Day 6 - LCR to 75 Mile Canyon

The morning started with brilliant blue skies, breakfast and a 'short' hike. I believe it was billed as a "5 minute walk". I was already dressed and ready to go in full kayak regalia at the time so I walked in my gear and booties. The 5 minute walk was closer to 30 and worth every minute. We scrambled up and over winding layers of shelfed Tapeats Sandstone and Bright Angel Shale following a small winding wash. Larry lead and spoke of the geology and scenery changes we could expect to see over the next few days.

Chuar Butte

We pulled out of camp after a brief stutter waiting for Hoppy who at the last possible moment made the fateful decision to Ducky. Rounding the corner below camp we passed the confluence of the LCR. Recent rain somewhere up the drainage had turned the sometimes crystalline blue water (which I've seen many times in photos) too a deep muddy brown. Still, the added volume picked up the current and allowed for easier progress for the rafts that have been laboring against an upstream breeze for days.
Morning Hike Above LCR

Pam took advantage of stretches of calm to practice her flat water rolling skills. Most of her trouble seems to be the result of two things: 1. despite rolling more reliably on her left side, she considers it her 'offside roll' and rarely sets up to use it; 2. epic carping. Despite repeated admonishment and some good natured ribbing by the rest of us, carping remained a stubborn issue throughout the day.

"PUT YOUR HEAD DOWN!!!" we would yell as the she initiated her roll with head reaching towards the sky before falling back under.

"I heard you yelling, I thought it was ok to straighten up."
"If your big melon head was down you wouldn't have heard us at all and you would've been up."

Despite frustration with the roll, Pam paddled well and looked strong and stable through some big waves and eddy lines.

Stopping to Stretch Our Legs in The Grand

As promised by Larry, the scenery did change dramatically. With Marble Canyon behind us, the Grand opened up with walls and pinnacles soaring several thousand feet above the river. Very humbling to see billions of years of rock thrust out of the earth. During our morning hike, Larry described in layman's terms that if you envision the history of the earth as the distance between the your fingertips with your arms outstretched, and you took a nail file and rubbed it across a nail you would essentially have erased the piece of history that includes mankind's existence. It is strange to feel at the same time so infinitesimally small and so connected to the world at the same moment.

Today the kayaks were allowed to separate for longer stretches from the raft flotilla to play. First we zipped our way down an extremely entertaining wave train in Tanner rapid and then arrived at Basalt at m.69.5. Basalt is a wide open run for the rafts and low on the scale of difficulty but has a world-class play hole on river left. Jim, Don, Graham and Rob all took a cautious shot at the surfer's left shoulder of the hole but were quickly blown off.

As I stood on shore and watched, Hoppy came bombing down in the IK making no visible effort to maneuver around the meaty middle. He hit it square on with

Hoppy Paddles Into the Maw of Basalt

predictable results. As the nose of the ducky crashed into the pile at the bottom, he was tossed off the boat and into the maw where he recirculated for several cycles before getting spit out and bobbing down the remainder of the rapid where he was scooped up by the 'mother duck' paddle raft. The ducky, free of its passenger, stayed and bounced around the hole for a while before following Hoppy downstream. Watching all of this I couldn't stifle a laugh. Why in God's name would anyone take that line? Of course, as has happened innumerable times before, no sooner had I asked the question then I managed to bobble and flip on the eddy line (twice) and roll up just in time to drop into the same meaty spot. Crap. The silver lining to my hole-magnet history is that I managed an impressive survival surf / hole extrication maneuver and managed to stay in my boat to chase my chapstick (which had been liberated from my PFD by the hole ride) downstream.

Melissa Rolls Up and Finds The Hole


The entire crew hiked back to get another crack at the surf, leaving tiny ribbons of colored plastic from the boats on the razor sharp rocks of the put in. All of the effort culminated in a surf/carnage/surf/carnage/surf clinic put on by our own Graham 'the surf man' Fitter. He's told me on prior trips that if he ever created a trick it will be called a Pheasant Plucker. I don't know what the Pheasant Plucker looks like but seeing the survival surf and unintendo circus, I think he may have accidentally done one. I am told that I get extra credit because my hole ride started with an upside-down entry but still, my ride couldn't hold a candle to this masterful performance. The man is brazen (especially when he's using someone else's paddle).

Don Hikes Back Up And Graham Puts In For More At Basalt

We continued on and caught the rafts at a beach just above Unkar Rapid, a big sweeping right hand turn with a giant hole on the left wall. The folks on the rafts, while waiting for us to appear had hiked up the hill to see Anasazi ruins and a collection of pottery shards. As for Unkar Rapid....Everyone ran clean. In fact, most of us wish we hadn't tried so hard to avoid the left side. Next time - go for the gnar.

We made camp early in the afternoon at 75 mile canyon and had a quick lunch. The camp was a sprawling, wide-open space with extremely limited shade. In the sweltering midday sun, Jim and I felt like ants under a magnifying glass. I can't imagine being here mid-summer. I gooped myself from head to toe with sunblock and put on a long sleeved shirt while Jim McGyvered the tent fly into a sun shade then crawled beneath, curled up and hid. Given the conditions, it was a welcome relief to hike into the shaded slot canyon which began between beautiful walls of smooth sculpted rock. It was easy to envision torrents of water carving through and creating the potholes in the walls above.

The finest workers in stone are not copper or steel tools, but the gentle touches of air and water working at their leisure with a liberal allowance of time.”
Henry David Thoreau
Carved Stone in 75 Mile Canyon (G. Fitter)

Since we were hiking from camp it was a leisurely go-as-far-as-you-want -then-head-back kind of walk. Several people chose to stop and sit and relax along the way. Jane stopped early on to give her sore back a break and settled into a shady spot with a book. I kept walking for quite a while chatting with Matt about kayaking along the way. The trail went up and over a series of granite ledges littered with stones and pebbles of all shapes, colors and sizes that had crumbled from high walls and been rolled down the canyons base by previous floods. Our forward march was finally halted by the appearance of some dark grey clouds in the distance over the watchtower on the South Rim.

Graham In 75 Mile Canyon

Storm Clouds Above

Tomorrow we run Hance, Sockdolagger and a bunch of biggies. Hance has been described in at least 4 different ways in terms of size, route and degree of difficulty by different folks. Guess we'll just have to wait and see for ourselves. Pam (and Hoppy) are not running Hance per trip leader instruction. Pam (although she understands) is incredibly bummed. Bear and I both spoke to her but I doubt that either of us managed to significantly reduce the sting of her disappointment.

Larry is feeling miserable and there's not a damn thing to be done about it.

Notes:
For the last day or so we have been in part of the Canyon open to air traffic. Commercial trips (most departing from Vegas or its environs) intermittently buzz overhead in helicopters during daylight hours. I've enjoyed the Canyon for less than a week and already they seem like an invasion. Somehow helicopter rides over and into the Grand seemed too much like a theme park attraction and oddly out of place. On reflection, I stopped being annoyed and just felt sorry that some folks only exposure to the Grand Canyon was a fleeting view out a window. I'm sure the view is amazing, but without the sand, the sounds, the smells and the booming quiet, the very essence of what the Grand feels like is missed. It's like reading the cliff notes on Shakespeare instead of seeing the play.

-->Go to Day 7 - 75 Mile Canyon to Zoroaster Camp