'01 Trip Reports:
Grand Canyon Raft, Arizona (10/1/01-10/19/01):
Trouble was in the air when even the "boatmen" arrived in town asking, "who are the boatmen". We were both absolutely certain it was simply pre-trip confusion that would instantly clear once the entire group arrived. Hah! Our involvement started innocently enough when Susan posted a web site message seeking space for us on a Grand Canyon raft trip. The responding permit holder seemed like a responsible outdoorsman. He owned a couple of New England whitewater rafting companies in addition to a fairly large resort there and had done two previous Grand Canyon trips. We expected few surprises. Of course he would know what he was getting into. The question we neglected to ask was: would his friends know what he was getting them into?
During the two days in Phoenix preceding the trip, snatches of conversation about the group's combined years of water reading skills and white water experience floated around but it didn't seem that anyone, other than Bob and the permit holder, were committed to rigging or rowing rafts. Susan had offered to row, but only if she rowed a raft from the start of the trip, rigged it daily, and rowed all of the rapids. She didn't want to be a pinch hitter who only rowed the big stuff. The permit holder decided she was not needed to row, so we assumed he must be overrun with qualified guide friends who knew what they were doing and wanted to row everything. Hah! You know that old saying about making an ass of u and me.
Since his friends were all coming from the east coast, the permit holder arranged full service (both food and equipment) from a Flagstaff outfitter. We were to bring our raft for a total of five. In the months preceding the trip it became obvious that as a busy seasonal sole proprietor he didn't have a surplus of organizational time and he was relying on us to get things done. We created a cost-sharing budget and arranged rental gear to shuttle people to and from the river. We suggested the permit holder join the GCPBA to get a 10% outfitter discount. We answered volumes of email questions from various people in his group. We searched for suitable proximate accommodations in town and emailed this information to his friends. We offered airport pick-ups and a place to stay with our friends, or us, before and after the trip.
Being naturally curious people, we began asking questions of the three guys the permit holder had identified as "boatmen". One had rowed a rowboat on a lake in his youth, one had rowed a less challenging western river, and the third had rowed flat water and a few minor rapids on a prior Canyon trip. Only one of them seemed aware that he was one of the "boatmen" and none of them were planning to row the "big stuff". Other participants, probably hoping to find some qualified boatman on the trip, eagerly checked each new arrival. The permit holder kept reassuring them, that with all of their combined knowledge and experience, the Grand Canyon would be no problem, but most were still edgy. No big deal, pre-trip jitters we thought. Hah!
Finally the two female paddle raft guides whom everyone was counting on to row the big stuff arrived, last and late. After hearing their friend's expectations, they began frantically phoning experienced friends to determine whether this would be a survivable experience for them. On the way to the Ferry the more experienced of the two was planning to abort the trip rather than disrespect the river. Confusion reigned supreme. It seemed that at least some of the group were under the impression that there were "western guides" on the trip who were going to make this all work out. Several of the more tentative folks were whispering that they were only planning to ride with Bob. No mean feat since Susan had already claimed that spot. We initally hid our concerns because we are trying to be a bit more laid back in our autumn years. We were certain it would all be sorted out eventually when the permit holder took charge. Hah!
Meanwhile we were committed to sharing information that would help get these folks down the river safely. Believing that people do better when they realize what they are up against, we outlined the problems and began making people aware of the serious nature of rafting the Colorado through Grand Canyon. The classic line that we kept overhearing from someone who never rode anywhere on big water days except with the permit holder was "How hard can it be?" We realize what goes into the water at Lees Ferry always comes out somewhere downstream but along the way conditions may be less than ideal for the swimmers. We thought everyone should be aware of the risks they were taking but it became apparent that others did not.
We knew the rented, heavily loaded self-bailers would be tough enough to row on the flat-water sections without over loading them. At the Safeway in Flagstaff one of the non-boatmen came back with a grocery cart full of gallon water jugs. When challenged on the wisdom of this, he returned the water and bought an equivalent amount of beer to spite Bob. With absolutely no idea what gear and loading problems awaited at the Ferry this guy was now an expert. However, we had the last laugh since it wasn't the two of us who worked our butts off rowing his pile of beer down the river, and the unused beer was bequeathed to us at the take-out.
The outfitter was waiting at the Ferry with the rented gear and had a lot of it set up by the time we arrived (late of course, as with two days in town pre-trip our leader still neglected essential things like power steering fluid and gas for his truck, leaving his whole group to run all over town with him in the middle of Monday morning rush hour traffic). The permit holder immediately broke his group into 3 person teams; we think he was hoping at least one of them might get to know the raft. By this time Susan and I had decided to rig our boat and keep out of the way. Shut your mouth and do as you are told seemed to be the best course of action. Having run the river by ourselves in one raft many times we had no qualms about surviving whatever lay in front of the group. Our only non-negotiable requirements were: Bob would not run in front of a sea of incompetence because he's been there and done that with really bad results, Susan would not row the big stuff if she wasn't allowed to row full time, we would not disrespect the river, we would not disrespect the Canyon, and we would follow the NPS regulations. Hah to most of that!
Eventually the boats were rigged and we set up camp for the night. Our rental van and shuttle driver stayed so we could go out as a group rather than prepare dinner in the recently denuded private boater's camp. A second minor confrontation occurred with the permit holder's girl friend at dinner that night. Apparently, she believed we were usurping her boyfriend's turf and wanted us to back off on all instruction and advice, even talking about what to expect on the Bright Angel Trail when people were walking up from the river was off-limits. Meanwhile when the two of them weren't around, most of their friends were driving us crazy with questions and requests for advice. Many of them were totally in the dark, nervous, or just plain scared, as they should have been, given what they knew about their boatmen's skills.
The following morning while we watched the outfitter's video and listened to the ranger talk in the small remaining grove of Tamarisks by the launch ramp, two of the rented rafts liberated themselves and started downstream. Perhaps they had concerns of their own. One was already down by the private boaters' camp and the other was 100' or so off shore setting off on a voyage of self-discovery. An outfitter employee pursued the one furthest away with a sit-on-top and Bob rowed one of the female guides out to corral the other. We considered it a bad omen that not even the permit holder had taken the initiative to do little things like tie up the rafts. "How hard can it be?"
While securing the rafts together at lunch, Susan discovered that none of the rented boats had safeties on their oars or spares. One boat had two pieces of webbing attached to the frame but the three person rowing team did not know what they were for. Still Badger Rapid went reasonably well. The runs weren't perfect but not bad other than the last one. One of our first day oarsmen, with vast river reading skills and professional canoe experience, followed the rest of the group's left of center runs with one sideways over the right side pour over. Immediately recognizing the super stability of these heavily loaded, big-tubed self-bailers, we were feeling somewhat better about what was to come. If nothing else worked at least the rafts might save them.
Bob suggested to the permit holder that we might only want to go as far as Soap Creek Rapid to give us more camp time to sort this all out. Upon arriving we dug out some webbing for the two women guides to safety their oars (supportive as usual, the trip leader loudly proclaimed oar safeties were unnecessary, but then requested some webbing the next day). Susan was cooking that first night with two others and Bob was camp coordinator responsible for setting up the kitchen gear and toilets. We hoped to do some training, since most of the group had never done a long rafting trip or cooked for a large group of people.
It soon became obvious that Susan was on the cook team from hell. Advice and training were not well received by her teammates. Straining the dishwater and standing open bottles up in rocket boxes was just a little too picky for these folks. Little clusters of people could be overheard talking about yesterday's Flagstaff "water incident" and our excessive safety concerns. Group resentments towards us seemed to be quickly jelling. Not a great first night, but somewhat predictable given the tremendous stresses people were under. Everyone was tired and we were still hoping that the permit holder would eventually take charge, assign jobs, and let the group know what the plan was and what was expected of them. Hah!
The second day we planned to run Soap, Houserock, and North Canyon rapids, as well as the Roaring 20's. Everyone was congenial, though nervous, as we determined how a group of inexperienced people was going to accomplish this feat. All were eager for advice. They wanted us to lead, so they could see how we did it and of course scoop them up if they screwed up. Yep, we were the good guys now. Where appropriate, we scouted our way downstream. We ran Houserock as a group of two rafts while the remaining three watched from shore and followed later. One of the gals had trouble with an oar popping in the middle of the rapid but fortunately her safety webbing kept it on the raft and her crew was able to get the oar back on the pin. At lunch that day, Bob realized that all of the rental oars were backwards on their clips. Yes, the outfitter's man had rigged them that way but none of their boatmen knew any better.
The size of the rafts kept them upright that day and got them safely down to the fabulous beach camp below Silver Grotto. Of course we almost had to move to another campsite. Although we had warned them that camp was just around the bend, they neglected to stay on the left side of the wave train and then tried to forward ferry from the right wall to the eddy. Of course the eddy was enormous and could easily be reached by anyone power stroking backwards into it. Even though we talked over and over about backstroking being the rafter's power stroke, most of this group's experience was guiding paddle rafts or canoes and they weren't getting it. Day two, no big deal. Surely things would shape up by Hance.
Bob was on the cook team that night and the shit hit the fan when we reached camp. First they wouldn't listen to when he wanted the coals for a Dutch oven cake he was making. They asked him, and then torched them 30 minutes earlier than he requested. The permit holder piled wood on top of them to insure they were gone when he needed them. Bob again spent some time talking about the regulations we were expected to follow and this was met with increased murmuring about us being too uptight. We thought it was kind of important to follow the toilet and fire regulations but no one wanted to listen. Finally the guy who rowed a rowboat once and had already decided he wasn't going to be a boatman exclaimed that we were being like "mom and dad" and he was going to have the fire any way he wanted the fire (on the ground with pieces all over the place). About this time Bob was past his limit so he went to bed muttering to himself. As Susan knows, that is never a good sign.
We awoke the next morning to total confusion. The trip leader and his girlfriend were still in bed, no one knew what time the kitchen team was supposed to be cooking, where the coffee was hiding, or what the day's plans were. Of course everyone immediately wanted to know what was going on from the Arizona folks. Tiring of playing "mom and dad" to a petulant naïve bunch who begged for advice but then disliked us for giving it, we packed up in 10 minutes or so and left them on the beach. As we left we told the women guides we would see them at Phantom Ranch but actually planned to rejoin them above the Granite Gorge and cover them through the big stuff. We hoped our being gone for a few days would force the trip leader to get organized.
For the next four days we subsisted on nuts, dried fruit, crackers, and candy bars. Since both of us take vitamins and supplements regularly, we didn't contract scurvy or any other dreaded disease from this less than satisfactory diet. However we are still somewhat concerned about what our dentist will say at our next visit. We also had the pleasure of trying out a real "Groover", one without a seat. Just the way they did it in the early river running days. We can attest to the fact that if you get too comfortable you do indeed get grooved.
While hiking to the Tabernacle from the upper Rattlesnake Camp, we saw them pass this excellent campsite where we hoped to spend that evening. They seemed to had gotten themselves somewhat organized and were now going to show us. Later we learned they used their satellite phone to call the outfitter to request qualified Grand Canyon guides meet them at Phantom Ranch. This was a real confidence builder for them. The thought seemed to be that these professionals would show them how to run the dangerous rapids below Phantom Ranch and point out the attraction sites. As far as they were concerned we were off their trip. We packed up quickly and took off after them, finally catching them at Sockdolager. They had run Hance safely after watching and copying another private trip's far right runs. Perched on the treacherous cliffs above Sockdolager they were able to watch our run and get themselves safely down to the Grapevine campsite.
Bob approached the trip leader at Cremation the next day and discussed what would be happening when our two friends joined the trip. Bob assured him that even though his group obviously needed "guides" the outfitter would not be sending any since it would probably be a violation of his NPS operating contract. We had high hopes that things might normalize below Phantom, especially since the girlfriend was leaving, but as usual the permit holder had another agenda. Our two friends walked down and came across to camp with the group that evening. Things were pretty chilly with 10 people on one end of the beach, 2 on the other, and the 2 newcomers trying to get it figured out by jumping back and forth between them. Not to worry, the easterners still had their plan, Bob and Susan were off the trip and guides would be waiting on the beach for them tomorrow. We suspect the two female "guides" threatened to leave at Phantom if someone with some experience didn't join the trip there.
Another day, more craziness. We awoke early and went across the river to try and get some advice from the NPS. We were extremely concerned about safety issues and unrealistic expectations that required us to run every major rapid with no cover and position ourselves below to protect them. We were risking a lot, actually more than on a one-boat trip. Eventually we were put in touch with a wilderness ranger at Lees Ferry. His sole contribution was that we must camp as a group or we would have to hike out and our gear would be flown off the river at our expense. Hah! No one in the NPS seemed concerned with the group's interpersonal or qualification problems. Not wanting to have their previous pleasant memories of the ultimate river trip ruined by such a screwed up group, our Phoenix friends started back to the rim. They had seen these people in action as guests in their Phoenix home. One of them had driven the shuttle for the group and joined us at the Ferry for a day. Now they both had seen them in action at Cremation Camp and decided it wasn't a pretty picture.
When the group understood that their professional "guides" wouldn't be showing up they became conciliatory again and wanted Bob to show them how to run the rapids below Phantom Ranch. Yes, we could now rejoin them. The permit holder reached an agreement with Bob for the balance of the trip. We would show them how to run all of the rapids, continue to run unprotected as if we were on a one boat trip, and spot for them at the bottom of each major rapid. In return they would feed us regularly and we would stay totally out of their way, including the kitchen and camp duty scene. We ran as a group to Granite Rapid and set up a plainly separate but NPS compliant camp. Unfortunately no one but the permit holder seemed aware of opur new deal so resentment continued to build. He and his friends had to rely on us and we obviously weren't going to be helping with much of anything off the river. The trip was also short our two friends so the in camp workload was much higher than any of them expected. Some people were now cooking full time and not enjoying it much.
The next crisis occurred at Crystal Rapid. By then it was pretty obvious that the rowboat guy and the water jugs guy weren't going to be running any major rapids. Everyone had successfully followed some perverted version of our lines through Granite and Hermit but now we were at a real butt clincher. Since Bob refused to have several incompetents run behind him, the permit holder and he ran a two-raft first wave. Both decided to run left and Bob reached shore at the great campsite on river right, just above the rock island. In his self-bailer, the permit holder ran downstream a mile or so before attempting to pull in. Bob walked back to find two of the three remaining boatmen lamenting about deals they had with the permit holder. It seemed the "guides" were told he could always walk back and row their boats for them when necessary. Bob informed them that the permit holder was sitting on his raft quaffing a cold one well below the rapid rather than struggling up the impossible shoreline to row their boats. He thanked them for their previous lack of support and told them to quit whining and start rowing. He further challenged them by agreeing with them, saying he didn't think they were good enough to successfully run the rapid either.
He then walked back to the lower beach to have a well-deserved drink and wait for something to happen. After a substantial amount of dithering, one raft came downstream piloted by the guy who was developing into a relatively decent boatman and finally the two gals' rafts with them doing the entry run and one of the guys on board their rafts rowing them past the rock island. A real team effort, everyone was right side up below Crystal. Hallelujah! Things were going so well, we led them down through the jewels and into the glorious North Bass camp for a layover day.
At that point Bob asked the permit holder for an opportunity to talk to his friends. He took 10-15 minutes to describe how private trips work, how there were never any "guides", all of the efforts we had put into making their trip work prior to the trip, what we believed to be wrong with the trip, and how totally unfair it was that two people who had done absolutely nothing but good things for all of us were not even on the river. It became obvious by the latter portion of his presentation that the crowd was thinning rapidly. Other than the permit holder promising in front of everyone to refund the two missing people's money, little was accomplished by this airing. It was evident that they wanted us to continue our "job" of "guiding" them down the river, other than that they didn't give a damn about what we thought.
We continued downstream bound together by the NPS threats of airlifts but separated by as much space as possible. We did the "guiding" they wanted and only that: running all of the big rapids first, setting up for safety below, and recommending the best campsites and amount of river to run each day. When the river was quiet we pointed them to the attraction sites and promptly went elsewhere. All the way down the river we were treated to the permit holder loudly and repeatedly proclaiming that this was his best Grand Canyon trip ever. Left us wondering about his other two.
The group had been presented to us as a "hiking" group. Hah! We spent so much time on the river scouting and watching others run rapids, there was little time left to hike. These folks either didn't know how to, or possibly want to, row down river and yet some believed we were somehow responsible for the long river days and lack of hiking time. The most hiking the two of us did, was when we separated from them and actually made some quick miles.
Finally it was over! Since we didn't have to be together the last night, the two of us grabbed some food, boated down to Diamond Creek, and took our gear off the river (outside the NPS jurisdiction, no helicopter threats, no unhappy campers, free at last). Our shuttle driver arrived on time but as we were loading our half-ton of gear we noticed one of the trailer tires had come off the rim. Having never had anything like that happen on a Grand Canyon trip, we were feeling doubly cursed. By this time the rest of the surly crew arrived in their four rafts. It was obvious that they were now disgruntled with us over the trailer flat, as if we could tell when something would fail. After asking other groups, the outfitter, and the Hualapai for fix-a-flats or a pump and finding none, Zen and Bob got out the jack, took off the wheel, and headed for Peach Springs. Driving hard they got to Peach Springs, fixed the tire, and returned in considerably less than two hours. On the way back they may have set a new speed record of 35 minutes for that 20 miles of horribly bumpy road.
After putting the trailer back together, while most of the group sat on their butts and glowered at us, we still reached Peach Springs by noon and arrived back in Phoenix by 4:30 PM. A fast trip to an airport motel, some hurried returning of gear to the permit holder, and we were truly free. It may be clear by now that this was not the "best Grand Canyon raft trip" we ever did. The October weather was wonderful, with no support the rapids were certainly challenging, and the hiking was excellent, but the rest of it left much to be desired.
What did we learn? Beware of group organizers with lousy pre-trip communication and no time to spend on preparing their trip of a lifetime. Beware of people found on the Internet, especially inexperienced individuals who make statements like "How hard can it be?" Even though it is our favorite place to be in the world, some Grand Canyon raft trips may not be worth joining under any conditions. And, fortunately for all of us, God looks after both fools and innocents.
