The Upper San Juan: A Float to Remember
By Jack Stauss
We arrived at the put-in for the Upper San Juan River in the mid-morning sun. As the day’s heat began to build and the Holiday River Guides rigged our boats, we walked down the gravel road to see the first of many rock art panels.
GCI board member Wade Graham thanked the group for coming and gave a quick introduction to the place through the panel we stood in front of. It was an explanation of those that lived on and used the river prior to the white settlers. But, like us, the people that left those stories on the canyon wall had dealt with a changing world. Around 700 years ago, the Ancestral Puebloans moved out of their canyon homes and all that was left behind were the petroglyphs and dwellings in the desert. Wade described how they suffered from conflict with other tribes and a long term drought that drastically changed the region, reminding the group that we are currently in another period of change.
Discussing drought was a perfect backdrop to the trip, as it was the reason we had to change the trip from the longer lower section to the shorter upper section. With historically low snow pack, there was not enough water in the river to safely run our originally planned lower San Juan trip. I had never run the upper, so I was excited to see a new place. I was also a little anxious about the shorter distance over the same amount of days.
Back at the boats, I immediately hopped into the cool, chocolate colored water. The San Juan soaked my shirt and hat and refreshed my parched skin. The rivers of the Southwest are a geological blessing, forming amazing canyons and offering a reprieve from the penetrating heat.
Throughout the first 20 miles of the trip, we were completely surrounded by sandstone walls and canyons. This is particularly special because it resembles in many ways what Glen Canyon would have looked like. And, like the main Colorado, Ancestral Native Americans spanning thousands of years lived along the shores. Every few miles we would tie our rafts up to a stump on the bank and explore ancient dwellings and rock art. The rock art panels were the largest and most intricate that many of us had ever seen. Huge alien-like forms chipped into the side of auburn desert varnish. From granaries high on the cliffs, to large Kivas, to piles of pottery sherds, we explored the living museum and worked hard to leave no trace, and of course taking no artifacts.
In the evenings, our featured guest Chip Ward and Wade led conversations about the reality of the river and the future of the environmental fight in the Southwest. As always, our group brought a diverse offering of opinions, from Navajo stories to the need for predators. Everyone felt the weight of our discussions and the hope for progressive change across all levels of the environmental and climate movement. The members that had come, both new and old to GCI, had lots of questions about what was happening to the basin, and offered amazing advice as to how our organization could continue our work in engaging active citizens. Their knowledge and positivity was reinforced by the remarkable trip experience we were all having together. After the sun had fully set, an amateur astronomer helped us in finding planets and constellations. She reminded us about the importance of the night sky in our lives.
One morning we hiked with the sunrise into the last red rock canyon of the upper river. We saw the remains of a Navajo Hogan. A member taught us about the sacred stones buried at the north, east, west, and south facing walls of the Hogan. Each stone represents a color, all of which tell the story of the Navajo life cycle. The cycle encompasses every part of the Navajo history and future. It, like the Hogan, is in the shape of a circle.
Further along the canyon, expansive walls narrowed in on us. We wove between the stone facades and willows to see cliff dwellings and rock art from the ancient ancestors. At the wide mouth of the canyon, near our campsite, there was evidence of cattle. A millennia of different uses were present in this one canyon.
Over the next day and a half, the river changed dramatically. We went from an archeological tour to a geological one. The red rock disappeared and we entered an uplift of limestone. With it, the canyon narrowed and provided longer river runs and the only white water of the journey. While there were no more cliff dwellings, we were able to see many bighorn sheep, eagles, and fossils embedded in the ancient sea bottom. It was a wonderful contrast.
By the end of our trip, I had made new friends and gained a new appreciation for a place I already loved. We experienced history and science as well as heard stories that reflected the beauty of the place. Like with any time spent outdoors, I was sad to leave the caress of the river, but ready to share what I had learned with the rest of the world. On our final morning on the river, I jumped in the water one more time.
Bobbing like a piece of driftwood I floated past the camp and out of earshot of the quiet conversations. I turned away from our party and gazed downstream at the level of the river. The water was a deep red-brown. Bubbles and boils from the current disrupted the surface. I smiled as I thought about how far we had come, what we had seen and discussed, and the connections I had made with my new friends. I watched the simple movement of sunlight in the canyon in front of me and felt the calm but steady flow of the San Juan.
