Rafting through Time: Connections Made along the Colorado River and the Grand Canyon

John Kominoski
Aug 24, 2017 · 19 min read

01–06 July 2015, Grand Canyon Whitewater

I believe humans crave a connection to one another and to the Earth. Too often, our lives are disconnected to either one of these, yet overly connected to information that may or may not be essential to our happiness. We regularly reach for our smartphones to see what updates have been made to Facebook or Twitter, but it rarely seems as though we missed something essential, something grounding or foundational. What is it that we are seeking? I believe we seek connectivity.

Gary and I connected before our long-planned journey in Las Vegas, Nevada, amid 110-degree heat. We quickly escaped that city of denied reality in our huge SUV (it was the cheapest rental rate!!) and headed to Flagstaff, Arizona. My students from the University of Georgia field program that I just departed had been joking with me for driving such a vehicle. I, the ecologist, once vegetarian, forever advocate of our natural world, had succumbed to the many paradoxes of the modern world. Why should a car that is so energy inefficient and one that adds more to carbon dioxide and other polluting emissions be cheaper to rent? We didn’t pay the true cost of that rental car, but our environment always pays the cost. Maybe we could make it up to our environment by walking to and from dinner in Flagstaff that evening. Earlier that day we visited the beautiful, Art Deco Hoover Dam. Behind Hoover Dam, Lake Mead sits at a third of its capacity and has barely enough water to power turbines for hydropower electricity and municipal water for Las Vegas. Hoover Dam was an engineering marvel built in 1931 during the Great Depression at a time when jobs were scarce yet natural resources seemed endless. The dam is anchored into the ‘basement rocks’ of the Grand Canyon. The basement rocks are composed of the Vishnu Schist and Zoroaster Granite. These are among the oldest exposed rocks on Earth (1–1.5 billion years old). We would greet these rocks again under very different circumstances.

“Good morning,” said Big Ed. “I’m here to take you to the river. The others will take you down the river for the next week or two.” Big Ed was our bus driver at the beginning and end of our journey. He appeared to be Navajo, although no one asked. He shared with us wild plums and peaches that he picked from an abandoned orchard near Lee’s Ferry. The Navajo planted many fruit trees along rivers and canyons throughout the American West. Many of those fruits sustained the U.S. Army while in pursuit of Manifest Destiny while the rest of the country was embroiled in civil war. The Navajo were the only Native Americans that effectively resisted U.S. control of their vast territory. We stopped along the way to Lee’s Ferry at a gas station in Cameron, Arizona, just over the western boarder of the Navajo Reservation. I remembered a time 6 years earlier when Gary and I had stopped in Chinle, Arizona, for gas and sodas. A Navajo man asked us for a ride off the reservation. He smiled and engaged us with compliments and questions about our travels, until I apologized that we could not take him (growing up in Chicago, I learned never to offer rides to strangers). His smile quickly faded to anger, as he jammed his index finger into my chest. “Sorry will get you killed.” We didn’t have or could not give this man what he was seeking.

We reached the mighty Colorado River after traversing beneath the Echo Cliffs. As the bus crossed the Navajo Bridges (the only road that crosses the canyon for 350 miles until one reaches Hoover Dam), everyone cheered. The cheers were punctuated by even more energetic and unified chants from a group of five young ladies. Michelle, Erin, Sarah, Julie, and Niko are old friends from Stanford, all of whom had chosen careers in social and environmental causes. This group of friends lead successful careers that have motivated themselves and other female entrepreneurs. The sources of our journey had different roots, but converged on the river.

Geologic Time: 240–280 million years ago

River Conditions: Clear, cold, stable flow

Unloading at Lee’s Ferry, we met our rafting guides and their leader, Jason. Jason reminded me of a stoic lion with his long reddish hair and beard, and his observing eyes. We were his pride. Safety is key on any water, and especially in the wilderness. We learned the basics from Jason and the other guides, and we set out on the river in earnest. The water was frigid, having just left the dark depths of Lake Powell 12 river miles upstream of Lee’s Ferry. Lake Powell is currently at 50% of its capacity, attributed to a decade or more of intense drought that is gripping the Southwest. The water in Lake Powell eventually becomes the water in many of the fruits, vegetables, and nuts grown in Central and Southern California. The water of the Colorado becomes our blood, and we are running low. Andrea and Karen join our raft. Andrea is from Los Angeles, and Karen in from Seattle. Andrea is a student and aspires to open a lesbian bar to be named The Stand. She is a leader and is self-reliant. Andrea served our country in the U.S. Marine Corps. I never thanked her for her service, so I will do so here and now. Thank you, Andrea. May your time in the service benefit you as much as it benefited all of us. Karen too is a caregiver, and she works in a nursing facility for the elderly. Like Andrea, Karen is independent and traveling this journey as one. She has many colorful stories and unexpecting questions. “Do you think I’m a redneck,” she asked me one evening. “I don’t think so, but I’m not certain,” I replied honestly. “Well, I just love NASCAR,” she said and went on about more than I knew was possible to know about the subject. Unexpected connections.

Ted was our first rafting guide. Ted was visibly the youngest of all the guides, but he was extremely knowledgeable about the river and its canyons. “Manganese oxide,” he said when asked about the black stains on the canyon walls. Ted also knew a lot about the ecology of the Colorado Plateau, likely more than any of the other guides. Ted grew up in Flagstaff and is from a ‘prominent family’, but he seemed disconnected to this voyage. What Ted doesn’t tell us until days later is that he expects his time on the river to be brief. We wonder where he will go next and what connections he seeks.

We stop for lunch beneath the Navajo Bridges. Pedestrians stared down into the canyon. Do they see us? We waved, but they do not return our waves. What did they seek? “Those are condors,” someone cried. It was actually two ravens, but later we all spot our first California condor near our lunch site beneath the bridges. The California condor once had a global population of only 70. Intense conservation and effective captive breeding has increased their numbers in recent decades, and now canyon-goers delight in spotting them albeit infrequently. “Look for bighorns in this stretch of the canyon,” Ted suggest. Within minutes, I spotted a female bighorn sheep leisurely grazing along the lower right of the canyon wall. Male bighorn sheep have the characteristically large, curved horns. Soon thereafter, we entered our first of many rapids, Badger Rapid. Although a mere 4 on a scale of 10, Badger Rapid quenched our daylong thirst for energy from and connection to the river.

We assembled camp at Hot Na Na. There, we all formed a fire line to shuttle bags, metal boxes of food, and pales of water from the river. The California Five mixed margaritas and the rest of us cracked open beers and uncorked wines. We all overate and settled into camp life. As the sun set in the canyon, a warm breeze kicked upriver, blowing sand into clouds. Later that night, the monsoonal rains forced us beneath tarps. We awoke to the sounds of our guides making breakfast. We rubbed sand from our eyes, and rinsed sand from our mouths. Rafting the Colorado River requires true grit, yet no one was discouraged.

Geologic Time: 280–340 million years ago

River Conditions: Clear, cold, variable flow

Day 2 on the river, Turbo was our guide. Like me, he is from suburban Chicago. Earlier that morning, he and Mike (traveling with his daughter Melissa, both from Massachusetts) discussed all-things Chicago. I joked that I thought I was waking up to News Radio Chicago WMAQ. The accent of a Chicagoan is very strong. I wondered if I still retained mine. Turbo was a very calm guide. He laughed and gently fished his detached oar tip from an eddy downriver of Tiger Wash Rapids. “That’s a first,” he exclaimed, not reacting with frustration but rather amazement. “I graduated high school and immediately moved Out West,” he said. I could relate. Many of us from the flatlands and interior of the Midwest seek the mountains or the ocean. Few people succeed in reestablishing the rest of their lives somewhere other than their roots. Usually, there is a retaining draw from family or other obligations or pulls. Often, we miss “home” or we feel alone in new places. Turbo is at home in the West, and he is happy on the river.

After hiking through the beautiful North Canyon carved by wind and water through the Supai Formation, we descended North Canyon Rapid, followed by Georgie Rapid, which Gary noted was “Our best yet”! We set up camp at South Canyon and hiked up a ledge to an overlook along the river. Jacob, a guide from Colorado, had a keen, almost personal knowledge with the geology and anthropology of the river and its canyons. He showed us an Anasazi ruin and petroglyphs. “’Anasazi’ means enemy in the Navajo language,” Jacob explained, “So, it’s often a word we avoid.” Respect and empathy are powerful emotions, and our group integrated both.

Joe was travelling with his three sons, Grattan, Jon, and Alex. They are from Bainbridge, Georgia, in the far southwest corner of Georgia. Gary and I met in Athens, Georgia, nearly 12 years ago. I loved living in Georgia, but I never felt represented by Georgia politics or religion. The American South is a mixture of beauty and poverty, opportunity and loss. The past is evident on the faces of buildings and people. Two of Joe’s sons attended school at the University of Georgia when we lived in Athens. I wondered if we crossed paths on campus during my graduate and post-graduate time. I wondered if any of their friends had a connection to Gary’s medical practice. Grattan spent a few years in New Orleans, but was preparing to move to Atlanta. “It’s a different culture than what we are used to,” said Joe. “They are mostly Catholic, and we are Christians (sic),” he continued. “My wife was very afraid,” he said as he recalled an evening leaving the outskirts of The French Quarter when they encountered a band of four wheelers blazing down the street past them. Later Joe, Gary, and I discussed the politics surrounding the 2000 Presidential Election. That moment and those 15 years that have followed have been the most polarizing in our political history. Right now in the U.S. political system it’s ‘us versus them’, and we are not making as much progress in as many areas as are desperately needed. What is actually most important is not what we believe at any one point in time, but that we can have a conversation that includes listening, learning, and understanding. We all have common desires and needs that no one group should deny another. Joe, his sons, Gary, and I had a common bond through the river and our connection to The South.

Later that night when the cooking and cleaning finished, our behind-the-scenes but vital companions, Sean and Bobby, emerged from the motorboat that hauled all of our gear from camp-to-camp. Sarah and I joined Sean and Bobby for moonlight discussions that ranged from light to heavy. Each of us weighed in with our hearts. Bobby shared that the river was his solace, and that he hoped to become a guide one day soon. He had experienced a lot of loss, but had emerged from it. He explained that several of his friends died from drug overdoses that stemmed from a profound loneliness and lack of connection to others. His journey was their journey. He was their representative.

Geologic Time: 340–515 million years ago

River Conditions: Increasingly turbid, cold, variable flow

On Day 3 we rafted with Doug. Doug is from San Francisco, where he lives on his sailboat. He was one with water. Brad and his two sons, Sam and Joe, joined us that day. Brad and his sons are from Atlanta, and his sons are attending the University of Georgia and Georgia Southern University. Joe reminded me of the actor Dan Aykroyd. “I prefer Bill Murray,” Joe said. I obliged him. The South was well represented on this journey. Sam is a political science major, and he spent a semester in D.C. interning with Senator John Lewis, a huge civil rights leader who fought alongside Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. In 1965, John Lewis was beaten nearly to death in Selma, Alabama, but survived to make the historic march from Selma to Montgomery that launched America out of apathy and into a deep connection towards civil rights for all people. In June of this year, we celebrated a similar milestone with the passing of marriage equality that overturned the Defense of Marriage Act by the U.S. Supreme Court. As Gary explained, “This event is less important for John and I than it is for young people who may not have the support of their families. At least they now have the support of the law.” We remembered those who would see this day arrive, those that suffered AIDS or committed suicide. We celebrate for them, and we give thanks to this opportunity and this time.

Doug allowed Gary to row our raft from miles 45 to 47. Gary grew up on Lake Sammamish in Washington State. As a child, he asked his parents for a bicycle, but instead they gave him a rowboat. “It was Shangri-La,” Gary told us. Recently during our move to Miami, Gary found an old photo taken in front of the shack where he, his brother, and his parents lived until he was 12 years old. The photo is of Gary and his brother playing in the sand, holding a single wooden water ski that was made for them by their former neighbor, Herb O’Brien. Gary, like Doug, has been drawn to the water. Water is our common connection.

We passed by Vasey’s Paradise, where Maj. Powell and his expedition excitedly noted the bounty of lush hanging gardens along two prominent springs within the canyon’s wall. Vasey was a botanist travelling with Powell’s first expedition. Later downriver, we stopped at Redwall Cavern. Powell estimated that the cavern, carved by the power of the river into the Redwall Limestone of the canyon, could hold more then 50,000 people. Our group played touch football among the sand and Kangaroo Rat dung, enjoying competition between shirts and skins and overextending some of our older muscles. Scott, travelling with his son Aidan from Arkansas, made an incredible dive that resulted in a face plant into the sand. Others climbed the cavern’s low-slung overhanging ceiling. Joe photographed the action and carried on for what Jay wished he could capture. Jay, another professional photographer, and his son Jake travelled from Portsmouth, New Hampshire. He had damaged his camera in the river a few days prior, so the images he captured were from his mind’s eye. Jake works for Educational Testing Services, the major company responsible for college and graduate entrance exams, as well as standardized tests for public schools throughout the country. He and I discussed the over-emphasis on the use of standardized tests. Jake and his father quietly enjoyed the waves sloshing into the raft, and Jay forgave the river for taking his camera and the opportunity to document these moments. We too lost cameras to this river. On a return trip from my first visit to the Grand Canyon in 1992, our family’s camera was stolen along with all the film. This trip, the waterproof camera Gary bought just disappeared after the North Canyon hike. Fortunately, our group had grown closer and everyone was willing to share their photos. Perhaps the bounty of the river and its canyons filled the minor losses some of us experienced along the way. We had the river, the canyons, and one another. We did not want for anything more than these places and these moments were providing us. Further along the river, we stopped to acknowledge what could have become the Marble Canyon Dam. It was said that the dam would allow visitors to the Grand Canyon a better view of the upper formations of the canyon walls that were now more difficult to see given the natural down-cutting of the river. We hiked into a man-made prospecting cave nearly a quarter-mile into the Redwall Limestone. We left thankful that the Marble Canyon Dam never came to be, that this river although fragmented and threatened at the peripheries of its network had a connected central core, a heart.

Geologic Time: 340–900 million years ago

River Conditions: Highly turbid, cold, variable flow

On Day 4 we raft with Jacob and encountered The Confluence, where the Little Colorado River joins the Colorado River. Jacob had a sticker on a metal box located on his raft that read, “Save the Confluence”. Having been on the water most of the summer and out of contact with some updates, I shared with him the good news that The Confluence had been spared for now. We arrived at the LCR in anticipation of turquoise waters. Instead the river looked like a deep reddish-brown mole from an old Mexican recipe. Eager to enter the messy water, we formed various human chains. Hands holding ankles, we descended small rapids that coated our bodies like strawberries dipped in chocolate fondue. The Confluence is sacred to many Native American tribes, which believe that their descendants came from this very place. We celebrated the win of The Confluence for all humanity and for the river itself with a rich, joyful baptism.

We pulled into camp beneath Nankoweap Ruins early that day. Nankoweap Ruins was where ancient Puebloans who farmed in the river’s deltas stored their seeds for future farming. The granaries, as they are called, are located nearly 1000 feet above the river, and offers one of the most classic vistas of the river. Initially, we felt a bit cheated by the early end to our unique day on the river. It was the Fourth of July after all, and we were here but once or twice (for one of us) in our lives. The rafters had the opportunity to experience the river and its canyons tens to hundreds of times over us. We stopped in early because our leader, Jason, had encountered some old friends along the river. They were there to assess the populations of endanger fishes: humpback chub, razorback sucker, bonytail, and Colorado pikeminnow. These ancient fishes are endemic to the Colorado River, and the upstream dams have severed their lifeline; warm, nutrient rich waters with tons of terrestrial organic matter. Paradoxically, a stocked fishery of rainbow trout in the tailwaters of Glen Canyon Dam was being electroshocked and removed in Marble Canyon. Jason’s friends were contracted to remove the non-native trout, and they worked throughout the night in high-speed boats with mounted headlights that eerily bounced along the canyon walls as they navigated the rapids in pursuit of fish that are stocked just 50 miles upriver.

For many of us on this voyage, this will be the only time we taste the muddy waters of the Colorado. Joe from Santa Barbara, California, was the exception. Joe, an avid triathlete, travelled with his good friend Brian. Both are educators and leaders in public education in Santa Barbara. Joe had journeyed before along the same section of river, but this time he was going to raft the full length of the Grand Canyon (from Lee’s Ferry to Lake Mead). For Karen, this trip was a capstone. Something she had planned for many years, and was now able to make with the help of her boyfriend and her status at work that allowed her the time away. She would join Joe the rest of the way through the canyon. They would share our experiences and stories with the group that joined in Phantom Ranch. They were our representatives and somewhat our envy.

Geologic Time: 940–1,750 million years ago

River Conditions: Highly turbid, cold, variable flow

On Day 5, we woke from our sleep from our country’s anniversary and embarked on a magical hike around Chuar Lava Butte. The hike connected Chuar and Lava canyons by way of the Palisades and Butte Faults. Here, we saw uplifted and tilted rocks that stretched our perception of time and space as well as the general convention that older rocks sit below younger rocks. As a result of uplift and tilting of the Grand Canyon Supergroup rock layers, we were seeing rocks that are not visible anywhere else on Earth. It all resembled the caldera of an ancient volcano, and Gary likened it to Haleakala Crater in Maui.

“I looked back and saw you smiling all day,” said Scott. That day, we rafted with Matt into what Major John Wesley Powell described as “The Great Unknown”. As we descended into Granite Gorge below the Unkar Delta, the river and the canyon dramatically transformed. The river made clear topographical descents that would resemble steps of a stairs were it not for the incredible turbulence of muddy waves. The group had to stop above Hance Rapids, an unbelievable 10 out of 10, to assess the safety of our descent. We were excited and a little humbled by the power of the river, which up to this point had not given us such pause for consideration.

Matt, a gentle and sensitive guide, spoke in long, calm sentences that wove a creative cadence with his intellect about the river and its canyons. Matt described the formation of the basement rocks in Granite Gorge like a trailer from a major motion picture. “Two supercontinents collided, forcing the black rocks (Vishnu Schist) to uplift and tilt vertically. The subducted rocks melted into the Earth’s mantle and were injected as pink rocks into the veins of the black rocks, forming the Zoroaster Granite”. The rapids in Granite Gorge were larger than Marble Canyon upriver because Granite Gorge was narrower and composed of these highly erosion-resistant rocks. I joked that all this granite gave me a ‘Zoroaster’. We rocked our way through many rapids on this day. Sometimes the strong, warm wind pushed us upriver, making it feel like we were not moving (or even moving backwards) despite descending huge rapids. Powell was so intimidated by this section of the river that he said of his expedition that they were heading down “The Great Unknown”. We all felt a great sense of uncertainty during our descents through Granite Gorge. The rocks are so dark and the canyon so narrow that many of the upper rock formations are largely unseen. Where were we going? What were we seeking? What would we find?

Geologic Time: 1,750 back to 240 million years ago

Trail Conditions: Cloudy skies, plenty of water and shade, happiness and revelry

On Day 6 we started our 7-mile hike from Pipe Creek Canyon to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon along the Bright Angel Trail. That morning was the only time we experienced a bit of disorganization during the journey. Having less sleep than perhaps other nights, Gary and I were awakened by the delight of hundreds of bats swooping overhead, the first truly sustained vision of stars during the otherwise nightly cloud cover, and the fact that we were camping next to the community toilet (affectionately referred to as “The Groover”). Because we anticipated a bit of a challenge on the last day at the trailhead, we packed our hiking shoes within our individual dry bags. Four unfortunate of our companions had shoes mistakenly left back at camp, which was 2 miles upriver from the trailhead. They began this intimidating hike in sandals and with attitudes that rivaled most honeymooners. The Colorado River and the Grand Canyon had left an imprint of gratitude, compassion, and understanding on us all.

We all hiked to the South Rim like an accordion, expanding and contracting, regrouping at resting sites. I was impressed with the health and vigor of our team. We culminated our journey at the cocktail lounge of the El Tovar Hotel. Cheers, chants, and hugs as well as contact information were shared. We felt a connection to this place, this time, and these people. Some felt a difficult detachment from this experience, sitting by themselves near the end of the trail, quietly seeking a bit more time or perhaps paying a debt of gratitude to the river, its canyons, and our wise, shepherd-like guides.

Ecological Time: Today and into the future

Landscape Conditions: Highly threatened, endangered

Having spent a mere week on the Colorado River through just a third of its length through the Grand Canyon, I am unable to understand how we can ask (and take) so much from this river. It is a mighty but relatively small and highly threatened desert river. The conservation and advocacy group American Rivers listed the Colorado River among America’s most endangered rivers due to overuse of water and Uranium toxicity. The 7 basin states allocate 110% of the river’s discharge due to the 1922 Colorado River Compact that came after several uncharacteristically high-flow years. The 1872 Mining Act has yielded hundreds of mining prospects throughout the Colorado Plateau, four of which are active within Grand Canyon National Park. The Colorado Plateau is a largely wild and vastly special place on Earth. It needs our understanding, respect, and gratitude. Above all, the Colorado River and the Grand Canyon need to have less of our demand on its water. We are using so much of the total volume of water from the river that it no longer flows to its mouth in the Sea of Cortez in the Gulf of California. In a recent National Public Radio interview with environmental journalist Abrahm Lustgarten from ProPublica, Lustgarten discussed the need to concentrate water storage in Lake Mead, condemning Lake Powell. His series “Killing the Colorado” investigates the history and future of water sustainability in the Colorado River. Before Lustgarten, journalist Marc Reisner wrote the book “Cadillac Desert” that detailed the history and madness surrounding Los Angeles’ water reclamation and forecasted demise for The West when water failed to flow the plow. As California enters into its 7th year of drought and austere statewide measures on water conservation, perhaps now is the time for us all to consider the consequences of not changing our expectations and demands on the Colorado River.

I think those that intimately experience the Colorado River and its canyons have a better understanding of its tenuous and fragile state. I think those that intimately experience the Colorado River and its canyons have a better capacity to advocate for its conservation and preservation for future generations of people and the environment. Of course, not everyone has the ability, the opportunity, or the fortune of rafting the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon (or any river for that matter). Those of us that experience wild places have an important and unique burden to communicate the importance of their preservation to others. We must advocate for wild waters and wild landscapes because we all have critical environmental, cultural, and historical connections to them. There is power and great capacity for saving a landscape if we understand and believe that our past and our future have strong connections to it. The Confluence is the spiritual and cultural heart of many Native Americans, and the Colorado River and its canyons (the greater Colorado Plateau) is the foundational core of the disappearing American West.

As we said our goodbyes to the Colorado River and one another, I left feeling an incredible sense of gratitude for my experience and commitment to saving this incredibly unique landscape, so that it may persist and that others may find a connection to themselves in its beauty and vastness. I left feeling that we are among the most fortunate people alive today, as a result of our experiences with and connections to wild places, and our ability to understand the critical need to protect the ecology of places like the Colorado Plateau and the Colorado River, so that they, as we, may persist into the future.

John Kominoski is an Assistant Professor of Ecosystem Ecology in the Department of Biological Sciences at Florida International University in Miami, Florida. His first trip to the Grand Canyon was in 1992 on a family vacation when his parents brought he and his brother from Chicago to the Grand Canyon by train. He has been captivated by the Colorado River and its canyons ever since. He is a member of the Grand Canyon Trust.

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