The “Canyon”, Sunday

Posted on September 1, 2008
Filed Under Science | 6 Comments

We made camp last night at Hell’s Hollow. The name may reflect the fact that a lot of molten lava had belched into this stretch of the canyon. We had travelled 183 miles, leaving only 6 for Sunday, our final day. This amazing trip was, unfortunately, coming all too quickly to a close.

Our boat crew had been superb—not only skillfully navigating the rapids and recounting tales of those who first braved the river, but also preparing three first-rate meals each day. They had been working hard so we gave them the night off and cooked our own steak dinner. Don’t ask me where they kept all of the food we ate or how they kept it fresh, but they did. I was on the “mashed potato” crew and they actually turned out to be some of the best I’ve ever eaten (most everything tastes better when it is cooked out in the wilderness, by the way.)

After dinner, we enjoyed another evening around the “circle”, this time taking turns reflecting on our single most memorable moment of the trip. I don’t remember what I said, but I’m sure it was mostly babble. How could I pick out one thing? It seemed to me it was like trying to answer “which of your children do you love the best?”

I couldn’t do it then and I don’t believe I could do it now.

Beyond all the grand things that I have attempted to write about so far: the ever changing and breath-taking vistas; the thunder and thrill of the whitewater rapids; the phenomenal slot canyons, the beauty of the waterfalls, Elves Chasm, the dazzling cerulean color of the Little Colorado, ancient Pueblo Indian ruins, big-horn sheep, and on and on, there was a long list I didn’t get to: the rare spotting of a ring-tailed cat slinking along the canyon wall; the dance of fire on the ceiling of rock alcoves as the sun reflected off the surface of the river; the herons; the deer; the lush green growth that would instantly appear in the midst of a sheer rock wall; the glistening white sand banks contrasted against the dark green of the river and the deep red of the canyon wall, the night sky, the food, the fellowship, the gazillion fossils, roping up Matkatamiba Canyon, Hasavu Creek and the waterfall cave…do I pick one of these? And none of this mentions what could well have overshadowed all of it: the priceless geological field trip complete with numerous on-site lectures.

Most of the guys, however, cited the moment we tied the boats together and silently floated through Middle Granite Gorge, where the river runs its deepest, and Ted read Genesis 1. It was a moving experience for all of us, having been so deeply impressed with the magnitude of what was all around us. I suspect it would be hard for anyone else to understand.

Well, for me, the whole trip was a life-time experience that forged a life-time memory. I will never forget it.

So, it was now time to roll out of the cot and pack up one final time. This morning was pretty quiet. Not the canyon…it was always quiet. But we were quiet. There weren’t many words spoken on the final six miles. I think it was a time of respect…respect for what God had allowed us to see and experience and respect for the massive power that this canyon presented to us.

At noon, river-time, I climbed into a brightly-colored helicopter that had dropped into the canyon to begin the process of plucking us out, a few at a time. I was struck by how this machine seemed so out of place down here—like it didn’t belong—and was only allowed to stay a few seconds, just enough to land, load, and get out…which it did.

The flight, however, was an amazing experience. We rose quickly from river-level to an eagle-eye’s view of the now sliver of water that had carried us through so much. I regretted that my other trips to the Grand Canyon had only consisted of “rim views”. The chopper carried us to the Bar Ten Ranch, where we caught a twin-engine Vision Air flight back to Las Vegas and the final flight home.

It was the end of a spectacular trip.

There is a final tribute that needs to be paid: to our teaching staff, our boat crew, to each and every “scholar”, now friends, who persevered and survived 190 miles in the “Canyon”, though, for some, it was way out of their comfort zone; and finally to Tom, our consummate river guide and friend.

Thank you.

Share on Facebook

Comments