Day 12 - Football Field Camp to Upper Upper Tuck-Up

I was supposed to test out a theory last night. I think it all started with a campfire story describing the misadventures of a woman on another trip who floundered, fell and got stuck with her ass in the air and pants around her ankles sunk deep in Colorado river mud while trying to urinate. Peeing in the river is more fraught with peril than one would think (just ask poor Jane). Whatever the beginnings, a debate broke out early yesterday on the physics and feasibility of peeing without leaving one's kayak. Some of the boys (Rob) have gotten this down to a science. I insisted that the differential plumbing arrangements between the men and the women made this option close to impossible for the girls. Rob disagreed. Second and third opinions were obtained. Even the rafters weighed in. As a result we chatted at some length about peeing: standing up, sitting down, the likely pitfalls... I insisted it would take the contortions of a circus performer and dramatic pelvic thrust to accomplish peeing out of the boat while in the boat. "Pee stirrups" were mentioned.
"I smell a patent", Rob replied.

After all this talk, I agreed to give the peeing-whilst-standing-up thing a try at camp and report back. I didn't. What did happen is that we decided that in addition to finding an appropriate rapid to name "fuzzy bunny" there should also be a series of three rapids named "pee stirrups, pelvic thrust and stinky boat".

Such groups as ours, the members all but unknown to each other on the first day, almost always grow close, solicitous of each other, during their time together. They develop a humor that informs similar journeys everywhere, a humor founded in tomfoolery, in punning, in a continuous parody of the life-in-civilization all have so recently (and gleefully) left. Such humor depends on context, on an accretion of small, shared events; it seems silly to those who are not there. It is not, of course. Any more than the moment of fumbling awe one feels on seeing the Brahma schist at the dead bottom of the Canyon's Inner Gorge.

- Barry Lopez
Gone Back into the Earth in Grand Canyon: True Stories of Life Below the Rim

As for the night, several of us made a strategic error in choosing our campsite and ended up downwind of the Groover. Downwind of the Groover with this group is a big, big mistake. To add to the evenings disruptions, Graham who is a regular sleeptalker and a sometimes sleepwalker was walking and talking to full effect last night. We woke to find him mumbling nonsense about his glasses, his camera and the tide while shuffling half in and half out of his sleeping bag like a giant caterpillar. He made almost 30 feet of progress dragging a track in the sand behind him. Bear and I were greatly amused. Rob (accustomed to such behavior) slept right through it.

Everyone gets ready to go in their usual fashion. Rob and I do our morning crunches and stretching. The AM groover line forms and ebbs and reforms. A few folks brave the icy morning river to take a prerequisite swim test to paddle the inflatable kayaks. For the second day in a row the plan today is to pack a lunch and to make A LOT of river miles. This needs to be done in order to space out from other groups, general logistics and other reasons that only the trip leader himself is privy to. As a result of the plan, we are skipping Matkat Canyon. I'm bummed (yes it was on the list) and Cathy, who's been there before, is really bummed. As an artist she says it's her favorite part of the canyon. She lobbies Larry without success. We are headed to someplace else that's "better than Matkat". Hmmm. I think I'm still dehydrated and grumpy from yesterday. Hard to say. But as Rob is fond of saying "nothing to it but to do it," and so we're off.

We paddle most of the morning through the 'Ice Box' an aptly named portion of canyon whose close, steep walls keep the sun off the river. Before long we find ourselves racing to catch any eddy where a shard of warm sunlight reaches the river. Brrrrrr. Graham at one point finds not only a spot of sun but a flat sand beach on which to stretch his legs and promptly does a small jig of joy before saluting the heavens, arms outstretched and face towards the sky.

Jim decides sometime midmorning to toss his kayak on Larry's raft and take a turn rowing. Larry is really uncomfortable today and it shows. Once Jim starts rowing Larry simply throws himself down in the back of the raft and attempts to sleep until he takes control back in the late afternoon.

Larry and Bear In the Raft

Out of the Ice Box, we stop along with a host of other groups at Havasu for lunch. Our guides call it Havazoo and for good reason. It's one of those must stop locations for river runners and as a result, a strange and busy eddy for the rafts. Trying to clear the landing zone, Don has all the kayakers sprint out ahead to get out of the way. I was actually trying to head back to Jim's raft to retrieve the camera so the plan of paddling like mad to get ahead rubs me the wrong way.

The Confluence at Havasu

Raft Traffic at Havasu

Raft parking aside, Havasu is beautiful but I'm not drawn into it. I watch an interaction between J.P and one of the guides involving choice of footwear. No two ways about it, she's being a pain in the butt and I wonder if I'm being equally ridiculous. Tempers are frayed a little today. Anyway, the part I like best about Havasu is the little section of narrows right at the entrance. The bright blue water of Havasu forms a distinct and ever changing line with the swirling muddy brown of the Colorado. You can actually kayak up the mouth to the base of the first little falls. We hike a short ways in past sculpted walls and vines of wild grapes. We spend an hour or so laying about in the sun while folks swim, eat and take pictures before heading downstream once more.

Rock Wall At Havasu

Pam Strikes a Pose in Havasu

A small intrepid part of the group not inclined to lay flat on their backs and laze the day away heads through a cave and further up Havasu Canyon. I'm content to stay and watch Josh try repeatedly to surf a hot pink inflatable pool toy in a small hole below a travertine falls.


For the afternoon, more kayakers abandon their boats to try their hand at rafting. This gives Pam an opportunity to try out Jim's kayak and I think she likes it. We also had some new folks in the inflatables today... Cathy and Bob both give the Duckies a whirl after braving a very cold early morning swim test at Football Field.

Hank (thankfully sans mankini) as a raft figurehead.

The last big rapid of the day is Upset Rapid which is a sweeping right hand turn and a sheer wall of rock on river left. The rapid has huge rebounding waves and laterals off the wall that you have to punch to avoid a hole. Jim runs so far left he is nearly touching the wall. I take a line much closer to the center but still missed the biggest hole. I believe Rob dumped directly into it and emerged unscathed. Pam got tossed over by a lateral and made at least 7 roll attempts before finally accepting a T-rescue from Don in the swirly run out. Everyone gave her kudos for hanging on so long but she was disgusted with her roll.

Below Upset we entered a beautiful stretch of quiet water. Along the banks we saw groups of Bighorn Sheep and soaring high above the cliff walls were a several enormous predatory birds. After a long stretch of paddling against the wind, camp for the night was at Upper Upper Upper Tuck-Up Canyon. This was the planned site for our early AM hike ( 'better than Matkat Canyon'). Perhaps it's not the ideal site for sleeping as most of the suitable camping spots required hiking several hundred yards downstream of the kitchen, but really it was fine. The Groover spot, for the first time in out trip, was erected at the base of a cliff wall with only the tarp as cover. Functional enough but not much of a view and strange to feel like you were grooving in a tent....

Jim and I once again took a tent spot passed over by everyone else not far from the kitchen. Graham and Rob staked out a spot high on a flat patio shelf of rock at Tuck-up Canyons entrance. The party deck. From this towering campsite Graham proudly flew his white flag with a bright red cross which was not, as many people assumed, the a sign for the first-aid tent but rather his English Flag. . . I hope Graham doesn't sleepwalk off the edge or he'll need the first-aid tent.

It was also an evening for attempting to de-stink kayak gear. After 12 days, neoprene and fleece that have been subjected to daily dunkings, sweat and storage in a musty kayak have gone from mildly offensive to downright rank. Not naming names (Graham) but certain people's booties could be considered agents of chemical warfare.

Our Grand Canyon Neighbors

Stories tonight include more of the tale of John Daggett and Bill Beer, the two men who swam the Grand Canyon. Specifically, the story was about swimming Lava Falls. It's Lava Day tomorrow. I can't believe it.