A River Tale of a Lost Boat

Being on a recent river trip reminded me of another trip that happened pretty long ago, where we had a memorable incident.  It may be that it’s more memorable to me because I’ve told the story so many times – so many, in fact, that Ashley can tell the tale as well as I can – but I’ve never written it down, and it’s kind of a fun tale. 

In about nineteen hundred and ninety nine Rocky Contos – of Sierra Rios fame, whom I profiled in an article in American Whitewater in 2007, and I need to do a follow up article on him – invited me on the first of an impressive string of near-annual-consecutive Grand Canyon trips that he did by paying close attention to the waiting list permit system they had at that time (they have since gone to an annual weighted lottery).   Though Rocky had a raft himself (the first of literally hundreds for Sierrarios!) , he didn’t know too many folks who also had GC-worthy (ie big) rafts, so he put out a query on rec.boats.paddle (an early online whitewater-oriented community website that was peppered with entertaining tales from Rocky’s river adventures) looking for potential rowers.  Not only did he find two guys, but one of them had two fully loaded boats, so as long as Rocky could find someone to row one, we had enough boats for our relatively small group (a dozen people; all dudes?!!?) so we were good to go.  Rick Joos – with two boats – and his pal Steve Lee were our mystery boat guys whom we were going to spend 3 weeks with on the river, which is totally commensurate with Rocky’s long history of successfully relying on strangers for shuttles, information, gear, etc on his many far-flung adventures.  

Of course, it turned out that Rick and Steve were great guys, and despite getting a bit of snow at the put-in the night before we put on our first few days were fabulous, including a successful effort to right Rick’s flipped boat below House Rock rapid, the first of the bigger drops (and Rick’s boat was big and heavily loaded with food so early in the trip).  A ways downstream we camped at Kwagunt, a nice camp known for it’s huge boulders right in camp that provide some bouldering opportunities for climbing boaters (or boating climbers?).  After another long November night of yapping and shit-talking around the fire everybody hit their respective sacks lulled to sleep by the small Kwagunt rapid.  

In the very wee hours of the morning (really, it was still night) I was awakened out of a dream and had a very fuzzy awareness of someone saying “lost boat”.  As I came to I realized that it was not a dream, and Steve was looking down at Rocky and I as we blinked into his headlamp.   He was indeed saying “the boat is lost.”  Huh?  Turns out that Steve went down to the beach for a late-night whizz and by his headlamp he counted one, two, three……rafts.  One, two, three…..um, where’s the fourth?   Steve’s own boat?  ’Twas not there; not tied to the sand stake, a boulder, a tree, another boat….it was gone.  But it couldn’t have gone far; the camp was near the rapid and there was a huge eddy downstream of the rapid, so Steve had headlamped downstream peering into the darkness of the river looking for his boat, but to no avail.  He dreaded having to not only wake up Rocky and I period, much less having to admit that somehow his own boat had come untied and was…. gone.  

Of course, Rocky and I had to get down to the river and see for ourselves that there were indeed only three boats tied up on the beach, but after our initial shock the three of us started to strategize.  We decided that as Trip Leader (TL) it was probably best for Rocky to stay with the crew, but I would take a kayak, load it up with dry clothes and some food, and at first light I would get on the river and start stroking downstream to find the raft.  So while our crew snored away I got my gear and a bit of food together (there was plenty of food and some gear still on the wayward raft) and as the first light appeared in the sky between the canyon walls I slid into the water and eased into the current, not paddling hard yet because I wanted to make sure that the raft hadn’t indeed eddied out shortly downstream.  

Soon enough more light flooded the canyon and I could see just fine, and started into a good strong rhythm of paddle strokes, with my head swiveling back and forth as I passed the many big eddies in the long flatwater section below our camp.  On and on I went, for over an hour; long enough that I started to get worried; had I passed it in that brief window of time when it coulda indeed been in an eddy right near camp but there wasn’t enough light to see?  Anyone who rows a raft in big, slow water will tell you that eddies seem to be raft magnets, and on the Grand if you don’t row you’ll inevitably end up in one while your current-seeking friends keep on going downstream.  So could Steve’s raft have really avoided all of those big eddies I’d paddled past?  

Ahead I could see the wall on river left ended abruptly and then started again; it was the confluence where the Little Colorado came in; a place that’s sacred to the native peoples in that part of the world, particularly the Hopi. 

There’s a river gauge there, and an associated cable that runs across the river, with a red orb or two on the cable to identify it (to the aircraft that aren’t allowed there?).  But below the red orbs….was that something yellow on the river?   I stroked a bit harder, squinted a bit, got closer and realized that it was indeed our wayward raft.  I paddled up to it and it was bumping against the shore right where the gauge is, and incredibly it was in an eddy that was only about twice as big as the raft itself.  But that didn’t matter; the boat had been found. 

I tied the line to a tree – a good knot, that I double checked! – wriggled out of my paddling gear, and plunked down on the raft’s cooler to eat a bit of gorp.  It was then that I realized that our strategy had left something out: how do I keep myself entertained while our crew straggled out of bed, made coffee, made breakfast, broke camp, and loaded up the boats – usually a 2 1/2 hour process – and then floated slowly down towards me?  I had neglected to bring a book, I could hike up the Little Colorado but probably not too far since I needed to be there when the crew came around and they might be more efficient with the stress of me being gone, or I could just sit there and zen/zone out and wait for a few hours.  This later option was probably the wisest, but wasn’t really my style.  Then I had a thought:  I’ll just run back upstream!  I’ll be on the shore and if by chance they are faster than I think I can just holler at them, they come and get me, and I float back down to the raft and my kayak.  And I get a chance for a little aerobic workout, which is sometimes kinda hard to come by on a river trip.  So I tightened up my shoes and started to “run” upstream.  

The Grand Canyon goes through a vast desert, and the bottom of the canyon gets only 8 inches of rain annually.   And the canyon is made up pretty much entirely of different types of  rock.  So as effortless as it is to float down the river, traveling overland adjacent to the river is effort-full, with the river bank essentially made up of loose, sharp rocks, short vertical cliffs rising right out of the water that need to be climbed/bypassed, and all of the vegetation feels angry and sharp.  Kevin Fedarko (of “The Emerald Mile” fame; if you haven’t read it, you should!) recently came out with a new book called “A Walk in the Park” and he eloquently describes the ferocity of the terrain as he and his pard Pete McBride attempted a rare traverse of the length of the canyon.  My little jaunt was only five miles, but it was hard, slow going – quite far from the “run” that I anticipated – and indeed I fully anticipated that I’d soon be seeing our now-three raft floatilla bobbing towards me.  

That said, I was having fun; an interesting aspect of a GC trip is that despite being in such a remote, vast, and austere place, it’s kinda difficult to appreciate the vastness and the silence because you’re always around your fellow rivertrippers, whether on the rafts, around the fire, on the hikes, rigging boats, cooking dinner, etc.    Hopefully they are friends and you are glad to have the chance to be around them for such an extended time, but it’s nice – and indeed, a kind of powerful experience – to be alone in The Canyon.   So it was just me, my heavy breathing as I scrambled upstream, and my thoughts.  

But for some reason on that trip back up the bank to our camp, even with my mind wandering about and appreciating the Big Still of the canyon I had the thought that “I oughtta come up with a poem as I go to pass the time!”  Which is weird, because I’ve never done that before nor since despite many longish solo outings, and honestly have never really been engaged with poetry anyway aside from knowing too many words to too many classic rock tunes.  But I kinda thought about someone who’s probably the most famous poet in history and certainly the only one who ever had any sort of influence on me: Dr. Seuss.  And thus inspired, I indeed came up with a poem.  

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At this point in recounting this tale in person I pause expectantly, looking around, awaiting someone, anyone? to exclaim “What’s the poem?!!?”  Sometimes that happens, but sometimes I have to ask “are you interested in hearing the poem?” (if you have to ask….).  Usually they indulge me.  And thus – indeed, with apologies to Dr Seuss (tho I like to think he might be pleased?) here is the poem:

And from the crew, a great cheer arose…...

Their boat had been found, and their food was still froze!

It floated on down the river, to a far away place…

But it couldn’t outrun the kayaker who gave chase! 

At the Little Colorado is where it is moored….

Waiting for its captain to get back to its oars!

And that kayaker looked to the captain, and he said with a sneer….

Nice knot-tyin’ you Worthless Fuck! Now get me a beer!  

And so it happened, and the rest of the trip went smashingly, and for a few years hence we were able to do a handful of river trips again with Rick and Steve.  Ultimately Rick kinda faded away, and tragically Steve Lee succumbed to cancer, and the world lost a super smart and hilarious guy.  But I was glad I did get the chance to get to know him on the river, which is the best venue to get to know someone, despite his slack knotting!