Day 7 - 75 Mile Canyon to Zoroaster Camp

Despite choosing a pristine, flat campsite and pitching a tent to ward off any possibility of a late night scramble in case of rain, I didn't sleep well. Alternately hot and cold, I lay awake perseverating on Hance. The morning was clear and pleasant but my nerves were tingling with an adrenaline high. I don't think I was alone. There were multiple trips to the groover by several of the kayakers. Nothing like talk of a big bad rapid to kickstart the G.I. tract.

Cactus Heart (G. Fitter)

Dry mouthed with anticipation, I tried to stick with my usual morning routine. After a week on the river, morning on the beach happens with a warm hum of predictability. So after breakfast with everything packed and ready to go, I settled onto a tarp with Rob to do a ritual set of stretches followed by one-hundred crunches and one-hundred bicycles (a little bit of self-torture Rob devised for himself as part of a New Years Resolution that I've adopted for the trip).

We peeled out of camp and after warming up with a few small riffles, stopped to scout the mighty Hance. The roar of the water made me wish for the groover once again. High on the bank on river right, we pointed out possible lines and noted a number of features better avoided. It was clear from the scout that Hance was a long, jumbled boulder field, but from such distance, the real size of the rapid was difficult to judge. This effect was magnified by the silt-heavy water which camouflaged most of the holes and waves into a continuous brown blur. An 'Idaho Sandbag' in Arizona.
Hance From Above
After a few agonizing moments of consideration, I opted to start just to the right of a stout entry pourover. This meant forgoing the opportunity to catch the slackwater in a center eddy known affectionately as 'the duck pond'. Once past the pourover, I fought my way back towards river left crossing through the 'land of the giants' and cleanly avoiding the monster breaking wave at the bottom. Everyone ran clean lines (rafts included) and in hindsight we had nothing to worry about. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. The Colorado commands respect but so far we were paddling within our skill level.

Below Hance, the Canyon changed and narrowed as we drifted into the Upper Granite Gorge. The organized horizontal layers walls of Marble Canyon were gone, replaced by the vertically uplifted and twisted walls of dark Vishnu Schist and snaking veins of pink and white Zoroaster Granite. These are the ancient basement rocks of the Grand, over a billion years old.

The schist rock near the river is often polished to a deep black smoothness which glistens in the light. At other times, it is scalloped and lighter in color and has sharp edges capable of removing skin. I once read and agree that anyone who isn't impressed with Vishnu Schist should be shot. It is otherwordly.
Fabulous Vishnu
Our mood was high and Pam seal-launched off the raft to kayak for the rest of the day. Several juicy and progressivle larger wave trains awaited including Sockdolager and Grapevine. Pam pulled off an excellent combat roll (eliciting whoops of joy and congratulations from us all) while Graham ran the meat of several rapids backwards with his eyes closed and his paddle casually draped over his shoulder like a closed umbrella. I haven't the slightest idea how Graham managed to break his paddle seeing as it is so rarely in the water.

Our lunch stop was at 84m rapid before hiking up Clear Creek. Prior to stopping, Jim found an inocuous looking play wave on river left. After multiple attempts, screams, profanity and near exhaustion fighting my way back up the eddy for another try, I did manage two respectable surfs which were marginally documented by camera.

Barely Surfing

Clear Creek Falls

As for the hike... Georgeous. It started with a quick exposed scramble over shale cliffs down to the creek bed below and then followed the creek up as the canyon walls slowly narrowed above us. Most of the time we sloshed through inch deep water, walking up through twists and turns. All along the hike were small pools and tiny waterfalls between six inches and two feet tall. Less than a mile in, the group came to an incredible split, 15-foot waterfall with a horizontal jet streaming off of one side. We used the opportunity of the clear stream to wash ourselves off and spend some time taking pictures.

A somewhat precarious climb up the left side of the falls allowed for additional hiking above.

Scrambling Around Clear Creek

Coming back from the hike we learned our camp, Zoroaster was just a few hundred yards downstream. I couldn't be bothered to suit back up into a full drytop and opted instead to paddle barefoot, in a cami and my hiking shorts. There was nothing but a small, mellow wavetrain between me and the the camp eddy and I was determined to stay upright and dry . The river water is still very cold and I felt every splash. At least I can say I paddled part of the canyon in short sleeves.

Short Sleeve Kayaking

The mood at camp was both celebratory and subdued. Half our group is leaving for a hike out of the Canyon tomorrow from Phantom Ranch. I can't believe it. I don't want them to go. Various strategies involving kidnapping, hiding boots or breaking an ankle are bantered around. It's odd to imagine the rest of the trip without them. Larry makes plans for those who are leaving to be up early so that they can get a start on the climb to the rim before the sun gets high. For those of us staying, a choice: bypass Phantom Ranch and the 'land of toilets and telephones' and stay on river-time or stop at Phantom to contact the outside world, send postcards, rinse our faces. The choice for me is easy. Phantom Ranch has nothing I want or need. I'm on river-time. Those whose significant others are not with them are in a tougher spot. People want to share with those that they love.

After dinner we hear exerpts from a book chronicling a trip where two young man decided to swim the G.C. Larry also reads us the 'preparation for a Grand Canyon Trip that the outfitters don't want you to hear'. It leaves everyone in stitches. It goes as follows:

The 12 things that commercial river companies will not tell you before your trip!

1. Choose what you would like to wear for the next three weeks, but make sure it fits in a paper grocery bag.

2. One week before the trip have a yard of sand delivered to your home. Sprinkle liberally in your bed, dresser drawers and on the kitchen counter, and fill your salt shakers, sugar bowl and cereal boxes with sand.
3. Pour sand on a garbage can lid. Place in front of a fan. Set fan on high.

4. Rent a projection tv and illuminate the walls and ceilings of your bedroom with old Dracula movies especially those with snakes, lizards, scorpions, rodents and bats.

5. Each day at 9 am and 5 pm have your friends form a long line- Then pass the entire contents of your home out the front door, around the side and back into your house via the back door.
6. Wash all your dishes by hand using only gross, chunky dish water that’s cold or like warm.
7. Sit on the hood of your car while riding through the car wash. Make sure you stay wet for a few hours in a breeze or in front of a fan that’s blowing sand.
8. Set up horseshoe stakes in the back yard. Then practice kicking them with your bare feet every night.
9. Line your sandals with sandpaper and spend two hours a day on a stair master.
10. Drape the contents of your brown grocery bag on the bushes and rocks in your backyard. Twice a day, practice changing clothes while your neighbors watch.
11. With 16 friends standing in the shallow end of a swimming pool practice looking nonchalant as you carry on a conversation and pee at the same time.

12. Go to the bathroom in your upstairs waste basket and then with your pants still around your ankles, run downstairs and pee in the tub.
Compiled over the years from various sources

Link to Photo Gallery Day 7



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