 |
| Photo by Greg Bryan |
I appear to be working smarter, not harder.
As we tied down the last few pieces of gear on the newly streamlined river rafts, we heard the unmistakable whoop-whoop-whoop of a small helicopter coming in over the canyon.
 |
| Photo by Greg Bryan |
Aside from the occassional hum of the rafts' outboard motors, this was the first sound of modern society we had heard in a week, and it was exciting, jarring, and more than a bit depressing all at the same time. We exchanged contact information with several of the other guests, tipped the guides for hosting what was nothing short of a life-changing experience, and waved them off on the last part of their journey this run. Ted was scheduled for another trip in less than 24 hours, and Tyler's next trip was just a day or two after that. So despite the thirty horsepower motor going at full bore, this would be one of the calmer and quieter days of their summers.
The helicopter loaded up passengers in groups of four or five, and shuttled them up to a ranch on the north rim of the canyon.
The ten minute journey was easily one of the most beautiful poop-your-pants level thrill rides I have ever been on. Because of something involving thermal currents that I don't fully understand, the helicopters don't just lift straight up from the water's edge and touch down at the ranch. They rip along the surface of the river for a few hundred yards to build up speed. Then they bank sharply toward the canyon wall, and skirt no more than 30 feet along the rock face as they slingshot over the top of the canyon at a hundred miles per hour. The last few minutes of the journey are spent rocketing towards the ranch while hovering maybe ten feet above the tree line.
I cursed having that final beer the night before, and tried to remember if I had updated our will since Quinn was born. It was a good thing we had a stunning view to distract us.
I like to think that I'm someone with a pretty high threshold for this type of thing. But even now, weeks later, I am actively sweating as a I type this up safely at my computer.
I could have hugged the twenty-something ranch worker that met us when we landed. But he had clearly seen the looks on all of our faces before, and shuffled us along with a subtext in his voice that articulately stated, "Unless you're one of the female ranch hands that I clearly took this summer job to be around, please keep moving and don't barf on my boots."
We had about two hours to kill at the ranch before our flights home (more on that in a minute). The experience of showering off seven days of river sand and human biofilm was as glorious as you'd imagine. Lunch was a cold cuts bar that was much appreciated, but couldn't hold a candle to the feasts that Ted and Tyler had cooked up for us on the river. And then it was naps and stretching in grassy shade that seemed more than a bit out of place in the middle of the high desert. But I wasn't complaining.
Around one or two in the afternoon, we heard the ranch hands announce that flight 67 had just landed, and everyone on that plane should make their way to the landing strip. Why these flights had numbers besides one, two, and three was beyond me, but the landing strip just next to the ranch was used by a handful of small propeller planes to carry rafters back to Marble Canyon and Las Vegas, depending on where their trip originated. Las Vegas is the closest big airport, so people coming from out of state typically started there. It was also a popular day trip for affluent Europeans looking to dip their toes into the Wild West experience.
We waited nearby while our plane unloaded what appeared to be a German family, and I took a moment to appreciate some sign maker's sense of humor.
Our new out-of-town friends loaded up on the Vegas bound plane, and we waved them off as their plane taxied first onto the airstrip.
Then it was our turn to board the sedan-sized cabin, and I almost literally had to crawl on hands and knees my seat. Even though we had mixed feelings on the inside, we were all smiles on the outside to be heading home.
Our smiles faded ever so slightly when our pilot turned around, and he appeared to have graduated flight school about seven hours earlier.
I'm sure he told us his name, and it wasn't Bro Pilot, but that's how he will be permanently etched in my brain.
Unsurprisingly, the forty five minute flight was breathtaking, and not just because it was a particularly windy day.
As the landing strip came in to focus, I cursed myself for the second time that day about not updating our will.
It actually was a pretty windy day, and our pilot kindly pointed out in casual conversation that we were just a hair below the max wind speed that our plane can handle. And the landing strip is just past a deep gorge in the rock face (directly under us in the photo above) that always adds a bit of turbulence right before touchdown. Thanks, Bro Pilot. As much as I appreciate your color commentary, we're good. You don't need to waste any concentration augmenting our flight experience.
But Bro Pilot did great. Or at least he seemed to. I don't know the first thing about flying. But I'm sitting here today telling you about the flight, so I can't complain. RVCA skater hats off to you, Bro Pilot.
We grabbed our backpacks from the luggage bin (literally a bin), and walked back to our cars. Hugs and tears all around, and then we crossed our fingers to see if our car still started. It did, which I admittedly had mixed feelings about. Then it was back on the road for a day's drive home.
Aimee and I feel so lucky to have had the experience of a Grand Canyon rafting trip. There's no better way to see such a historic and defining part of our country. But it was definitely time to go home, and we were very excited to see our kids. It's slightly terrifying to not even know if they're alive for an entire week. That said, the canyon was barely out of view by the time Aimee and I started to talk about when we should go back next. Do we bring the kids? Can we even wait that long? We still hadn't reached a decision by the time we got home.
Ok, fine. We'll bring them.
