On River Time
A Travelogue About Finding Stillness on the Colorado
Note: the block quotes scattered through this post come directly from my journal — written on the river, day by day.
I took all the photographs in this post during my Colorado River trip in 2011, except the first two images which I captured on different trips to the Grand Canyon. If you’re reading this in your email, it may be too long to display in full. To read the entire post, click the link to open it in your browser.
Each year, millions of people visit the Grand Canyon. Fewer than one percent experience it while rafting down the Colorado River. In 2011, I decided to become part of that one percent. I’d done many overnight backpacking trips in the Canyon, hiked along the river, stood at its rims in quiet awe — but this time I wanted something different. Something slower. Something you could only discover by allowing yourself to surrender to the rhythm of river time.
“Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.” — A. A. Milne
Some Grand Canyon river companies specialize in large motorized rafts that speed through all 226 river miles in only a few days, while others offer a slower, non-motorized experience lasting a couple of weeks. My wife and I, along with some friends, were in no rush and wanted to savor what the Canyon had to offer, so we opted for a 15-day non-motorized trip with the rafting company Canyon Explorations.
We launched from Lees Ferry early on a September morning, eight boats pushing off into a river current that had been carving this canyon for six million years. For the next two weeks, everything familiar — email, phones, news headlines, clocks — would fall away. This was only the second time in my life I’d been completely unplugged for two weeks. The first time was on a 93-mile backpacking trip on the Wonderland Trail around Mt. Rainier, and we emerged from that one to learn about the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina only days before.
Floating down the river that first day, I watched bighorn sheep along the shore, saw condors soar overhead, and witnessed the canyon walls growing taller with each passing mile. By the end of that first day it was clear to everyone that the Canyon wasn’t something you could fully observe from a distance. It was something you had to immerse yourself in. I had no idea what might unfold in the world beyond the river while we were gone, and to be honest, I didn’t want to know.
The days settled into a rhythm unlike anything I had experienced before. For two weeks we woke to the sound of a conch shell, which served as the river guides’ unofficial alarm clock for camp. We’d grab coffee and watch the colors of the canyon come alive with the sunrise. We’d pack our gear, eat breakfast, load the boats. Float. Hike. Paddle. Eat. Float again. Unload the boats. Set up camp. Eat under the stars. Sleep.
We camped under the stars with a great view of the Milky Way … I woke up in the morning to the sight of bats flying all around directly above our sleeping spot. There appeared to be dozens of them doing their ‘job’ and keeping away the bugs … I got up and did a little packing and then settled down next to the river with my first cup of coffee.
The daily rhythm felt wonderful to me. Familiar and comforting. There was no place we needed to be, no nagging to-do list, no expectations other than to simply be open to experiencing what the river chose to share with us that day. Time had little meaning — the river decided our agenda. The guides simply oared our boats to shore when we were hungry for lunch, when there was a side canyon to explore, or when we arrived at our campsite for the evening.
Some days while our boats floated leisurely along the river, we’d hear the startling sound of a motorized tour group as they sped into view around a bend in the canyon. Their massive rafts would fly past us, and minutes later the river’s serenity would return. I later learned the tour company’s brochure advertised how their boats would quickly speed past all the “repetitive scenery.” They were on the same river, though they weren’t fully immersed in it.
“Said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.” — Mary Oliver
The Canyon offered us many surprises along the way. We’d hike to waterfalls, ancient ruins, and spectacular mesas for sunrise. One day our river guides led us on a silent hike through a side canyon, where they suggested that none of us speak while we mindfully walked into the narrow slot canyon.
Here we came eye-to-eye with a billion-plus-year gap in the geologic record. I put my hand on the ‘Great Unconformity’ — the border between the 525 million year old Tapeats Sandstone and the 1.7 billion year old Vishnu Schist... everyone laid on their backs resting and enjoying the complete silence that we all observed during the hike. This silence was only broken when our river guide started reading an inspiring essay about Crows and Ravens.
Actually seeing and touching a 1.2 billion year gap in geological history helped put my own life in perspective. Whatever remaining worries I might have brought with me on the trip dissolved during that moment. After savoring this contemplative experience, we all started hiking back to our boats.
It was then that we encountered a very different kind of tour group, who were all talking loudly, breaking the calm serenity we were all enjoying. One person asked me as I passed him, “Is there anything interesting back there?”
Although I photographed constantly during the trip, the camera felt less like a way of capturing something and more like a way of paying closer attention to the details. Most places don’t ask to be photographed. They simply ask to be seen.
“I choose to listen to the river for a while, thinking river thoughts, before joining the night and the stars.” — Edward Abbey
No two days on the river were alike, and nothing sharpened our attention quite like the rapids. They announced themselves first as a distant roar. We would pull over to scout what lay ahead. None were more frightening than Lava Falls, where we studied the ledge hole that would flip and churn any boat like a rag doll. Then we would walk back to the boats, tighten our life jackets, and push off into the current. And then, as quickly as it had come, the roar faded, the canyon quieted, and the river carried us forward as if nothing had happened.
Hermit rapid was truly terrifying looking! It resembled a fast running freight train of waters rushing at a crazy speed over huge roller coaster tracks.
During the rapids, we often needed both hands just to avoid being flung from the boat, so the best way to capture the experience was mounting a waterproof camera to something secure and letting it roll. Photographs don’t quite capture the chaos anyway, so I’ll share this video montage from the trip that gives a good sense of what it’s like.
Each day was filled with unforgettable experiences. Evenings brought music to camp after dinner, with guides playing banjo, guitar, and mandolin, while the rest of us sang along and laughed together. During our last night on the river, we sat in a circle of luminaries and everyone shared their “magic moment” from the trip. Then on our final morning, Canyon Expeditions honored a tradition of floating the last six miles in silence.
It was completely silent except for the sound of lapping water, rowing oars, and the occasional rapid... The silence afforded us a great opportunity to just be still and reflect on our adventure on this extraordinary river.
After spending two weeks in isolation from the rest of the world, it felt jarring to return to my normal routine. I found it interesting how my nervous system could be overstimulated by the simple acts of checking emails, driving in traffic, or going to the grocery store. I remember sitting at my desk on my first day back to work feeling like I was in a daze, unsure of what I was supposed to be doing. Of course, I quickly adjusted and those real world experiences felt “normal” again. However, the impressions made by the river keep echoing in my mind, calling me to return someday.
“Come with me, the river said, close your eyes and quiet your limbs and float with me into the wonder and mystery of the canyons …” — Edward Abbey
Thank you for sharing this journey with me. I’m truly grateful you’re here and for any thoughts you’d like to share in the comments.
Damn, Todd!! Just...Damn!
Thank you so much for sharing your journey with us. And your epic images!!