Grand Canyon, Day Three

Grand Canyon, Day 3.

My friends shot lots of pictures of us rafting for eight days through the Grand Canyon. I have located those of Barry, Dennis and Harrie. I intend to post some of those incredible photos here. Four more days yet to come.

No, it's not Thelma & Louise. It's B and H. Did you have your coffee this morning with that backdrop? Photo credit Dennis.

We had a challenging hike to start off Day 3. Photo credit Barry.

The Utah company's boat went through the same rough water that we did. Photo credit Harrie.

Dennis merely labelled this photo "Wow." When that man speaks, I listen. Photo credit Dennis.

Approaching Day 3's campsite. This would be the last night on the river for two in our group of 32. Photo credit Barry.

Grand Canyon, Day Two

Grand Canyon, Day Two. Morning coffee call, 5:30 A.M. I thought that the busy water behind me & Joe could be deadly. Speaking on the subject of death in the Canyon, which apparently is omnipresent, it would play a big role in our trip. (Photo credit Harrie.)

A natural amphitheatre we came across. The place was swarming with tourists brought by the Mormons. See those blue blobs in the center? Those are rafts which could hold 16 people or more. That's why John Wesley Powell, the one-armed Civil War hero (and perhaps murderer) said this cavern could hold 50,000 people in it. Lindsay termed him "J Dub" when she read from his excellent writing of his account of his expedition's first trip through the Canyon shortly after the Civil War. (Photo credit Dennis.)

Oh yeah, we saw natural life in the Canyon. Here's a buck at the waterfront that would make a lifetime NRA member with a full magazine of silicon bullets loaded into his (I won't bother with the obligatory "or her") rapid firing assault rifle ecstatic. (Photo credit Dennis.)

Does this look like a castle on a hill in Medieval Europe? We lay on the boats and imagined so. Do you know, BTW, that a third of the population of Europe died in the first visitation of the Black Plague around 1350? No wonder they were paranoid. Where was the TSA when you really needed them? (Photo credit Dennis.)

So the water on the Colorado could get calm too and make you think that all was right with the world. (Photo credit Barry.)



I think this was the view from the beach we slept on the second night. If not, I know it was a view from the Grand Canyon. And if not for the Sierra Club stopping all those plans to dam up the entire Canyon back in the 60s, well, you wouldn't be seeing these spectacular photographs shot by my friends. (Photo credit Harrie.)

Grand Canyon, Day One of eight.

Summer 2008 Grand Canyon Trip, Day 1. At Lee's Ferry, MP 0. Two boats, four boatmen, 28 greenhorns. We were all so nervous. Were we worthy? (Photo credit Dennis.)

The Highway Bridge a few miles downriver. The Canyon goes more than 240 miles to the west before you can cross it again by car. Of course with gas at $4.00 a gallon, suddenly we don't think like that anymore. Thanks, W, for war AND high prices! (Photo credit Dennis.)

Here's some perspective for ya. See the little figures to the right near the bottom? We're going to hike in Ryder Canyon. (Photo credit Barry.)

The hike on day one seemed a little challenging to me. Travis gave it a 5 on a scale of ten. (Photo credit Dennis.)

Rapids, day one. I thought sure, you could drown in those rough waters. The rapids got a lot worse. (Photo credit Barry.)

Noontime Weekday Race

A week ago I ran in the monthly free noontime Tidal Basin 3K race, my 24th consecutive one. It’s my monthly speedwork, running this short furious race around the Jefferson Memorial Tidal Basin with scores of other dedicated runners. I always finish in the bottom half, usually in the lowest quartile. This month I was 37/67, 55%. Among men I was 34/48, 71%. My time was 13:24 (7:11). The only other relevant number was the temperature, 92 degrees.

But there are other interesting numbers, at least to me. Someone made marks on the course to indicate 1K, one mile and 2K.

I passed 1K at 4:16 (6:52). I passed one mile at 7:01. That meant from 0.6 mile to one mile my pace was 7:14. I forgot to note 2K. I ran the last 0.86 miles from the mile marker to the finish line at a 7:25 pace.

I was obviously running myself straight into the ground. No negative splits for this guy. (Above: The "hill" on the 3K course, around the 1K mark. The Tidal Basin is 200M to the right.)

Runnin' Some

I have been running a little since I got back from the Grand Canyon. On the weekend of the Fourth, I had a RBF hookup with David on the Mall. Those are always fun. We went about ten miles in about 1:40, from Iwo Jima (pictured) to RFK and back. We started at 9:30s but wore down in the heat a little to over 10s. I took David by every war memorial that I could think of, Korea, Vietnam, WWI, WW2, the Civil War (Grant statue), the Revolutionary War (Washington Monument), and the War of 1812 (the White House, which was burned during it). We even went up the stairs into Lincoln and read the two famous speeches inscribed there, the Gettysburg Address and Lincoln’s Second Inauguration Speech. There’s always plenty to do on a Sunday morning in DC if you run.

More Rafting

Another four foot tall roller ran over my head, submerging me for the third time despite my lifejacket. I was in the Potomac River, in water over my head, traveling down a class three rapids called White Horse. The current was sweeping me downriver through the rapids' forty foot long tube of roiling water.

Passing through the churning wake above my head, I surfaced and sucked air in greedily. I swallowed some water and started to cough. The boat that had preceded me through the rapids was in calm water ten yards away and its crew was calling to me to swim to it. (Right: A boat momentarily disappears in the spray as it navigates the rapids between two rocks on the Shenandoah. Compare this to the picture in the post immediately below of the boat plunging from sight in rapids on the Colorado.)

I had lost a watershoe in the active undertow and it popped to the surface ten feet away in the other direction. I swam to it and grabbed it as a fourth foaming wave rolled over my head, thrusting me underwater again.

On Sunday morning I had driven to Charles Town, WV, with a friend to go rafting on the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers. After spending eight eventful days two weeks earlier going down a series of class four and five rapids on the Colorado River where it passes through the Grand Canyon, this outing with its class one, two and three rapids was supposed to be a walk in the park. Still, I was on a seven-person paddling boat instead of an 18-person motorized boat, and there were half a dozen series three rapids in the seven mile trip.

(Left: Approaching whitewater on the Shenandoah.) The mid-summer water was low in the Shenandoah and many large river rocks we went over were near the surface. Unlike in the deep Colorado, the bottom was always visible. Whenever a boat got stuck, the guide would hop out into thigh-deep water and manhandle the raft free.

My friend and I had been stationed as paddlers in front because we had taken the trip before and hence, we were considered experienced with rapids. I didn’t tell them about my week in the Colorado rapids.

On one rapids, a half-foot drop into deeper water off a long flat rock just under the surface, we actually got splashed. A few times we were rocked back and forth as we were propelled into submersed rocks by the current. That was how Chris, our veteran guide, was getting us downriver, by catching the front of the raft on underwater rocks and having the flowing river swing the rear of the boat around in a spinning maneuver to get us off obstructions.

He explained it was like being inside a pinball game, pinging down the river. It was fun if uneventful. (Right: A series three rapids on the picturesque Shenandoah.)

When we passed by Harpers Ferry near the end of our ride and slipped into the Potomac, the water got deeper and faster. Coming up on White Horse, which was the fastest, deepest and best rapids, I had asked Chris if I could swim it along with the guide trainee in the boat who was going to swim it as a training exercise. Chris said sure.

I had stepped into the water and after the boat entered the rapids, pushed off into the slipstream. The current had swiftly taken me into the narrow maelstrom.

(Left: Chris. He asked us what was the difference between a river guide and a stock portfolio. Answer: Unlike the guide, the portfolio will actually mature in ten years and make money.) When I came up from my latest immersion, I was past the rapids. Even though I was sputtering from my rough passage through the cresting waters, I had my shoe and I swam to the boat. I took hold of the paddle handle that Chris was extending and flopped into the boat. Wet, bedraggled and coughing, I rolled over and looked up. My friend was looking down at me worriedly.

I smiled at her and thought, Man, life on the rivers is great!

Raging River Lonely Trail

I love this world you made us

And I love the rivers too

It was billed as the trip of a lifetime, and it was. Maybe it was even life-altering. It was certainly momentous.

Eight days of white-water rafting down the Colorado River where it flows through the Grand Canyon with 12 of my college roommates and their friends, most of whom I hadn’t seen in decades, and 16 others. One person died. Nine others quit the trip. Four veteran boatmen took us 18 survivors 240 miles to the end. Thanks Travis, Lindsay, Julie and Kelly. Our faith in you was well-placed. (Right: Andy watches as Travis’ boat falls into a raging cauldron in a rapids and momentarily disappears from sight.)

I have posted eight entries about the trip. That’s enough. The most memorable time was the hour we spent trying to save the group member who died of an apparent heart attack on the fourth day. We gave it our best shot, and afforded the decedent her best chance to live. Everyone performed magnificently. It didn’t work out.

I see your walls and canyons
And I feel you very near

(Left: Our fellow traveler's final resting site.) I wish it had been different, and to her family, I’m so sorry. Thanks to everyone who tried so hard. Travis who got the chopper coming and then positively supercharged the rescue attempt with his commanding CPR. Julie whose strong presence was ubiquitous in the rescue attempt. Lindsay whose outstanding capability maintained the airway. Dennis whom I have already spoken about. Mary who took her turn performing compressions. Beth who immediately raised the alarm and got swift first-responder help. Harrie who counted out the compressions aloud for us. Whoever it was that kept wiping the torrent of sweat off my brow with a cool wet rag as I worked. The people who helped land the chopper and secure the campsite from its backwash. The chopper crew. (Just two days later a helicopter coming out of the Grand Canyon on a rescue mission collided with another rescue helicopter and everyone died.) The persons who took care of the family members during their time of bereavement. You all know who you are and what help you were. God bless you all.

Travis came up to me at the end and shook my hand. That’s all. That means the world to me, to earn a measure of respect from a man like Travis.

(Right: This person is already fading into the spectral images of the past, the little boy happy with his strong father, the fast high school athlete getting through boarding school, the quietly confident young man making it in the world, the capable State Patrolman managing every perilous situation, the loving father imbuing his sons with manliness, the athletic runner gracefully traveling down life's paths.) Going down the Grand Canyon, the first four days were spent glorying in the stunning exposition of what the Lord gives to us. The last four days were spent reflecting upon the startling finality of what the Lord takes from us.

I may not be like your other children
But I feel very close to you. Boatman's Prayer by Vaughn Short