Into the canyon we descend.
Some from the middle, most from the end.
Down through the ages and the heat,
Watching and feeling the beat
Of time stood still.
Until against this backdrop an event occurs.
It could be a rock that falls
Or a lizard that stirs
In the sun.
Or a falcon that leaps from a cliff far
In the distance,
And dives into the abyss.
It’s things like this
That make us realize
How insignificant we are.
Morning breaks.
It takes
Your breath away to see it!
Moving slow you join the flow
Of the group to prepare for the day.
Cook, eat, clean, pack, stow.
Soon we are away
To the river with the skills of the boatmen.
Boat people more like.
Though they are anything but refugees,
Except maybe from the cities.
They are many skilled - not cynical -
With a lyrical understanding of the canyon,
And of people.
They know how to get where
The beauty is,
And when to go there.
Camby’s skirts.
Andy’s shirts.
Russell’s solid pace.
Maryann’s quiet grace,
And Bill’s eye for the curl.
With a whirl
We are into the waves.
The things they know!
And are willing to show
Us rubes from the world above.
And they seem to love
To do it!
For them
The rapids have not only names but personalities.
Subtle combinations of left and right,
Grain and bite,
Refracted waves,
Hidden caves,
Eddies, jetties and peaks.
Rocks that play hide and seek.
They know to avoid a hole,
Or to skirt an underwater shoal
That wasn’t there last week.
They take our motley crew and bind us
To the moment;
Making a place in our experience.
Beside us they guide us to discover
What we can love about the canyon.
It’s different for everyone.
It might be short hot hikes up the sides,
Or afternoon glides
Through green miles;
Or smiles
From a practical joke;
Or a climb or a dive or a stroke
Through water cold and deep;
Or bighorn sheep
Flitting over the rocks
Which bind the rapids.
Sheer Wall.
House Rock.
Rock Squirrel.
Whitmore.
Harding.
Unkar.
Hance.
Hakatai.
Sockdolager.
Burnt Springs.
Badger.
Bass.
Myotis.
Dubendorff.
Granite.
Hell’s Hollow.
Hermit.
Moody Falls.
Angel.
Crepencerous.
You know them well.
I could go on
As they do,
One after another,
Along the green ribbon.
Running them,
Eventually you find one
Around the bend
Close to the end.
The rapid they call Lava.
A volcano erupted next to the canyon
Eons ago.
Disgorging molten contents from its core
To block the river’s path
As effectively as anything the corps
Ever did engineer.
But the River Goddess expressed her wrath
And the Colorado cut a new course -
A waterfall really -
Through the lava.
People do crazy things there.
Naked through Lava the ladies went.
Judy. Kristen. Karen. Debbie. Hell bent
On baring their charms to the beyond,
And to bond.
Cascading down the thirty seven foot torrent they flew
Taking the river demon by the throat
And through the mist fair Maryann
Standing, stitchless, to guide her boat.
Following the bouncing buns came the bouncing balls.
Andy leading the charge through the falls.
With Chris, James, Dan and Chuck loping
And hoping
That they would not flip,
Or that the boat would not even tip
And expose them as fools
For soaking the family jewels.
Soak you she will.
With water so cold and bracing
It will numb your hands and feet.
Heart racing
With excitement from complete
Immersion
In your own version
Of the Grand Canyon experience.
Bright sun fills the afternoon
In rim to rim blue sky
High
Over the river.
Only an occasional cloud
Is allowed
To linger there
Before burning away.
And if you ever did want to give her -
The River Goddess that is -
Thanks,
It would be for providing you the privilege of enjoying,
From between her canyon banks,
The sublime glory of a spectacular Arizona day.
Evening drifts in
On the smooth strains of mingling guitars
Greeting the canopy of stars
With Russell, Bill and Andy stringing out their hearts in a song.
Taking us along
To yet another world
Alongside the river.
In the end it is just magical places
Visited with the friendly faces
Of people who you know,
Or would like to.
The canyon finds us so tense and stressed
But makes us less and less
Uptight.
Especially at night
When the calm falls.
The river echoes off the walls.
The stars appear
And seem to be so near you can touch them.
There above the rim.
All is right.
Goodnight.
By James Beyer
1997