Day 10 - Upper Garnet to Talking Heads Camp

When we went to bed last night ever last star in the Milky Way was visible. I spent some time staring up into the inky blackness waiting for a shooting star so I could make a wish. It didn't take long. Sometime overnight it started to sprinkle rain - not what I wished for at all. Not wanting to move, Jim and I first addressed this problem simply by pulling the tarp over us. An hour and a few bouts of rain later, it seemed that we had transitioned from a passing sprinkle to a more steady downpour and we reluctantly dragged our gear uphill to climb into a tent with Graham and Rob. The tent was generous in size for two but with four people it was extremely cosy. We'd been there maybe five minutes when the rain stopped all together. Graham said "thanks for coming, feel free to sign the guest book on your way out." Ha. The point was moot as moments later we heard the jet boiler fire up and soon after the conch and yells of "CCCOOOOFFFEEEE".

Morning at Upper Garnet - Rob Prepares To Seal Launch

On our way again. The morning plans were up in the air due to weather and despite a fleeting glimmer of blue sky in the distance, thunder echoed ominously through the canyon like distant explosions. The weather and the fear of flash flood deny us a visit to Elves Chasm. Not a good place to be in case of rain. I know that we are thousands of feet below the rim, safe from lightning strikes, but I can't stave off the uneasy feeling of being on the water in a thunderstorm.

We continue downstream. I'm disappointed to be missing Elves but the deep vibratory sound of the thunder and muted light reflecting off the Canyon walls is a show in itself.

We do stop and duck into Blacktail Canyon. Definitely a place 'on my list'. Like Elves, Blacktail is a slot but an extremely short one with the possibility of a hasty retreat . Larry posts guides up above to keep an eye out for trouble and everyone hikes in their PFDs. It's a short, amazing hike through twisted layers of Tapeats Sandstone that we do mostly in silence. The Canyon, in deep shadow in the light rain, winds up and around a few serpentine twists and ends at a small, mossy trickle of a waterfall. Along the way, almost at eye level through much of the canyon is the "Great Uncomformity," a billion plus years of missing geological record. You can span the distance between the layers of ancient rock with you hand. I am all for uncomformity.

The entire place has a cool energy, a silent revery that isn't diminished by the weather. I'm certain the pictures won't do it justice. Larry is pacing nervously at the canyon's mouth waiting for the last stragglers to emerge. We all do without incident.

Jim and Hank

Ledge At Blacktail Canyon

At the entrance to Blacktail, beneath an overhanging ledge we congregate for Matt to read a story. It's a ghost story by a riverguide who years ago spent the night in this very spot. The shadows, smells and sound of the rain a perfect backdrop for the tale. I hate scary stories and by the end I have the shivers. Suffice it to say I won't be camping in the mouth of a canyon if I can help it. Call it an overactive imagination.


Continuing on, we float through Conquistador Aisle - a two mile long, straight section of river bordered once again by soaring wall of Muav Limestone. Our days paddling finishes with a few moderate rapids. Specter is a big boily wave train that we zip through before arriving at Bedrock. Bedrock is a rapid with a giant boulder splitting the current into right and left channels. The goal was to get right, a move that seemed far more difficult for the rafts than for the kayaks. The left line was described by Don as death and destruction. We all got right. Especially Rob who seemed a bit tense after his unexpected swim beteen the floating rubber undercuts yesterday. Safely below the drop, we looked back upstream at the line left of the boulder. It didn't look all that bad. Pushy, funky, probably good for a banged elbow but I'd run it. Maybe I'll take the left line next time I visit.
Dubendorf Rapid
The last big rapid of the day was Dubendorf. It's long, big, and according to Larry, seriously underrated. Big water down both sides with a tremendous hole behind Table Rock and some scattered boulders and holes dotting the left shoreline. Jim and I punched a lateral to the right into a 'duckpond-like' slackwater eddy reminiscent of Hance. We skirt Table Rock hole and bop down through a clear, fast wavetrain. Rob goes so far right he's practically on the far shoreline. Don and Graham choose to run left and dump into several offset holes. Not pretty but they get down o.k. The rafts follow, some with more grace than others. The award for the gutsiest line goes to Jesse who simply barrels straight down the middle over just about everything. Probably not exactly the line she was planning but upright and with all gear intact.

The Wall at Talking Heads

The weather clears by mid-afternoon and we reach camp just before river mile 134. Talking Heads Camp. The cliff wall across from us looks like the faces of stone sculptures on Easter Island. In contrast to the treacherous, boulder strewn hike from the kitchen and the boats we made last night to secure a good camp spot, today Jim and I opted for convenience and camped right down on the beach, practically in the kitchen itself. Works for me.

It's a good night complete with ample consumption of alcohol, good conversation, and Hank wearing a t-shirt that says "Boobies make me smile." I planned on getting some rest for an all day hike that half the group is embarking on in the morning. It's the up-and-over route from Tapeats Creek by Thunder Mountain and down Deer Creek. Hank, referring to the planned hike as the "Death March" vigorously declines to join us. Jim also decides that an exposed hike over a dry valley is not for him. He opts to save his feet and meet us at Deer Creek.

Waiting for dinner, I commandeer Pam's extra thick therma-rest-chair and with my toes in the sand, endulge myself in the guilty pleasure of a good book. The date today is October 1st. I know the date only because it signals the first day we can officially have a campfire (albeit in a very G.C. specific controlled manner). Everyone makes the best of it with music playing and conversation lasting well into the night. My early-to-bed plans fall by the wayside.

Nights like this remind me of something. The beauty of a river trip is that with all the tiny tribulations of the day, the tight quarters and the nonstop, overwhelming grandeur, people's veneer is quickly stripped away. For good or bad, after a week of being grubby and close, peoples' personalities shine through. Folks not likely to encounter each other (much less speak to each other) out in the world are thrown together. Priorities shift. Differences in age, gender, profession, wealth and all manner of things that somehow imply status recede. People are themselves.

Hank and Kelsey at Talking Heads

Link to Photo Gallery Day 10



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