When my alarm sounded this morning, my first thought was work. But I quickly remember that I've just finished a stretch of six 12 hour shifts in a row. My body remembers what those days held too, especially at this early hour. I could sleep in a bit longer, but today i'm hitting the river with a friend I haven't seen in quite a while and he's not a morning person. Time to shuffle out to the coffee maker and get it working on the psychological lubricant that eases so many of our transitions into wakefulness. He did plan this trip after all.
A sluggish flurry of breakfast and loading up the car ensues. We only miss the agreed upon AIS (ASSES IN SEATS) time by 8 minutes. The drive over to our buddie's house is short, but Loren has set a time we would all be there and he's a man of his word. He's also a man of many stresses these days. He's about 10 days out from his wedding and all the associated stresses of it and the honeymoon to follow have been a bit tough for him and his fiancee Kate to navigate. All the more reason to get on the river and have some fun. Also, all the more reason something small like being a bit late (especially if it is Kate's doing) spikes his blood pressure.
We pull up to Robby's place to find him spooling up some excess cam straps next to his trailer that has already been topped with two 16 foot catarafts. I presume he and Loren did all the work of rigging and strapping the boats down yesterday, perhaps even at the same moment I was emergently intubating a patient I had been working with the past three days to keep from going back on the ventilator. Work comes in so many shapes. Robby looks up nonchalantly, gives Loren a head nod and delivers a hand signal reminiscent of battle hardened counter terrorist commandos communicating in silence, so he'd know where to park. As the car backs up to make the parking correction, i roll down the window and holler out in a childlike manner, "wanna go rafting? wanna go rafting? lets go rafting!" The ex-commando facade instantly melts from his demeanor and his wide smile crosses his face.
A few quick heartfelt greetings and last minute additions of gear to the trailer, the 5th member of our party, Holly, arrives. I scarf down a couple bites of the quiche that Bree (Robby's wife) made for us and get back to work spooling the last couple straps. Our other friend Logan has this cool method of wrapping them up so that the tail end of the strap can be doubled back through the cam buckle in to a tight little self contained spiral. For some reason I just cant for the life of me make it work. So, I hand the damn frustrating straps to Kate and she quickly masters it. What a bitch.
We hop into the cars and get rolling... at least as far as the gas station. These trips are always have a bit of a jerky, stop motion type beginning. We get gas for the cars and a bit more coffee flavored fuel for the humans. Holly looks to me and points to the dark roasted Brazilian option says something like "how much is a Brazilian?" Her joke was meant to be along the lines of, "is a Brazilian more than a gazillion?" But of course all I could respond was "I don't care how much it costs, you probably shouldn't get a Brazilian in a gas station." Her laughter that followed told me we'd get along just fine.
Getting to the put in takes little to no time at all, mainly because we are all excited to get on the water. At least I know I am. We are driving downriver into Utah for this one, so the leg to the launch is the shorter one. We back the trailer down to the water and drop one of the two already inflated and mostly rigged 16ft catarafts. There's only one of four lanes on the ramp available to unload into. Looks like we aren't the only ones thinking its time to start this whitewater season despite the cold water temps and almost certain rain incoming.
Robby floats his boat down stream a bit and ties off to the bank so we can drop Loren's. With the tires of the trailer just off the end of the concrete ramp, we slide the Loren's boat off the back with a splash. There's still some gear in the base of the trailer, namely Loren's large aluminum dry box... which is sitting right at the back edge of the trailer. Close enough Loren has had to remind Robby at least 5 times not to break too hard, lest he launch it into the river.
The boat now secure, with its nose on the ramp, Loren takes the wheel to pull the car to the top of the ramp. Of course, this is where he pulls off with too much gusto and immediately launches his dry box into the water (along with a 5 gallon water jug and some cam straps). Thankfully it isn't entirely loaded down, so it floats a bit and thankfully he noticed and stopped moving. Being the closest, I run down the length of the trailer's boat support, hook one hand under and lean over the water as far as humanly possible reaching for it. I assume I'm going to end up swimming for this damn thing, but why not try this one feeble attempt at saving the day while dry? My fingertips just make contact with it, but luckily put some spin on 4 foot metal container that moves the side handle to just within reach. I snag it and pull it on board the trailer. The water jug floats peacefully down to where Rob has moored his boat. Looks like we only lost some tie down straps. Our luck is holding. Until we go to unload the rest of the gear.
We start making a pile next to one of the boats, so as to clear the ramp as quickly as possible, just in case another group comes in behind us. As the relative rookie of the group, at least when it comes to these catarafts and their center mounted oar rigs, I often have silly questions or strange approaches pertaining to some of the associated gear. So when a rather obvious one starts growing in my head, I'm a little reluctant to share. I'll at least try to think it through or find the answer myself. Fortunately, these guys are good friends and the era of not wanting to look a fool in front of them is long gone. So I speak up. "Where is the frame for Delilah?" That's the name of the small cat I'll be paddling this trip. Its a sporty little 12 foot Sotar legend I've paddled a few times before. Although, I guess its not called "paddling" its "rowing" because it has oars and not paddles. Silly oar rigs. Anyway, I know it's metal frame doesn't fold or break down... I had to carry the damn thing a few miles down into gunnison canyon after all. How could I be missing where the guys rigged it to the trailer yesterday while I was at work?
"Oh, crap man." Was Robby's only response.
As our de facto river guide for most things, he takes care of and thinks of so much. But he is a bit forgetful by nature. I cant really fault the guy who makes these trips possible for me by always lending gear or expertise on this one mistake... but this sucks. Looks like I'm just riding on one of the other rafts this trip. I don't think I packed enough booze for a ride along.
Plans change, and flexibility is the key for success in so many things, especially the ever changing nature of the river. Oh well. In the immortal words of Kurt Vonnegut, so it goes.
Rob does call his wife, who is working today and not planning to join us, if by some miracle she could swing by and snag the frame and run it our way. The odds aren't good, but she'll get back to us. After a few more minutes unloading the last of the gear, its time to get the shuttle going. The gals, Holly and Kate, have agreed to run the trailer down to the take out and back while we get the boat set up finalized and check in with the ranger. Knowing this will take a while, we're certain Bree will have time to get to us before launch, but only if she can cut out of work quickly. But at this point, we've sent the rubber of Delilah down with the shuttle. The frame is a moot point now.
Just before the girls are back from the shuttle, Bree does surprise us and appear out of nowhere. I'll take an extra friend over a frame, I guess. Finally! Lets get underway. Once we got on all our raingear, that is. It started sprinkling as we shoved off.
This particular stretch of the Colorado river contains the biggest rapids that are close to home. This being only a day trip, and one of the few Loren will likely be able to make, we're trying to hit some of the adrenaline inducing variety of water while we can. It's been an abysmal winter, which leads to a less perfect water levels with little snowmelt to feed them. I've only run this (Westwater) section once before, but at much higher water. I'm not sure what to expect. Sometimes rapids get more intense, sometimes more technical to navigate, sometimes they dissappear. Either way, I'm along for the ride and trust these two guys to handle whatever we'll encounter.
To begin with, its mostly slackwater. Not much flow, but it eases us in to our day. We find the most comfortable places to sit and settle into another day spent on the water. "A bad day on the water is still better than a good day at work" is something I learned early on, leading trips for my college outdoor program. Thank you for that and so much more Carson.
The forecast for the day was spotty at best, and we expected some rain. The plan was also for nobody to fall in, as the water temp wasn't exactly forgiving. But, because this was just about the only chance my buddie Loren and his fiancee Kate would have to get on the water, we had to take it. With a few little spats of rain, we continued downriver toward the narrowing of the banks and steeper drop of the river that would result in the more exhilarating parts- the rapids.
At this water level, they turned out to be a little more forgiving than the last time we ran it, but fun nonetheless. The trip was mainly an "adult" version of our local town float on the colorado a ways upriver. It had enough excitement and need for some key maneuvers to paddle through unscathed, but all in all a pretty relaxed and enjoyable kick off to the whitewater season.
Once the rapids had all been run, and we hit the slackwater stretch that would bring us to the the take out, we deployed the motor. There were quite a few other boaters out that day, and one group took some delight in giving us crap as they passed us when we took a second lunch break. We were in no hurry. Also, we had a motor.
launching from second lunch, we deployed the motor and "barged up" the two rafts with a few cam-straps. In not much time at all we came up on our aquatic hecklers. As we overtook each boat each of us stood and did the two cheeck salute of a slow drive by mooning. I couldn't tell you how many times I've seen each of the asses of my rafting partners. Its just an unavoidable part of being on the river. So we stood cheek to cheek, shoulder to shoulder, saluting the long line of boats carrying our "competition" and completed our journey.
I cant wait to get back out on this section with a bit more water and my own boat. I'm coming back for you, Westwater, just you wait