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Wylie and Helene Green River Float Trip |
And we're off!
May all sentient beings, everywhere, begin their Octobers as I have.
We're up at the crack of dawn. After a fresh expresso from the burner of Byron's VW Westfalia we're off to Tag-A-Long to load up. An hour later and gear and crew are ready for the adventure to begin.
Bill, the shuttle driver, loves this country. He says he never gets lost, although on occasion he ends up some place different than he intended. The rafting season is winding down and that's fine with him. He comments on the large number of French and German tourists that visit the area. "You can always tell the French women from their perfume".
Soon we are at Ruby Ranch. Its emerald fields are set on the banks of the Green River. Everything comes out of the truck and into our boats. We shove off…"Yo Ho Ho Ho, a Gypsy's life have we".
The current calls like a siren to our boats and they fall under its spell.
Soon Ruby Ranch disappears around the bend and we are past the point of no return. One Hundred Miles of solitude and none of us look back. The small red hills, at river's edge, are slowly lifted up by a massive layer of Navajo Sandstone. The sandstone continues to rise and soon it forms cliffs 200 feet high. We are now in Labyrinth Canyon. Home of meanders and rincons (abandoned meanders). Sun alternates with clouds. Wind with doldrums. We seek the current, harbored by the channel, hiding in the river, obscured by silt. Small lapping waves, like gossiping birds, show us where it crawls along. Ron and I talk about our respect for Crows and Ravens. They are intelligent, curious, and social. I'd like to be reincarnated as a crow. Have you ever seen one working hard? They just hang out, watch the world go by, pull pranks on their friends and eat carrion - which is pretty karmically balanced.
Three hours and seven miles later we beach at Trin Alcove, where three canyons converge right at the river side. There is a sandy bank which has ample room for all our tents and gear. We swim and read, cook and eat. Most of the language that passes is visual, with us listening, the canyon whispering. Puffy clouds hurry eastwards, their day's journey not yet over.
After dinner I decide to explore two of the three canyons. They both terminate with spectacular dry waterfalls after only a few hundred meters. Both have deep pools, still filled with water underneath. In the disappearing light I find myself chanting, over and over, "something immediate, something eternal". I find the remains of a crow. There was some evidence that he had been struck down by a larger bird, perhaps an eagle. Some of his feathers had scattered over a distance. I weave one into my hat.
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