Day 1 - Lee's Ferry

We're here! We cram gear bags and boats into the hotel elevators to the point of bursting and stow everything we can't fit into hotel storage until we return. A long van ride from Flag full of anticipation. I pass the time talking to Sanderlan who owns a restaurant back home in Tennessee. I learn about one of her specialties - stuffed pork loin. It sounds good. Everyone eats a bag breakfast and passes the time doing high tech modification of water bottles with duct tape straps. At last we drive by the sign marking the entrance to Lee's Ferry, down a long winding hill and to the beach. Lee's Ferry, mile 0 of our 226 mile journey. Everyone piles off the bus dragging yellow gear bags and starts to mill around the rafts and piles of life jackets organized in front of them. Bear and I practically sprint over to our kayaks like kids at Christmas - ripping off the plastic packing material and rearranging the contents.

Larry (our trip leader) introduces himself and lays down the morning plan. Get a life jacket, get gear onto boats, get going. We also meet the other guides - Ben, Mike, Matt, Josh, Jesse, and Kelsey in addition to Don (our kayak man) who we'd met the night before. It takes forever, or at least that's how it feels.

Lee's Ferry Panorama

The sun is shining but I've been warned about the infamous cold water and with respect I've donned fuzzy rubber and a drytop. All my gear sorted , I climb into a ducky for a quick rest and soak in the scene. And then we've started. Just a 100 yards below the put in we pass under a wire that signifies our entrance into the Grand Canyon National Park.

"Hour One on the Colorado: immensity is general, all is a blur of rock and water, sun and sky and anticipation. There's no sign yet of the fabled rapids; we're just drifting, descending lazily past the bright Vermilion Cliffs on our way to the depths of the Grand Canyon. Creatures of wristwatches and leather shoes, we are nothing, reinventing ourselves, crossing over to river time. This is by definition a private process. "
B.J. Bergman 1998

I want to take pictures of everything - Every rock wall, every beach, the water, the sky, the people. We pass a beach where water from the Paria river flows in and our first riffles. If I could cartwheel I would.

Just past 4 Mile Wash we pass under the Navajo Bridges. I peer straight up at people standing above. Wave. Glad to be down where I am. I wonder as they look down at my tiny red boat whether they're jealous or think I'm crazy. Progress is slow. The wind picks up, whips straight upstream and slows the rafts to a crawl.

Navajo Bridges

We continue pass mile 7 and into Badger Rapid. Big waves. Pam heads down in front of me and halfway through flips and swims. We follow downstream retrieving boat, paddle and Pam who sputters over to shore. She's cold, shaken and seriously disappointed. We tell it's no big deal. Nerves. At least it turns out her timing is good as the beach is our camp for the night. Pam stays behind while Jim, Rob, Graham and I drag our boats back up the shore for another shot at surfing waves at the top of Badger Rapid.

Camp is at Jackass Creek. Not an elegant name. The rafts arrive10 minutes behind us and the process of removing gear begins. Bags, tents, kitchen gear everything needs to come off. A bag line makes short work of this taks and then it's time for instructions on camp life. Basically how things work. Tents, handwashing, food, drink and the groover. Yes the groover. Never has so much time and effort been devoted to discussing how to go to the bathroom. Pee in the river, groove in the groover. "Be proud of your deposit" says Larry. "And wash your hands". Larry regales us with horror stories of Norwalk virus reducing whole trips to vomiting, pooping disasters. Serious business.

There is a brief sprinkling of rain that quickly ends. We set up a tent toss our sandy stuff inside and mill down to the beach for hors d'oeuvres. Then dinner after hand washing and more handwashing. Just as we are finishing our food the wind picks up to a howl and fat drops of ran splatter on the tarp over the kitchen. A few drops become a bonafid downpour. Everyone huddles together under the tarp waiting for a break in the deluge. Before long, small rivulets of mud and water are coursing over the beach and under the tents of guides and a few unlucky campers. More scrambling about. Everyone eventually leaves the shelter of the kitchen tarp and heads to their tents in the dark. Jim and I drop our wet gear in the corners of the tent as best we can and climb into sleeping bags. My first night in the GC and I fall asleep with the sounds of a rapid roaring beside me, gusts of wind rattling the tent and pounding rain bouncing off the fly.

-->Go to Day 2 - Jackass Creek Camp to North Canyon