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"The Canyon Trip Promised to Matthew Huggins" |
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Tuesday, August 12, 1997I awakened this day with mixed emotions. Gladness and sadness. Glad that I was here, and glad that I had made this trip, and sad because it was nearly over. We were well into the camping routine. Things were going more smoothly every day. We had made new friends. They were down to earth people, - nothing artificial about any of them. These were the sort of people with whom you could feel comfortable for long periods of time, and people that we would genuinely miss. There was no reason to rush things this last morning. It was a straight shot of a little over 15 miles down the river to Bright Angel Beach, where our part of the trip would end. Chris Toy, the Meades and the Philbrick clan would go on to Lake Meade, but Pete and Scott Smith, Tim Chizak, Bill, Matthew and I would hike out from Bright Angel Creek on Wednesday. There would be no side hikes on this day's ride. That didn't mean that it wouldn't be interesting. After all, ahead of us lay three of the toughest rapids in the canyon, - Hance, Sockdolager, and Grapevine. The high, swift current would shoot us along at better than 5 miles an hour most of the way, so we had plenty of time to get to our destination. And we could use this time, not only to have a leisurely sort of farewell breakfast, but also to give our tents and gear time to dry out once more. As you might have guessed, it had rained off and on all night long - again. (Forget the August monsoon season for future trips.) Relatively late in the bright, sunny morning we were ready to go. Bill, Matthew and I boarded Kathy MacDonald's "Ticaboo" and we shoved off into the Colorado that was higher and muddier than ever. Later, down at Phantom, we heard that the flooding along the river had been so bad that the campground at Havasu Canyon had to be evacuated. For many years I have been hearing people lament the passing of the good old pre-dam days when the Colorado scoured sediment from upstream, and replenished the beaches each year, and I have lamented the diminishing areas of beach along the river myself. In the brief 10 year span that Bill and I have been visiting the canyon we have seen this, and we have photographic proof of it's happening at Bright Angel Beach. I am well aware of these arguments, and though they may be sound, I can honestly say that it is more pleasant for me to run the river when there is less sediment in it that there was this day. By the way, last years controlled flood designed to replenish the beaches has not had much effect on Bright Angel Beach. It may have improved some, but it is no where near as extensive as it was when I first saw it in 1987. Gliding easily around the gentle bend to our right, we immediately passed through the mild Unkar Rapids. Then about 2 miles farther on we came to Nevills Rapids, named for Norman Nevills - who ran the first commercial river party in 1938, founded the Mexican Hat Expeditions (which is now Canyoneers) and died at the age of 41 in 1949 when his plane malfunctioned. His wife, Doris died in the crash with him. Nevills Rapids was another easy, slightly sloppy descent. Then we had to get ready to bail.
About a mile down from Nevills you could hear the roar of Hance long before you could see the rapids. Hance drops 30 feet! There is a huge rock toward the top of the rapids that requires concentration to get around without a major catastrophe, and after that the fun begins. Those holes are deep, and those waves are huge! The rapids are named after the first Caucasian resident of the canyon, Captain John Hance - horse trainer, rancher, miner, trail builder, hotel operator, soldier of both confederate and union armies, - it's true - and well known liar and entertainer for the Fred Harvey Company. At the South Rim for many years he entertained tourists as a guide and teller of tall tails. He died in Flagstaff in 1919. When Buckey O'Neill, former sheriff of Yavapai County - who died in Cuba as an officer in Teddy Roosevelt's "Rough Riders" - signed Hance's guest book he wrote,
In the stretch above Hance Rapids Kathy had pointed out sections of Shinumo Quartzite, the bright red Hakatai Shale, and the appearance of the Bass Limestone formation. Now almost immediately below Hance we entered the area of 2 billion year old Vishnu Schist. This layer is thought to have been the base, or at least near the base, of ancient mountains which were probably as high as the Himalaya. (I am told that since the word "Himalaya" is pleural, that to call those mountains the "Himalayas" is incorrect; sort of like saying "Rocky Mountainses") Being subjected to such incredible pressures had compressed layers of former limestone, sandstone, shale and mudstone to the heavy schist that we now see. Squeezed up through this highly compressed material was a heat liquefied, metamorphosed rock called Zoroaster granite. The bright red veins of this granite stand out clearly against the almost black Vishnu schist, often producing beautiful patterns. We were now in the Granite Gorge, the area of the canyon that was so terrible and terrifying to Powell's crew. Down to this point, when faced with threatening rapids, they had been able to get out of their little boats, and hike around the rapids while letting the boats drift through as the men held on to them with long bow lines. They called this "lining the rapids." There would be no lining of rapids in the granite gorge. The cliffs were sheer right down to the water. There were no ledges or footholds of any kind. Another thing that filled those men with dread was the fact that up until this part of their journey they had noticed that soft rock along the shores generally meant easy traveling, while hard rock meant the opposite. Now they saw that they were faced with nothing but hard rock. A little over a mile into this awesome gorge the men ran through the first frightening rapids. They made it, but were almost knocked out by it. Thus the name "Sockdolager." That was what a knockout punch in a boxing match was called in those days. As we were approaching Sockdolager, Kathy pointed out the obvious asbestos fiber-like structure of that rock in Asbestos Canyon on our right about a mile below Hance Rapids. This was where Hance had built an asbestos mine, and as the professional rafters now say, "He mined it as best as he could." ( Groan! ) I deserved to be hit with Sockdolager after repeating that one. It had taken us almost this far from Hance to get the Ticaboo cleaned up. After Sockdolager we had to start all over again. You understand that with the river in its present "colorful" state, not only were we completely swamped, but we were swamped with a significant amount of mud. Have you ever tried cleaning up muddy water with muddy water? It's not easy. By the time we had the boat cleaned up again we were nearly drowned in Grapevine Rapids. It was at least as bad as Sockdolager on this day. By this time I had spent so much time in freezing water that I was ready for some calm and sunshine. Fortunately the sun had been bright the entire time, so being in waist deep water in that swamped boat wasn't as bad as it would have been had we hit these rapid on a day like Sunday had been. At last we entered a pleasant, easy stretch of river, and we could really clean up and thaw out. This was what rafting was all about. Relaxing on the river. Taking pictures. Talking. Joking. Dozing. What's that noise? Rats! I had forgotten all about Zoroaster Rapids. I barely had time to get my camera in its waterproof bag before we crashed. Fortunately, though rough, Zoroaster is brief. We didn't completely fill the boat, and it wasn't too long before we were comfortably cleared of water and relaxed again.. Two miles down we could see the beginning of the Clear Creek Trail where we had hiked with my son-in-law, Rawson Hobart, year before last. It was high on the cliffs on the right. Not much farther on we spotted the Black Bridge that the mules use bringing riders down to Phantom Ranch. The 10 steel cables 548 feet long and 1.5 inches in diameter that support the bridge each weigh a ton; much too heavy for a mule to carry. The bridge was built in 1928, long before helicopters were in use. What was done was to have 42 Havasupis load each cable on their shoulders, and snake these things down to the bottom of the canyon on the South Kaibab Trail, one at a time. There is a picture of this in J. Donald Hughes' book, "In the House of Stone and Light."
At last we pulled into the Bright Angel Beach, which I recently learned is also known as Roys Beach, named for Royal J "Roy" Starkey who was the resident hydrographer at the Bright Angel gage until an automated Data Collection Platform was installed in 1977. From then until his death he worked as the maintenance man at Phantom ranch, a job now held by Paul, a heck of a nice guy that we met on this trip. At the beach we enjoyed our sack lunch that the Dories crew had provided each of us, and then we transferred our clothes and gear form the waterproof bags and ammo cans over to our own duffel bags. With new tourists arriving, (note the comments about the Portlies at the beginning of this diary) crew members obtaining supplies from Phantom Ranch and our trying to be sure that no odds or ends had been left on any of the boats, things were so hectic that we didn't get enough time to really say a proper good by to anyone, so it's a good thing that we had done that back at Unkar Delta at breakfast. Anyhow, Bill, Matthew and I finally had our stuff packed, and we loaded up to start our brief hike up to Phantom Ranch, maybe half to 3/4 mile up the Bright Angel Creek. With my knee giving me a little trouble I hiked taking a brief break every 1 to 200 paces. Bill patiently slogged along with me. On the way we met a very fat, very sweaty, shirtless and tired looking gentleman struggling back down the trail toward the beach. He wasn't carrying anything. He was just struggling. He obviously belonged to one of the raft groups there. As we met, another raft tourist headed for Phantom Ranch overtook us. These two guys apparently knew each other. As they passed, the guy headed for Phantom asked, "What's up there?" Without looking up from his feet, the sweating man responded, "Not much." I thought Bill was going to collapse in laughter at that, but he controlled himself admirably. When we were about half way to the Mess Hall, a guy who introduced himself as Gary, and who was the leader of a private rafting group that had stopped there, came briskly striding up the trail, saw me limping along, and just took my duffel on his shoulders, as he said, "You look like you can use some help." "Boy! could I" At the Mess Hall he, of course, would not accept a tip. However he would accept a couple of beers, so we ended up having a very friendly conversation. A nice guy. To our very pleasant surprise, Dories had not made reservations for us in the dormitories, as OARS had done, but in the first stone cabin to the right as you exit the Mess Hall. The six of us, Bill, Matthew and I along with Pete and Scott Smith, and Tim Chizak were assigned to the same cabin. As it turned out there were six of us in the cabin, which was really a double cabin with 10 bunks. We had lots of room. We had our own wash basin, sink and toilet! Hey, a real commode! Wonderful! It's amazing how you grow to appreciate things like that. In addition we knew where there were hot showers a hundred yards away! Double wonderful!
While Pete, Scott and Tim explored up Phantom Creek, for which the Ranch in named, Bill, Matthew and I messed around the Mess hall. We sent cards to people. Cards that would be sent out from Phantom on mules, each card with a little stamp telling the recipient this. We shot the breeze with anyone that would stop by our table. We made phone calls home, to let our folk know that we were OK, and learned that they were more relieved than usual this year, because of the news of the flooding that was being reported all across the country. In the phone line, waiting my turn to use the only phone down there, I met Nina Mohit- Perlmutter, a philosophy professor at Yavapai College in Prescott, who is a lecturer for the Grand Canyon Elderhostel program. She is a very interesting, and well educated person. A good friend of mine from Fullerton, CA has attended a couple of these programs, and he assures me that they are excellent, so I assume that Nina's lectures are of the same quality. On our way out the following morning, I happened to see Nina at her campsite, and we exchanged e-mail addresses. Dinner at the Mess Hall was a lot of fun, as the Dories group was assigned to one table.
After supper we packed our duffel again. This time for it to be carried out on the mule train. We would pick it up after 4:00 p.m. at the mule barn tomorrow. Odds and ends that I would need to use in the morning I would put in the little nylon back pack that I had brought along for this purpose. Bill had a good sized fanny pack for the same use. Showered, and dressed in clean pajamas, I turned in early. Breakfast was going to be at 5:30 for those of us hiking out. I sure hoped that my knee would hold up. |
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