Yesterday: Incident and Accident in the Grand Canyon

 Yesterday

All my troubles seemed so far away

Now I know that they are here to stay

Oh, I believe in yesterday

 

The sweet voice and soft strumming guitar of a musical guide reverberates through the cathedral of Blacktail Canyon. A few dozen clients sit scattered on rocks, enthralled with the performance, singing and humming. Magic is in the air; there is not a dry eye between those narrow fluted walls.

It is the penultimate full river day on a Tour West motor rig run down the Grand Canyon. We are a small group. Eight friends and strangers, largely canyon neophytes, being ably shepherded through the wonders of the river by head guide, Jake, assisted by Emma and Mike. Jake's experience and strength are immediately apparent and we all warm to his wry humour. Emma, with poise beyond her years from a childhood spent on the river, is on her college summer break. Mike is the last minute rope-in, the father of Emma's friend, persuaded to jump aboard on his first Grand Canyon trip, but obviously no stranger to river running. We are in good hands.

Jake 

Mike

Emma

And of the clients? Lisa and Larry, a delightfully gentle Kiwi-Anerican older couple from St George, Utah are the chief trip instigators, connecting four of us: Sharon, a plucky grand dame of rafting trips in her colourful past, now in her older years and determined to finally run the canyon with her nails painted and eyeliner on; Karen, recently retired from Texas and looking for the some adventure to spice her newfound freedom; and Alistair and I, (mostly) retired mountain and ocean loving Kiwis. Joining us in one of life's beautiful strokes of serendipity, are Mariela and Becky, a lively San Diego couple.

Alistair and I

We tiptoe out of the canyon concert with a sense of calm and reverence and return to the raft. Over the past few days, the group has bonded well. There is no "THAT" person, we all agree. There is much banter and few complaints. Our boat positions are rapidly and firmly established. Back left, next to Jake at the motor instructing Emma at his side, and well protected from general hurly burly perches Sharon. Karen is riding the pontoons, amidships left. She dared to venture forward through one rapid as her confidence grew but suffered a slapdown from an impertinent wave and retreated back. Front left is Mariela, sitting astride the pontoon through every rapid with her GoPro firmly clenched in her mouth. No wild and gleeful whooping for her as she is intent on capturing ALL the splashy bits. Becky takes an inside spot in the drenching zone, determined to face her fear of the rapids with raucous laughter. Back right is the territory of Lisa and Larry. Lisa feels the cold -“I’m packing plenty of warm clothes”, she told me before the trip- and tries to stay dry. Mild-mannered Larry is reliving the glory days of the Grand Canyon trip of his youth, a constant smile on his face. Mike is often perched in the middle. Alistair and I take turns at the front. Alistair is a general daredevil, an adrenaline junkie, an outdoorsman of many adventures. I love the water; Hinemoana, ocean woman in Maori, although perhaps by trip’s end, it will be Hineawa, river woman. The green, blue and white feathers of my korowai cloak hanging on the wall at home are ambiguous.

Lisa and Larry in the splash-free zone with Mike on the side

Sharon (right) and Karen (centre). Lisa, Emma and Larry on the left, Jake at rear.

In we pile, assuming our positions. Mike and Emma push us off then nimbly scamper aboard. Time and river alike flow with awe and amazement at the immensity of the scale, the variety, the deep time of the landscape at every turn of the Colorado. Our minds are blown; how can one ever possibly grasp the totality of this place? We can only digest tiny morsels, impressions, a fraction of Jake’s extensive knowledge that he so freely shares with us.

Redwall limestone

Ancestral Pueblans made their villages in this more open area

Granite Gorge section

Emma shows us the Great Uncomformity, where a billion years of rock layers is missing

Was this an alien structure or mere geology?

The Icebox canyon section saw mostly reflected sunlight

Yesterday: The inevitable upcanyon wind picked up, blowing back the broad rims of our sunhats. "Time for fashion mode!" We turned our hats inside out so that the ties held the brim in place, the very height of river style.

L-R: myself, Becky, Mariela and Al styling it up in Fashion Mode.

After a time, Jake announces the approach of a large rapid, Deubendorff. It will be a “get down and hold on” deal. That means serious business. Following the severe winter drought and decades of overuse of resources (oh the avarice, the oblivious recklessness of those sprawling Southwestern desert cities…), the Colorado river system is under extreme strain, and water releases are consequently lower than normal. Rapids are “bonier” with usually submerged rocks emerging to present a challenge to river runners. As soon as we enter Deubendorff, there is a bump. That is unusual. Then a larger bump. I peer out from my crouched stance. We aren’t moving but wild whitewater is tearing along one side, buffeting the raft and we are close to shore on the other. It appears we are stuck on a rock. Well and truly stuck.

Yesterday: We hung on tight as the smooth green tongue of water approached. Two straps! The wave reared and we plunged through, soaked and shivering.

Jake, Emma and Mike jump into action, leaping around the raft to assess the situation. Everyone over left! Pull the pontoon! Everyone to the front! But the boat refuses to budge. Upstream, two ARTA motor rafts eddy out, and their guides come to our aid, picking their way over searing rocks. A rope is thrown but their tugs are inconsequential; they leave and eventually return with a cavalry of clients. Jake passes out the snacks and douses us with water from a jug; we are the ones having the easy time of it. Eventually, with a pulley system rigged, this sweating, heaving army of angels manages to free us. Hurray! We are off and moving! Sadly, this is merely a brief interlude as another tricky rock nabs us a few hundred feet further on. necessitating a repeat performance. The rapid has been anything but. A new time record for Deubendorff has been set: around an hour and a half.

Deubendorff rapid and the first rock we were stuck on

Yesterday: Gleefully floating a riffle on the Little Colorado, life jackets worn like diapers, Mariela and I ran laps in the glacial blue water that was far from glacial.

The Little Colorado is REALLY blue

Thanking our lucky stars for our ARTA saviours and the mutual aid ethos of the river, we head on down to a late camp opposite the Deer Creek waterfall, after a brief visit to experience its wondrous beauty, the fern ringed fairy grotto beneath the curtain of water dropping directly from a maw in the orange cliffs far above. While we have remained in good spirits throughout the drama, the edginess and uncertainty of the unknown has made everyone a notch or two wearier than usual that evening. But as I always say to my kids, it’s not an adventure if you know how it’s going to turn out. There is no respite, however, for the guiding team who labour mightily to produce yet another delicious dinner, a butter chicken curry with fresh flatbread. Just watching them is exhausting. I think of the book I used to read to my kids: Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Surely, this has been the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day for the trip?

Jake takes a dip in Deer Creek Falls

Yesterday: With much laughter, we developed a descriptive scale to accompany Jake’s Splashometer rapid grading system: spritz<sprinkle<spray<splash<shower<slosh<soak<submerge.

A new dawn, signalling our final full day on the river, arrives hot and full of promise. As the sun hits the campsite like a hammer blow on the anvil of dark rock, we hurry to board the raft and escape to the relative cool of the river. Late morning, we pass Havasu Canyon and immediately our guides execute a complicated manoeuvre to tie up to ledges next to the Havasu rapid. The plan is for a hike up into Havasu before lunch. Lisa and Sharon opt to stay put in a patch of meagre shade on the ledges, while the rest of the group sets off back upstream along the at times exposed rock, still clad in lifejackets in case of a slip and a plunge. This immediate danger past and lifejackets stashed, Emma leads the way along the steep walls of Havasu. We marvel at the contrast between the cerulean waters bordered by the lushness of the riparian corridor and complexity of the ochre walls. Is this nirvana?  Emma turns back to check on us, cries out in a gasp of pain and falls to the ground, clutching her knee. “I think it’s dislocated”.

Havasu Canyon

Yesterday: On a scrambly hike up Elves’ Chasm, Alistair was not content to swim under the lower waterfall but climbed up to an upper chamber. “Don’t jump”, warned Emma, “I whacked my knee doing that”.

Alistair in Elves' Chasm with Karen watching on

It is late afternoon by the time we finally board the raft again. It has been a frantic few hours in ever building heat. Alistair, using his very recently acquired wilderness first responder training to reduce Emma’s knee. Jake, racing in every direction to grab the first aid kit from the raft, find signal for an emergency call for evacuation and coordinate a rescue. Mike, running upstream and downstream, conveying messages, water, lunch, and more. Finally, the news no one wants to hear: No helicopter is available; Emma must be evacuated to the raft and fly out tomorrow with us from Whitmore Wash.

Mike, Larry, Alistair and Jake help Emma across some tricky terrain getting out of Havasu Canyon

Yesterday: I plunged into the river at camp, revelling in the sweet release of the green waters’ cool embrace. It felt like home. Alistair and Mike traversed the steep canyon walls, splashing down with a slip of fingers or feet.

Mike and Alistair "deep water soloing"

Making our way back to the raft after waiting on a shady ledge in Havasu, Becky, Mariela, Karen, and I pass Emma and Alistair. “Make sure you wear your lifejackets along those ledges and be careful,” warns Emma. We are floored that she is still concerned for our safety despite her pain and predicament.

Mariela, Becky and Karen keep spirits up, waiting in Havasu Canyon during the rescue

Yesterday: We lunched on a sandbar for lack of shady options. Under a canopy, an array of food was set out in military precision according to Jake’s prescribed order of Breads, Spreads, Deads (lunch meat), Cheds (cheese), and Veg.  It was all for a reason, he explained, a faster lunch line, fewer fingers in the food.  We lined up to make sandwiches.

Another delicious lunch, this time on a sandbar.

The rescue team bringing Emma alongside Havasu rapid, nearly back to the raft.

Larry and Alistair assist in moving Emma across the tricky terrain. Back at the raft, I ask Jake “How can I help?”. He pauses, thinking hard. “Do you really want to help?” Of course I do. “Well…. could you set up lunch?” A pained expression; this is NOT normal, this loss of control. He races off once more, the tension obvious. Becky, Mariela, Karen, and I, mothers all, organize the food. It is not beautiful. It is not ordered. My tomato slicing is substandard. But we eat. We send lunch up to the rescuers. Sometimes life is put into perspective.

Setting up lunch in totally the wrong order!

Yesterday: At 5:30am coffee, I asked Becky, a defence lawyer, about her five clients sitting for years on death row. She told us of their crimes and backgrounds, and we discussed the hard topics of the inevitability of lives marred by inequality and deprivation. Only on the river.

Moonset at dawn. Time for deep conversation.

Back on the raft, we can finally cool down a little. Lisa and Sharon have had a long wait in their shady perch, broken only by the occasional delivery of more water. But the rescue group have had it worse, suffering with no shade on that scorching stone for hours. Jake revs the motor and we speed down the river, trying to make up time. It is a relatively calm stretch of the canyon but in our fatigue, the furnace blast of the upriver wind and string of minor rapids have us alternating between overheating and shivering in quick succession.

Motoring along the last stretch to camp

Yesterday: The CIA must be apprised of the Grand Canyon torture method, we mused: a blinding light, a giant fan, and repeated iterations of ice-water dousing and furnace blasts must surely break even the most determined resisters. We laughed at the image.

One last obstacle remains: the most famous rapid of them all, Lava Falls, a full 10 on the Grand Canyon scale. It cannot come soon enough. Emma’s face is set in grim determination. Get down, get down and hold on tight! With a great walloping rush, we tackle the towering waves of Lava Falls and exit safely, whooping with exhilaration. In that moment, the events of the day cannot dampen our enthusiasm and excitement. Then I pause to think of how painful it must have been for the ever-stoic Emma. Jake soon points to a free campsite with relief etched in his face. The worst is over. We bump-bump-bump onshore in the early evening, the beach already in shade. But there is a commotion at the back of the boat. Sharon, with her delicate skin, has torn a strip off her leg during the Lava Falls thumping. She is bleeding profusely. Emma, sitting splinted next to her, begins to render first aid. Hardy women, both; they are kindred spirits at opposite ends of life. Jake dives over to help.

Yesterday: Seated on camp chairs, Lisa and Sharon sipped their red wine (carefully apportioned and decanted to nightly plastic bottles) and red ants tormented Karen while surefooted bighorn sheep scampered on the opposite escarpment. A true dinner show.

Bighorn sheep opposite camp

It is all hands on deck. We must all step up to help in whatever way we can. Unload the boat, look after each other, chop vegetables, wash dishes. We are Emma. Jake and Mike are still working like demons and manage to produce perfect steaks with an array of side dishes, and, as darkness falls and our narrow cots beckon, a pineapple upside down cake, with cherries perfectly positioned within their fruity cradles. A miracle. Emma sits on the raft, facing down the dark shadow of a long night. She reminds me of my daughter, exactly a year older, strong young women both. I can only take her snacks and envelop her in a big hug. I wish I could do more.

Jake and Mike are still racing around at camp!

Yesterday: In the cooler shade of a lazy camp evening, Alistair, Mariela and I discovered a narrow side canyon and a hidden beach perfect for quiet conversation, getting to know each other, relaxing before a night under the stars.

Alistair and Mariela in a side canyon

A typical room with a view for the night

As we at last settle down to sleep, the oppressive, sweltering weight of the day smothers us, like the tightly tucked layers of heavy blankets our grandmothers laid over us as children. A persistent wind whips sand in our faces. Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care, said Lady MacBeth. It is difficult for most of us but completely eludes Emma, lying on the raft, looking at the immensity of the night sky and listening to a classical playlist, enduring.

Morning at last. Another hour on the river and we hear the thwack thwack thwack of helicopters swooping into Whitmore Wash, dropping clean, bright, new clients for their adventures along the lower Colorado, and picking up dirty, weary, old ones. Jake helps Emma up the sandy slope to the landing pad. Incredibly, she still manages a smile. Heartfelt hugs and she is gone. Jake and Mike will soon return to the river to pilot the raft to the take out at Lake Mead, two more days away. Goodbyes, farewells, hope-to-see-you-soons, please-come-and visits; now forever friends. As I am being whisked abruptly to the cowboy culture of rim-perched ranch above, I look down for my last glimpse of the green Colorado snaking through that immense canyon. Soon the experience will be yesterday, vivid memories lying seared into grey matter, ready for quick retrieval for a lifetime. This trip has changed us all.

Emma still has a smile on her face, sitting next to Larry, before being flown out.

Off she goes.

Last glimpse from the helicopter