Sitting on a sandy stretch of Crystal Beach, in the deepest recesses of Arizona’s incomparable Grand Canyon, we listened to the poem, “SAND,” by Peter Goodwin, a fellow traveler from New York who had written it while the rest of us were busy pitching tents.  As the sun set on another wondrous day on the river, my mind fixed on the inadequacy of the word “beautiful” to describe this remote and remarkable place, the relevance of the just-penned poem, and the sheer majesty of all that surrounded us.

I’ve had it with this Grand Canyon

nothing but rock and sand

the rocks up there

the sand down here

In my shoes, between my toes

in the tent and sleeping bag

everywhere

even in my coffee cup.

Next time, Mr. Boatman, please

find us a campsite without sand

a nice meadow will be fine

soft, sandless and green

and while you are about it

a hot shower would be nice

and maybe an electric outlet…

   —Peter Goodwin

Visiting the Grand Canyon was a dream I had pursued for years. Then, a friend had suggested if I ever realized my dream, I shouldn’t confine myself to the “rims,” but venture deep into the canyon via a dory on the Colorado River. Following a flood of email exchanges, I signed up for a trip that combined the adrenalin rush of running full-on rapids with a personal test of physical endurance.

The October morning sun had yet to emerge from the horizon, when we stood at the Bright Angel Trailhead on the canyon’s South Rim pondering the trek that lay before us: a 9.7-mile descent into the depths of the canyon. It’s a hike that can test the mettle of any man but we were prepared. Day packs laden with water, snacks, cameras and sunscreen, we had been warned, advised and provided with all possible lessons of survival.

As the morning progressed and the hike stretched into miles, I found solace in the sparse desert vegetation that littered the canyon floor – Sonoran oak and brittlebush, sun-soaked shrubs and flowering daisies. 

“Oh, it’s not too far, you are almost there,” fellow hikers intoned along the route.  While the morning air started out cool, my energy levels were gradually sapped by the increasing heat of the day and I felt a real sense of accomplishment when we finally arrived at Phantom Ranch. After a brief rest, we stored our personal gear away in water-tight hatches, donned our lifejackets, boarded our boats and headed out into the ambling current.

Our party consisted of four dories, four guides, two assistants and 11 enthusiasts. I was on a 12-day, 139-mile trip down the Colorado River from Phantom Ranch to Diamond Creek—the most dramatic stretch of the river—and it didn’t take long to feel relaxed and cooled by the river.

In just four hours, my previously crumbling body filled with aches and pains had been rejuvenated. Looking above at the massive cliffs and the rapidly moving white clouds sandwiched between the red sandstone and the brilliant blue sky, I realized this was the Grand Canyon I had waited to see for so long. 

It takes a team to run the river and O.A.R.S. has mastered it to the last half-hitch.

First, the river guides—my group with Steve Kenny, Duffy Dale, Elena Kirschner and leader Nick Grimes—were a hardy lot.  It requires a special persona and a little wild streak to do this job. It was demystifying to know that river guides don’t just row. They make traveler’s lives on the river easier in every possible manner. They cook, pack, wash, entertain, tell us stories, sing and dance, and ensure the safety of their entire entourage. 

Each day, we spent three to five hours on our small boat. Then we’d find a little patch of sand that became our home for the night. Loading and unloading a dory and back-up raft is an art perfected by every boatman.  Giant coolers carrying perishable items, folding tables, chairs, pots and pans, ample beer, emergency kits, and even a portable toilet are all unpacked and repacked at every camp.

Eleven of us from Germany, France, India and the U.S.A., age 30 to 70, crammed into the small wood and fiberglass boats: two in the front, one in the back, and our boatman in the center.  On the river, our guides told of the canyon’s history and mystery, imparted legend and lore, pointed out natural phenomena of the canyon and wildlife, and occasionally warned us of impending rapids.

Crossing each rapid is a mix of art and science. As we approached the rapid, instructions were called out: move to the right, helmets on, sit straight.  It’s all about the 10-16 seconds of escaping the churning waters without flipping the boat. Once cleared, baling began, as guides checked the safety of other boats. Every rapid is a challenge that requires strategy and precision.

Along the banks, vegetation surprises first-timers. The Grand Canyon’s isolation, elevation, and position at the convergence of the Mojave, Sonoran and Great Basin deserts—have created unique habitats for an unusual assemblage of plants. Some grow only at seeps and springs, while others emerge from cracks in the bedrock. Some species live only in the Grand Canyon.

Experiencing the heart of the Grand Canyon is not solely about floating on dories, however. It is the entirety of the experience—the tall tales, personal challenges, camaraderie, ever-changing vistas, and the remarkable stories of human history that complete the trip.

With the coming day, a conch shell signal would alert the party that a new dawn was rising and we were ready to roll.  Each evening, as we pulled into secluded beaches, we would discover a new world. Under clear skies speckled with countless stars, we dined on delicacies as fine as any resort cuisine. And we found contentment in a perfect balance of sun and sand and sky, and just the right mix of traveling companions. 

When we reached Lava Falls, everything came together. We had crossed Hermit, Granite and Crystal rapids where we got pushed and pulled, lost an oar, hit a rock and dented the boat, but we sailed through without being swallowed by the river. Lava was decidedly different.  It’s dynamic, dramatic and powerful waves created anxiety in each of us even before we had glimpsed our first whitewater.

Duffy Dale, my new friend and boatman, sidled up to me and pointed to a place on the top of the cliff.

“That’s where I got married, directly below the Lava,” Duffy said. Duffy had lost count of how many times he had crossed this treacherous stretch of the Colorado—over a hundred? Yet, every single crossing is different. After a 15-minute strategy session replete with drawings in the wet sand, he outlined the run and gave his three passengers confidence and direction. Everyone nodded, while most said a silent prayer. Before climbing aboard the dory, Duffy offered one last piece of advice:  “If the boat tips, hold onto the rope line.”  We all said a second silent prayer. 

With so much experience, Duffy went first. In the next 16 seconds, our dory hit the first wave hard, and the second wave bulldozed us from the left. Duffy saw a 15-foot wall of water approaching from the bow and pulled hard to avoid it, allowing us to punch through to the right. We exited the rapid with a boat completely filled with water, but still stable enough to make it downstream to Tequila Beach.  We watched as the other boats successfully negotiated the rapids. Then, we screamed, hugged, high-fived, and scrambled around for a cold beverage. 

The magic of a dory trip can’t be matched by any other kind of visit to the Grand Canyon. Its rapids are like a roller coaster ride, while its side hikes are an exploration into the unknown. For the majority of the trip, we saw the river and the canyon walls as one color, until we reached Havasu Creek. There, the canyon’s surprises are unending.  Huge canyon walls that dwarf human visitors, the small watercraft and all vegetation, are humbling. Two distinct colors of water mix together. A side hike up the creek left us all with a sense of awe.  

Arriving quietly at Diamond Creek in the afternoon of our 12th day, the sight of trucks ready to retrieve our dories and all the accessories was instantly depressing. 

As we loaded the boats, I suddenly didn’t want to leave. My long-ago dream of experiencing the heart of the Grand Canyon, now realized, was ending far too soon. Even now, weeks after this incredible journey, I’m reminded daily of new-found friendships, raging torrents, snippets of real danger, and fine dining, all in a land as untamed and timeless as any in the world.

 I simply must go back!

This article originally appeared in the O.A.R.S. 2013 catalog.  Want to get your hands on a copy?  Order or view it online here: www.oars.com/catalog

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What You Don’t Know About the Colorado River

The Grand Canyon Dory — A Colorado River Legend

The post The Heart of the Grand Canyon appeared first on River Currents.

Just published this month, we had the chance to get our hand’s on a copy of River Notes before it was available.  Here’s our review…

In 2006, filmmaker and conservationist Greg MacGillivray invited Wade Davis, acclaimed author and Explorer-in-Residence at the National Geographic Society, to take part in a Grand Canyon expedition. What resulted was not only the 3D IMAX film Grand Canyon Adventure, but also this fine historical adventure from Davis who simultaneously takes you back in time and downstream through some of the world’s most famous rapids.

In short, River Notes is everything you’ve ever wanted to know about the Colorado and more. In this surprisingly quick read (for how much info is packed into it), Davis paints an intimate portrait of the river’s past and urges us to consider its future. With an expert’s knowledge and storytelling finesse, he details the people of the river canyon’s past, like the Havasupai and John Wesley Powell. He dives into the mind-blowing geology dating back 1.8 billion years, and the wild stories that have become the legends of the “Great Unknown.” Through all this, he also weaves in a message of caution. He reminds us how much we’ve come to rely on the Colorado River and the past mistakes of earlier generations.

If you’ve ever pondered a trip down the Colorado through the Grand Canyon it’s definitely worth a pre-trip read. When the time comes, you’ll appreciate the journey all the more. And those who have had the great opportunity to travel by way of the river will cherish having this book by their side so they can slip back into the canyon and down the river whenever they feel the urge.

Lose yourself on the Colorado River.  Order River Notes here.

The post What you don’t know about the Colorado River appeared first on River Currents.

It was early March of 2003 and a blizzard had roared out of the north the previous night, so it took a moment to kick the snow off my boots before stepping inside the boathouse.  There I found myself staring up at a dozen diminutive rowboats that were unlike any kind of watercraft I had encountered.

Most were handsomely painted in bright colors, and several featured squared-off transoms adorned with hand-drawn scenes from the desert rivers of the Southwest: a bighorn sheep, a cluster of columbines, a peeping frog. What struck me most forcefully, though, was that the profile of each boat boasted the simplest and loveliest lines that I had ever seen. Their gunwales swept boldly from bow to stern in a curve that mirrored the rocker of their bottoms, while the profile of their flared hulls set up a pleasing contrast with the rigid ranks of eleven-foot oars that hung from the far wall in neat vertical columns.

A Life-Changing Moment

At the time, I had no idea that these boats, originally designed for cod-fishing on the gale-wracked combers off the Grand Banks of Newfoundland, had become legends on the Colorado, where they are renowned for their speed and elegance amid the river’s seething hydraulics. What I did know was that I was entranced. My jaw just hit the floor. And in an impulse that defied logic and common sense, I decided — right there — that even though I was 38 years old, I was going to have to quit my job and somehow find a way to follow those boats into the water-haunted world at the bottom of the grandest canyon on earth.

There are, of course, lots of middle-aged men who flirt with equally harebrained schemes before coming to their senses. So I’m not sure that I can adequately explain why I failed to abandon my own deluded inclinations, except to acknowledge two things that are obvious to anyone who has ever been smitten by the witchery of small wooden boats: the fact that dories are drop-dead gorgeous and that a man who permits himself to fall under the spell of that much beauty is apt to toss prudence and sanity straight out the window.

Which, in a nutshell, is how I became a baggage boatman for O.A.R.S.

Watching The Dories Work

In a typical expedition run by Grand Canyon Dories, the division of O.A.R.S. for which I work, each guide rows an elegant 17-foot dory christened in memory of a natural wonder that was heedlessly destroyed by the hand of man — doleful, elegiac names like the Ticaboo, the Emerald Mile, the Music Temple, and The Vale of Rhonda. But each trip is also supported by two inflatable rubber rafts that haul almost all of the gear and supplies, and that boast absolutely none of the dories’ seductiveness or charm. Unlike dories, the rafts get names considerably less lyrical than those of vanished ecological treasures — specifically, barnyard animals. There are the Ox, the Mule, the Clydesdale, and the boat to which I have developed the deepest and most abiding affection, the Jackass.

During the course of my apprenticeship, which is currently entering its seventh year, I have never been permitted to row a dory. At this point, my best guess is that I probably never will — only the most gifted, un-jackasslike boatmen are ever given that opportunity.  However, through my position at the tail end of the flotilla (mine is almost always the last boat in our running order), I’ve had the chance to do something almost as marvelous as actually piloting a dory. I’ve been able to observe them, study them, and moon over their magic like no one else.

I have watched those boats at all hours of the day and night, along every stretch of river, in every kind of weather. If you spend enough time staring at dories in this manner, sooner or later you realize that they are able to achieve a unique trick of visual alchemy. I’ve never quite figured out how they do it, but through some inscrutable wizardry involving the geometry of their rocker, the rhythm of their oars, and the force field of their own radiance, there are moments when they appear to be suspended not on the surface of the river but on the air itself.

That’s a wondrous thing, to be sure. But what I value even more, I suppose, has been the chance to watch what those dories do to the men and women who row them for a living.

Dory Guides

Although some folks would argue otherwise, dory guides are neither better nor worse than any other kind of river guide in the canyon.  Regardless of which company they work for, every veteran river guide has memorized every bend in the rock walls, every kink of the river, at every water level one would care to imagine. After spending years in this place, almost all guides have also come to regard the river and the canyon as home: the terrain that speaks to them on the deepest level, the landscape to which they most truly belong.

What makes dory guides special, however, is that they have come to understand that the delicate and impractical watercraft to which they have devoted the better part of their lives may stand as perhaps the finest, most eloquent metaphor for the canyon itself: its seductiveness, its fragility, its aura of timelessness and classicism, and its savagely incongruous mysteries. Because when it comes down to it, nothing expresses and contains those elements with greater fluency or concision than a little wooden boat.

The guides who row those little boats know one other thing, too. They know that the canyon, the river, and the dories present an elusive and intoxicating paradox. It is a paradox rooted in the fact that so many of us are willing to go such extraordinary lengths to seize in our fists an object or a landscape that seems to embody wildness and grace, presumably in the hope that doing so may enable us to establish a kind of spiritual stewardship over these things. And yet we invariably wind up discovering that the truth, like an eddy, runs in the opposite direction.

In the end, it is the distillation of wildness and grace that comes to possess us, and we who belong to it.

This essay was originally created for the 2011 O.A.R.S. catalog. For more compelling stories from other renowned writers, request your catalog copy today!

The post The Grand Canyon Dory — A Colorado River Legend appeared first on River Currents.

We found our way through the National Park icons like Yellowstone and Yosemite and eventually made our way to Utah. To this day, Zion still holds a special place in my heart. And by the end of that 2-week road trip, I had fallen in love with Utah. But life takes you in many directions and eventually Utah, with its red rocks, meandering rivers and deep canyons, fell to the back of my mind.

Second Encounter

Fast forward a few years (too many to share) and I’m back, flying over the Colorado River in a six-seater Cessna, staring down at Canyonlands National Park and Cataract Canyon where I’ve just spent the last week exploring. I think I spot the entrance to Dark Canyon and make out what has to be Big Drop II. I see the Doll House to my left and the stretch of river that was bypassed when we hopped on land to hike the Loop. I’m smiling. I’m a Californian now, but I just fell in love with Utah all over again.

A week earlier I had arrived in Moab, a Mecca for all things outdoorsy, in the southeastern corner of the state. I came specifically for the rafting and hiking and hooked up with O.A.R.S., which promised both in one trip. I was excited about rafting 96 miles of the Colorado River and accessing remote trails along the way, typically hard to reach by any other means.

The trip began with our guides rowing the group, 23 of us all together, through peaceful Meander Canyon, rich with geological features that make you scratch your head in wonder. Early on we passed into Canyonlands National Park, but Cataract Canyon doesn’t officially start until 50 miles into the trip. Having already heard about some of the hikes that lay ahead, I was eager to get further down the river.

The Hikes

At lunch on the second day, we reached Lathrop Ruins, our first hike. A 15-minute jaunt through the bright green, weedy Tamarisk trees lead to Anasazi ruins, including pictographs and an abandoned granary, which an ancient community created to store their surplus of crops and grains.

Day three began with the Loop hike, an approximately one-mile, moderate trail that goes straight up about 500 feet with great views at the top, then straight down with some tricky foot maneuvering. While we hiked, the boats kept rowing to pick us up on the other side. We bypassed four miles of the river, but it was well worth it for the chance to peer down into the layered canyon walls we were living among for the week.

We then headed off to the confluence of the Colorado and Green Rivers where you reach a sign-in box for groups to write-in the various camps they’ll be staying at throughout the trip. Sign-up is voluntary, but also an unspoken rule of the river. We all had our fingers crossed for plan A and were thrilled when the guides came back and shouted, “Winning!” — our motto for the rest of the trip. We were now set up perfectly to hike the Doll House, as well as Dark Canyon.

Day four was going to be epic. Not only were we hiking the six-mile Doll House trail into the remote Maze District of Canyonlands, we were also running a good chunk of the trip’s Class III-IV rapids.

About half of us woke up early to beat the heat and take on the grueling 1,300-foot ascent that takes you to the playful rock formations that make up the Doll House. After a 45-minute Stairmaster climb you get to the top, and are rewarded with an awe-inspiring, 360-degree panoramic view. In one direction sits the colorful spires of the Needles and Island in the Sky Districts of Canyonlands. There’s an Anasazi granary to discover, and an area called the Refrigerator that offers a slot canyon experience with relief from the heat. 

The Whitewater

We could have spent the entire day up there, but after an hour of exploring we had to get back for lunch and gear up for the rapids ahead, including some big plunges, literally called Big Drop I, II and III.

The following day brought more rapids, which I took on in a ducky after successfully kayaking the first day’s rapids. Lower Imperial got the best of me and my paddle partner and we took our first official “swim.” Luckily, we made it through laughing and unscathed. But I wasn’t as excited about the rapids on day five as I was about Dark Canyon, a hike that hasn’t been accessible for at least eight years due to low water levels and impassable debris.

On a perfect day Dark Canyon offers approximately two miles (or more if you’re adventurous) of hiking and bouldering between its steep, narrow red walls alongside a pristine stream. When we arrived to clay-red water it was obvious a flash flood had come through the day before. Nonetheless, we took advantage of the many swim holes, waterfalls and prime cliff jumping spots that are hidden away in this remote paradise. It was a magic moment to be wandering among canyon walls that glowed like a flame and towered 3,000 feet above you. The wait had been worth it.

As we pulled up to the boat take out the next day a sadness came over me like I was saying good bye to an old friend. Planes arrived to take us out of the canyon and, as we flew over the Colorado River back to Moab, I couldn’t help but think about all the people out there who haven’t gotten a chance to see any of this yet— to fall in love with Utah.

This essay was originally created for the 2012 O.A.R.S. catalog. For more compelling stories from other renowned writers, request your catalog copy today!

The post Falling For Utah, Hiking & Rafting Canyonlands’ Backcountry appeared first on River Currents.

Considering his diverse boating capabilities, Kenney gets to enjoy a multitude of watersheds — the best the West has to offer in terms of alpine scenery and wild landscapes! He also has a big sense of humor, wide range of educational experience, and can occasionally be found dressed in women’s apparel while cooking on the river. Get to know this well-educated, Kentucky native in our regular series of guide interviews!

How long have you worked for O.A.R.S. and what did you do before becoming a river guide?

I’m from Terlingua, Texas, originally from the great commonwealth of Kentucky. It’s my ninth year working for O.A.R.S./O.A.R.S. Dories, and my thirteenth year as a river guide. I’ve had a pretty eclectic professional career prior to guiding — I’ve been a banker, a college basketball coach, and a professor. I have two Bachelor degrees and even a Masters, and in some crazy, roundabout way, I think it’s helped me to become a decent river guide [smiles].

What do you love about your job?

One of the few reasons why I love doing it, is that O.A.R.S. Dories loves taking people down wild and scenic places. We’re very much committed to taking care of our wildlands, trying to have as little impact as we can on the wilderness setting, and at the same time showing our customers some of the most beautiful, historic landscapes that you can find in the lower 48.

What is a typical day like for you on the river?

I like to start my work day in the morning by smelling that cowboy coffee, floating across the beach. Then the guests start to wake up smelling it, and you catch that first light hitting the canyon walls. It’s all quiet and peaceful, and you get up and cook a really nice breakfast for your clients. Then when you get out on the water, you can see that mist coming off the water as you turn corners …

There are some days where we run real technical Class III-IV water, and then we get to float on sections of just liquid glass. Our days are chock full, there are times when we get to do side canyon hikes where you’re staring at a 200-foot waterfall and then go back to running rapids. Once you get to camp and get everything set up, and you’re sitting there with your clients and your friends, and you get to enjoy the campfire and watch that last bit of light hitting the canyon walls, you all of a sudden realize, you’ve created magic again.

What is it about river trips that you find most appealing?

What I love most about multi-day river trips is the odyssey that is created with that trip, and each trip is unique unto itself. I love the blending of clients and guides with the water and the wilderness. This collective odyssey creates a sense of timelessness and a freedom, and I love sharing in that process.

How have the people you’ve met on the river impacted your life?

I have met so many amazing people from all walks of life during my years of guiding, though two probably had a particular influence on me. Both of them have terminal cancer, and they’ve done multiple river trips with O.A.R.S., and to see their incredible personal strength and sensitivity is really inspiring. To share our world with them — again and again — while watching how they value the small, little things of everyday life has been really enriching.

What important skills must a rafting guide possess?

Most all river guides, we love to talk, especially about things we know and other things we think we might know, but with the ability to listen, you’ll get to know your clients better. Then together you can start to put together the pieces of the puzzle to create a successful river trip. I think we’re able to get out clients to more quickly start to live in the moment, and then be able to start to strip back the layers of the onion that can symbolizes the challenges that they have out there in their everyday lives.

I also have a very wide collection of feminine apparel [laughs]. I really enjoy getting our guests to dress up with me. I think it helps to push to envelope a little bit, and maybe expand a few comfort zones. For me, it helps me to try not to take myself so seriously.

What do you like to do when you’re not on the river?

I really enjoy reading and scribbling out more river poetry when I’m not on the river. I also really love to sleep; I mean I really love to sleep [laughs].

Have you been on a trip with Steve? Got a question for a raft guide? Say hi in the comments below!

The post Meet Stephen Kenney, Idaho & Colorado River Guide appeared first on River Currents.