A Personal View
Quentin Nichols
As I slipped away from Lees Ferry to the first few riffles of white water in the Grand Canyon, I thought
“225 miles to go – what’s that going to be like? The boat’s 2 metres too long, I haven’t put enough padding in, I’m too loose in the boat:- too late now”.
Major John Wesley Powell of the first voyage to explore the Canyon has the words:
“We are now ready to start on our way down the Great Unknown. We have but a month’s rations remaining. We have an unknown distance yet to run, an unknown river to explore. With some eagerness and some anxiety and some misgiving we enter the canyon below and are carried along by the swift water.” August 13, 1689.
Of course the rapids are what I came here for, but it’s the place that dominates.
We are given a talk each morning on the day’s activities, which includes a diatribe on geological formations of the canyon. This would be useful to me if ‘when you’ve seen one rock you’ve seen them all’ didn’t apply, and my mouth wasn’t so dry anticipating the white water to come. However, the oldest rocks are two billion years old – compress that into 24 hours and the entire history of man takes up 1/5th of a second. That’s perspective!
Drink plenty of water and then some, wash your hands before food and after the toilet. Sometimes the toilet was hidden, but you will get over the initial surprise of being seen about your business, wave to the strangers on the rafts floating by as you reach for the paper but don’t wee in the solids container – that would never do! Wee in the river.
There are so many rapids – large and small – that to describe them would be meaningless, they are not difficult technically but the river is so wide and there’s so much water. There might be rafts in sight or not, where are they and where’s the other kayakists, where’s the guide B. J. Boyle? He’s a 1/4 mile behind, playing in the waves, the rafts are 1/4 mile ahead and can’t stop, you’re on your own mostly, go in and you’re in for a long, long swim – you _need_ to roll.
Enter the long green tongue and feel the pull of accelerating water taking you into the turmoil of the white water below, after which the boils and swirls take you first this way and then that. The back is sucked down, you brace one way and wobble about like a novice and then it is all over, until the next! Wow – Surprisingly Vigorous.
The water’s cold but the air is hot and dry, OK so dry. My lips are cracked and I take a long pull of water I carry in the boat but remain dry.
We may hike a side canyon, more water required, sun cream, and a small pack with sandwiches for lunch. Everywhere is up from here, everywhere is hot and loose, was that a snake, no only a lizard or loose stone. Ouch that was a cactus. Climb, climb, hot, hot, tired, tired. Look at that view. 1,200 ft of air below straight down. Didn’t your mother tell you not to stand too near the edge, forget that, one slip and you’re going to die! Only another 10 miles of river paddling to the camp site after the hike.
Five o’clock start, dawn, the conch sounds. Aren’t you coming for breakfast Phil – “Urgh I feel like a bag of shit warmed up” comes the reply. Maybe we shouldn’t have drunk so much beer and whisky. Even Mark needed a cigarette once! Watch the ants, one bite and you need to apply the remedy in five minutes or for two days your head feels as if it might explode. This is no joke when the ants are fierce when provoked and have some of the most potent toxins around, wear your shoes.
August 27 1869. “Unless our course changes we shall very soon run into the granite. This gives some anxiety. About nine o’clock we come to the dreaded rock. It is with not little misgivings that we see the river enter these hard black walls.” Powell.
Sneak Granite Falls on the left, feel bad as Mark does the right but redeem myself on Specter – 15 ft waves explode and I reach them, tense moments, bigger than I’ve ever done. Hermit, Crystal, Sapphire, Turquoise, Ruby, Serpentine, Bass, it goes on and on.
And then.
Lava.
Short but sweet! Heavy, big, massive. Right or Left? I can’t wait all day. Right. This is what we’re here for. Breathless. All hell breaks loose, can’t see, just avoid a stuffing in a massive exploding wave, slide over a huge green wave into a giant rolling surf wave sideways, bang, bounced around, hang on, hang on, hang on, get spat out, no control, waves not so big, what I’ve made it. Barely hear the others say ‘Good one Quentin’. Yee-hah!
It’s all over bar the shouting. Next stop Diamond Creek then home. Powell again has the words.
“The relief from danger and the joy of success are great. When he who has been chained by wounds to a hospital cot … at last goes out into the open fields, what a world he sees! The first hours of convalescent freedom seems rich recompense for all pain and gloom and terror. Something like these are the feelings we experience tonight. … The river rolls by us in silent majesty; the quiet of the camp is sweet; our joy is almost ecstasy”. Aug 29 1869.
May 15, 1999. Quentin Nichols.
Retired! Hmmm. Zambezi – White Nile – Symmonds Yat!?