By Nancy Pietrowski
It took me awhile to sit down and write this story. Oh, we talked about it, gushed about it incessantly, gave endless slide shows to our patient family and friends. Anyone who’s been there knows what we experienced, what we saw, smelled, heard, tasted, felt, in every fiber of our being, and every muscle, tendon and bone of our bodies, because we kayaked almost the entire length of the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon in 12 days, from Lees Ferry to Lake Mead. This averages to 20 miles per day. With hikes thrown in. Without a layover day. I won’t burden you with minute details of the trip, as each one of these trips are the same and you have already heard from several of our PCC compatriots who were on Paul Natali’s private trip last year. But even as each trip is the same, they are also very different, and that’s what you’ll hear about.
We went on a commercial outfitter trip with Phil and Mary DeRiemer, of DeRiemer Adventure Kayaking. This lovely couple has been doing kayak instruction for years, and run trips to Costa Rica and Ecuador in the winter (several of us are taking a trip with them in January to the latter country), the Middle Fork of the Salmon, the Grand Canyon, and the Rogue River (Oregon). For the Grand trip, they hire an outfitter to do all the support, like all of the planning, buying all the food, doing all the cooking, doing all the clean-up, setting up and emptying the groover (they always picked the spot with the most beautiful views for you to do your business), purifying the water, etc., etc., etc., etc. This is what we paid 3 times the cost of a private trip for. And for Phil and Mary’s and the outfitters’ bottomless knowledge of the deep river and canyon hikes. The outfitter on this year’s trip was Outdoors Unlimited (OU) and we were windowshaded by their professionalism, riverine experience, cooking skills, and acerbic wit. This was a mostly kayaker trip--there were 31 people on the trip (big group!), including 7 guides/wives (the latter got to join after last minute dropouts), 4 raft passengers (including my brother), and 19 kayakers. Despite the humongous number of people in the group, everyone got along tremendously and there was absolutely no nastiness whatsoever (except the calculable carping between spouses).
The whitewater on the Colorado through the Grand Canyon is something. A debate over the class continues to roar over the rapids. Officially, the rapids are rated on a scale of 1-10, based on river flows of ~5,000-25,000 cfs. Typical summer flows and levels vary depending on what is being dumped out of the Glen Canyon dam upstream and decrease after Labor Day as demands for power diminish (but can increase with very heavy rains). Our flows ranged from 18,000+ at the beginning of the trip (from torrential rains the week before--we lucked out on our week of weather!) to < 10,000 at the end. We did run at least one Class 10 rapid - Lava Falls, which you’ll hear about later. When we returned from the trip and were asked what class the rapids were, we admitted they defy any comparison to rivers we have previously run. The Upper Gauley and Ottawa are maybe the closest in terms of big water, but the Grand Canyon is BIG water. One day when we maybe run the Zambezi or Tsangpo, we’ll laugh at our characterization of the Grand. But during those 2 weeks, it seemed huge.
The river is not technical, and that’s where you’ll hear that anyone who feels comfortable on Class III will feel fine on the Colorado in the Grand Canyon. If you want to have a good time kayaking on a Grand Canyon river trip and try to relax at least a teeny bit, my suggestion would be to be comfortable on Class III-IV somewhat bigger water (Cheat, Lower Gauley, Ottawa) and have a good roll. There are not many major holes, strainers, or undercuts (like many rivers around here)--just big s%&! Swims may be long, but rescues are guaranteed.
What there is no debate about is the temperature of the water. Freaking cold. It starts out at 45 degrees at the beginning, and warms up 1 degree for every 20 miles, so by the end we were boating in over 55 degrees. Almost tropical. The air temps can be as high as 110+ in the middle of the summer (our highs averaged 80-85). I wore a semi-dry or dry long-sleeved top most of the time (as did all of the ladies)--the guys went lighter.
So, for a few details of the trip. We camped each night on a beach under the stars--the weather was spectacular except for 2 or 3 nights when we pitched up a tent during rain showers. Each morning we were awakened by the lonely sound of the conch, at the very lonely hour of 5AM. We had 1/2 hour to unshroud ourselves from the fog of sleep and traipse to the beach for coffee, then breakfast 1/2 hour later. Then we packed, got in the boats, paddled like hell, sometimes into hell, then maybe stopped for a hike. Every day we lunched on the beach, then got back in the boats, and paddled like hell again, but maybe this time into heaven. We don’t need to tell you that the scenery was stunning as we plunged 5,000 feet into the earth, touching the almost 2 billion-year old rocks with our eyes, ears, paddles, and hearts. Then we picked a beach to land, set up camp, got called by the conch, luscious this time as we supped on cocktails and hor d’oeuvres, followed shortly thereafter by dinner. Then we slept on the beach under the stars.
So, for a few highlights.
High drama - on the 4th day, Hilde, our beloved OU kayaker guide, slipped and fell while peeing on the beach during dinner and broke her wrist. Hilde has an illustrious history of running the Colorado over 100 times (both in raft and kayak). What an ignominious ending to her last trip of the season as her 30th year as a guide (couldn’t it have been while executing a spectacular midriver rescue?) Fortunately, there was Vicodin in the med kit and she was able to hide her chagrin in a narcotic-induced haze (in addition to getting much needed pain relief). The group was crushed when this happened and a pall fell over us, with rainy weather adding to our gloom. The heaping plates of spaghetti and ‘balls Hilde had lovingly prepared earlier and we had just consumed felt like mortar in our guts. We perked up a bit when we found out the rescue guys the park rangers had radioed decided they would do a night helicopter medical evacuation out of the canyon, which they don’t get to do that often. We huddled on the beach like a scene from M*A*S*H as the chopper thwocked in and whisked Hilde off to Flagstaff. She was operated on the next day (7 pins and a plate!), but is doing well and will boat again soon.
High winds - at home, psyche! On Day 6, under sparkling blue skies as the mercury hit a toasty 106 degrees, we made the obligatory stop at Phantom Ranch (mile 88) to make calls to our loved ones. “The wind is blowing 70 miles an hour outside and the rain is horizontal!” my mother excitedly told us. Hurricane Ernesto was blowing through the East Coast. For the first time ever, we were glad we were boating the river we were on, instead of being at home on our beloved Tohickon. One of the rafts had flipped upstream right before we got to Phantom (the only upset of the trip, achieved by one of the apprentice guides), so we spread out all of the absolutely soaking tents on the beach to dry. Which they did. In less than 1/2 hour.
Feelin’ high - Day 9. After a lovely hike in the morning up to Matkatamiba Canyon (if there’s a heaven, this is the foyer), we encountered Upset Rapid. By this point in the trip, many of us (most of the girls) were tired--mentally and physically. None of us had paddled 9 days in a row before, much less this many miles. We crawled out of our boats to unenthusiastically scout this rapid at mile 150 where Emery C. Kolb capsized his boat in 1923. We could see why. A seething cauldron of solid brown spume and hydraulics (with one of the few monster holes on the river) lay before us. Oh, there was a sneak on the right and we were mighty tempted. But this was a turning point for us weary felines. We weren’t going to let a little massive wall of hellish water upset us. One by one, the “A” team (most of the guys and Diane, the 19 yo who paddled for Team Dagger) dropped into the maelstrom. One of the other girls followed. All the other girls followed. We all made it, with allure and aplomb! The entire gang was rewarded 6 miles later where we discharged our adrenaline metabolites in the lovely clear pools and falls of Havasu Creek. From heaven to hell and back to heaven again. All familiar by now.
High miles - count ‘em, about 31 on Day 10, which also included a run of the legendary Lava Falls. Strong rafters, kayakers, rangers, even fish quake in fear at the mention of this behemoth. We paddled gingerly the morning we ran this rapid, craning our necks and straining our ears for a sign of the impending doom. Then we turned a corner and were bopped over the head by A Sound of Thunder. With what felt like lumps of lava in our throats, we scouted the rapid from the black cliffs above. There was a line. You just had to avoid the hole in the center at the top, then punch through this big Thing, then avoid the terminal eddy on river right. The “A” team descended and it looked OK, no major carnage (but it was the “A” team). I followed Mike, Hilde’s husband, for about 2 microseconds before he disappeared into the froth. I hit the Thing, did a whiplash-inducing 180, fell backwards down a wave, then miraculously did another 180 and headed downstream upright the whole way. When I arrived in the giant eddy below, there was a sea of giant grins. We looked back upstream to see some of the remaining kayakers run rightside up, and some upside down. One or two baby swims, and we were all through, including the rafts, who all did beautifully, and Johnny, the lone park ranger who joined us on our run in a raft of his own. Diane went back up and ran it again twice. We passed through a giant thunderstorm downstream (everything’s giant about this river) where we delightedly took off our helmets and washed our hair in the fresh water. When the sun came back out, the scenery was other-wordly, indescribable, giant. What we all came there for.
High five - to Scott Weems, one of the kayakers who hands paddled the entire trip. Scott’s from Maryland and hands paddles all the local rivers, so why not try the Grand? He also ran the river in his playboat, an EZ (most of us were in bigger boats or creek boats), so we were truly wowed. He performed marvelously as he flapped his paddles like a bird sailing through the giant wave trains, although we often had to laugh as we saw the whites of his eyes from about 1/2 mile away when he was hurled then buried by the massive froth--but he always resurfaced upright. Most nights he was more exhausted than the rest of us and justifiably so!
High times - the second to last day of the trip was Mary’s birthday and she was celebrated in style by her faithful companions with an off-key rendition of the birthday song while she was on the groover! She experienced a flash of performance anxiety and emerged eventually from her roost with a beet-red face, but proclaimed it was her best birthday ever! We felt privileged to celebrate it with her.
The rest of the trip passed fairly uneventfully, if you count 7 giant rapids (including the one where George and Bessie Hyde’s boat supposedly got smashed to bits) in the last 20-mile stretch, humdrum. We were separated from our boats at Separation Canyon (mile 240) where they drifted the last 39 miles of flat water to Lake Mead on a flotilla of rafts. We celebrated our last night in camp with odes to Mary and Phil and OU and had a wonderful surprise dinner of shrimp and pesto pasta and more alcohol than we would have consumed had we had to paddle those last flat miles instead of riding on a jet boat the next day. Not wanting to part from each other’s company, 10 of us met for dinner in Las Vegas the last night (talk about “repatriation shock”!) before we were flung hither and there across the country. We’ll go back and paddle this giant river again soon. Hope you come with us next time.
Reprinted with permission from the Philadelphia Canoe Club