtesy of Western River Expeditions.
