The river doesn't care how hungover you are. It waits for no one.
But after an hour or so on the water, we were given the chance to wake up a bit more slowly. Our first stop of the day was at Blacktail Canyon, known for it's incredible acoustics. The several talented musicians on our trip hosted a casual open mic concert that morning while the rest of us soaked it up and sweated out concentrated margarita mix.
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| Photo: Greg Bryan |
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| Photo: Greg Bryan |
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| Photo: Jill Knuth |
Several other less-hungover groups came and went while we were there. Yes, they were able to open their eyes without feeling their brains getting squeezed out through their ears, but we were having a lot more fun.
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| Photo: Dean Knuth |
Then it was a quick side hike for lunch, and another at the world-class Deer Creek Falls.
Fajitas for dinner, and we were sleeping like babies.
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| Photo: Greg Bryan |
Thursday was our last full day on the water. By that point, we were certainly looking forward to taking a shower and seeing our kids, but also there's this:
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| Photo: Greg Bryan |
Aside from The Confluence, the other can't miss stop on any river trip is Havasu Creek. It runs through the Havasupai reservation, down Havasu Falls, and into the Colorado river. It has the same crystal blue water as the Little Colorado, and is delightfully warm.
Getting there was a little tricky, however. First, the guides had to tie the boats up in the middle of a rapid.
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| Photo: Greg Bryan |
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| Photo: Greg Bryan |
The photos don't really do justice to how fast the water is moving along that stretch. The guides were revving their motors at full bore, with the boats' noses bouncing against the rocks as the swampers hopped out with ropes in hand. Again, glad that's not my responsibility.
Then the guests had to scale up a pretty steep rock wall. So steep that most river companies (including GCW) require their guests to keep their lifejackets on for this stretch of the hike.
Once the boats were safely tied up, Ted untied the inflatable peacock that had been bouncing around the back of his boat all week. We all had assumed that it was just some river guide flair, but this was a peacock with a purpose.
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| Photo: Greg Bryan |
Then we ditched the life jackets and hiked a narrow path along the creek until we reached the bottom.
That last photo reminds me that I have failed to mention two major elementsof this trip. 1) Aimee was pumping breastmilk three times a day! It wasn't really possible to freeze and save any, so she simply offered her sacrifice to the river gods every day. She would have been tremendously uncomfortable otherwise. And yes, this was a first for our river guides, with nearly two hundred river trips between them.
And 2) Jill was suffering from an extremely itchy rash throughout the trip. Their faces in that photo captured the exact moment when, six days into the trip, these two whole-grain, outdoorsy, northern-Arizona moms realized that they could use Aimee's breastmilk as "treatment" for Jill's rash.
My medical opinion: No comment.
We swam, had a snack, and capped the afternoon with some extreme tubing.
No peacocks were harmed, but a few humans woke up pretty sore the next day.
One last group photo before we headed back to the boats.
We donned our lifejackets and carefully traversed the rock path with only one casualty.
Peacock! Come back!
That afternoon definitely felt like the last day of summer camp.
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| Photo: Greg Bryan |
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| Photo: Greg Bryan |
Leave no trace.
There was also a major achievement that day. Blake, our youngest swamper (off to his freshman year at the U of A this fall) suited up in Ted's lucky polyester suit and piloted through Lava Falls for the first time. He had led us through several smaller rapids, but this was his first time through one of the biggest and most treacherous. It was a class ten (of ten) rapid with a thirteen foot drop off. I had the choice of either taking a photo of it for you all, or remaining on the boat. I chose the latter.
Following Blake's accomplishment, river guide tradition commanded that he be baptized in water from a small spring just past the rapid.
That night was a "talentless show" where guests got up and showcased a talent--or lack thereof. I flossed (the dental procedure, not the dance). You had to be there. Aimee recited The Very Hungry Caterpillar from memory (while firedancing of course). It killed. And Blake, knocked back down to junior guide status after his Lava Falls triumph, was the titular character in a Shorty the Boatman routine. Shorty is a river guide with an unusual routine for getting ready in the morning. It involves a toothbrush, a peanut butter sandwich, and lots of whipped cream. Acting support from Tyler, playing the role of Shorty's arms.
It also killed.
Greg and Rachel led the group in a singalong mashup of each spouse playing the other's trademark campfire song. Rachel parodied Greg's Purple Rain, and Greg responded with Rachel's Where's Me Jumper?, an apparent staple for any teenager who grew up in the UK in the 1990s, as Rachel did. Rachel's version (far better than the original) acted as a sort of theme song for the week.
But the highlight for me that evening was Dean and Jill's routine. I vaguely remember something about Jill being a cave woman who discovers fire, but then can't put it out. But I was far more focused on the intricate scheme that I was working on to finally Ice Dean. Jill's prop was Aimee's fire baton, so I immediately volunteered to "help" with logistics. The plan was that Dean would surprise everyone by running out in a giant, inflatable T-Rex costume (where is he packing all this stuff?) to save Jill and put out the fire. My job was to run up and give Dean the steel fire baton case to fully extinguish the flame before he turned into a giant polyester fireball.
But when the time came, Dean put out his tiny T-Rex arms to grab the case from me, and sshhhhunk, a bottle of Smirnoff Ice slid out of the pipe straight into his hands. Dean took a knee in the middle of the campfire circle, and we we all cheered as he choked down a bottle of over-sweetened malt beverage.
Best vacation ever.
