Day 14 - Tequila Beach to Parashant Camp

Alive Below Lava - the morning after. One more giant wave of regret. I'll have to wait for another trip to feel like I've really 'done Lava'. Despite Grahams' attempts to cheer me up I really really felt like moping. Then Graham presented me with an ultimatum - "cheer up or I will show you my angry face ". I can not possibly describe 'the angry face' in a way that will do it justice. All I can say is that I don't think Graham has a mean bone in his entire body and his angry face is pretty damn silly. I laughed. Graham - thanks for cheering me up rather than just giving me a good swift kick in the ass. It's a new day and there's no time for moping. I can feel the end of the canyon drawing creeping closer with each stroke.

Attempting to Mope

Gator and Bear - Self Portrait

It occurs to me this morning that prior to this trip, I've never paddled for 14 days straight. Ever. My calluses have calluses. My left shoulder aches. I'm sure it all started after that ill-advised excursion into the little pour-over hydraulic back on Day 4 or 5. Too bad. Miles to go this morning all the while scavenging for river booty. Lava Falls claims all kinds of things and deposits them in eddies downstream. River treasure. Jim found several beers and Rob found a nearly empty can of coke. Socks, a booty, toothbrushes and trinkets, bits and pieces liberated from both good runs and bad.


"Beer floats and soda sinks, there is a God."

"There is nothing — absolutely nothing — half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats." Wind in the Willows

With the biggest whitewater of the Canyon behind us, our attention once again wanders to the walls and scenery. A day of mellow water and awe-inspiring views. Huge Buttes, ancient lava flows and deep blue skies. In the flat pools there is time to talk and ponder things that have happened on preceding days. Midmorning I speak to Graham about a near mishap that occurred some 7 or 8 miles above Lava Falls. It was only yesterday but it feels like a long time ago. Around Mohawk Canyon the Colorado runs downhill through a straight wave train that empties into an absolutely immense eddy. You have a choice when leaving out of the bottom: left or right. Both lines are are clean and simple and avoid a littering of boulders down the middle. Those of us accustomed to shallow, tight, East Coast boating aren't thrown by a boulder or two. Rocks are the norm. In fact we joke about 'the Grand Canyon Creek Line' - if there is more than one rock - it's a creek line. We'd been in the Canyon for two nearly two weeks and the rapid in question (I'm not even sure it has a name) might be rated a 2. A riffle. So Graham chooses to play. There are two giant slabs of rock that stick vertically out of the water at a 70 degree angle. It looks like a giant toaster. As I pass by on river left I see Graham in the narrow space between the two slabs. 'Cool picture' I think in an instant before another thought occurs - yikes what a sketchy spot. As I float farther downstream I lose sight of Graham between the rocks only to see Jim on river right paddling frantically toward the toaster. Then I see the end of Grahams boat - upside down peeking out the far side. Immediately there is a flash of dread. Pinned? There is some bumping and Graham boats rocks out from between the slabs and peels around the corner. He rolls. Disaster averted. Sheepishly recalling the event Graham says only "that was stupid". Fortunately, a nerve ringing but consequence free reminder of the power of the water.

The treacherous upstream wind starts up again before our lunch stop at Whitmore Wash. The kayakers opt to continue a short ways downstream for a potential surf wave. After a few attempts, Jim and I bailed in favor of some quiet time on a deceptively inviting looking beach across the river. The beach proves to be anything but inviting. The wind continued to rise to the point that moving downstream in the eddy was close to impossible. On shore the whipping breeze was punctuated by gusts that bent vegetation to the ground and scoured sand off the beach blasting us and our boats. Jim attempted to demonstrate the wind for the camera by holding his paddle tip with the tips of his fingers and letting the wind suspend the other blade. The viscous wind and sand convinced us to drag our boats back up the shore in attempt to the ferry to eddy where the rafts, dry clothes and the rest of our group awaited. This required negotiating a football size field of horrible 'slippery death mud'.

Graham Catching his Breath Below Whitmore Wash

After a trek through the mud, a hard paddle across the river and a stretch of shin destroying bushwacking through dense and often prickly vegetation, we made our way back to Whitmore Wash. Reunited with the group, we hunkered down for lunch in the lee of a small tree and heard the tale of Pam's foot-in-mouth hiking story. Apparently while ambling up the trail of Whitmore Wash, a discussion of Josh and Kelsey began. Somehow during this conversation Pam stated (loudly) that she would rather sleep with Kelsy than Josh. No sooner had she announced this little fact than she turned around to find Josh walking three steps behind her. Haha. Completely mortified, I'm told she turned a deep shade of beet red. Pam has now been dubbed "Ninja Stealth Lesbian".

After rescuing some renegade blowing gear, the whole group continued downstream mixed between the rafts of a private group. They were on day 19 of a 21 day trip. It seemed for a while we might be competing for the same campsite but tired of the wind, they pulled off early. Partly to entertain ourselves and partly out of necessity, most of the kayakers practiced and perfected the kayak shower. A fabulous way to clean ones hair without dunking your entire body in the frigid river. So effective and easily done without ever leaving your boat. It works as follows:

Step One : Find a bottle of shampoo and a calm stretch of water.
Step Two : Remove helmet and hand it to a friend.
Step Three: Roll kayak to wet hair.
Step Four: Roll back up to breath. A very important step.
Step Five: Suds wet hair vigourously with soap.
Step Six: Roll again to rinse.
Step Seven: see Step Four.
Repeat as necessary.

Kayak Showers All Around

I think I tried this 3 times today and by the end my head tingled from all that Dr. Bonners and smelled a bit like a mint.

We stopped for the night at Parashant camp - river mile 199. Everyone scurried quickly away from the beach landing to avoid being peppered with sand but the same wind that plagued us on the river whipped through camp with surprising force. Sand was everywhere and everything that was not tied down, well... it relocated. Tom and J.P. argued about tent aerodynamics and for a while I thought the whole darn thing might simply lift off in the breeze. Ha. For the third night in a row, Jim and I took a campsite that everyone else passed right through and tonight it was probably the best on the beach. Totally wind free.

Calling everyone back to the beach - Larry declared that on orders from Jane, tonight would officially be a celebration of Jim and my 10th wedding anniversary. Further it was deemed Sangria night. Still nursing a small hangover from the day before, it seemed things could truly get ugly. I'm so glad I 'kayak showered' for the event. What followed was fueled by a dinner of chile verde and aggressive Sangria consumption. We toasted Jane and each other before festive toenail painting for Jim and I by the entire group (don't quit your day jobs guys) commenced. Soon most of my possessions and gear were covered by small smiley face stickers.

Jim's Purdy Toes

Oh yes. And it was hat night. Graham wore a turban made out of a burlap beer sack, Jim and Rob wore their Jim and Melissa 1998-2008 hats (a creative dating choice by Jane) and Hank wore a ski hat with socks hanging out the side like some kind of demented bunny. The kicker was Bob. Tall, quite Texas Bob. Bob wore my sex/drugs and rock and roll apron and on his head - the freaking mankini, tied neatly into place with a piece of dental floss.

Hat Night - Before the Sangria

Climbing into my tent tonight - out of the wind - my thoughts wandered to Jane and her arm , my Lava run and Graham's flirt with disaster. I thought of how lucky I am to be here with the love of my life and how fitting that 10 years after our honeymoon (rafting on the Middle Fork of the Salmon) we were here, surrounded by good friends in one of the most amazing places on Earth.

Perspective is everything.