This is a collection of my writing and correspondence with a few bits of poetry and random thoughts mixed in. I started this blog after learning that some of my letters had an uplifting quality. In the pages of this blog you will find my real life trials and tribulations, the nature of what I think is truth, and the dust and grit of my real life.
Monday, February 7, 2022
Grapevine Rapids
From mile 77 (123km) I entered the Upper Granite Gorge where the river exposed 1.7 billion years old rocks. Because the rocks here are harder and slower to erode, it makes the river move faster and the rapids grow larger. The gorge begins at Hance Rapid and is my first experience of an advanced rapid. Roaring and intimidating, the start of the rapid involves navigating around a bunch of large rocks in the centre, creating huge pour-overs to the left with plenty of holes to the right. Skirting the boulders, I aimed to avoid the big holes on the right but things don’t always go to plan. A subtle misjudgement had me heading straight into one of the holes and just as the raft dipped into it, a huge wave washed over me. Soaked through, I was sure this was not going to be the last time I’d be this wet.
Hance Rapid was named after John Hance, believed to be the first non-Native American resident of the Grand Canyon. A Civil War soldier, asbestos miner and Canyon guide, he was largely remembered for his colourful character, tall stories and building the Old Hance trail to the river. Hance was the first person buried in the Grand Canyon Pioneer Cemetery and is now among 400 other graves including 29 unidentified passengers from the 1956 air disaster that occurred over the canyon.
Two miles later, I headed straight into another advanced rapid, the Sockdolager Rapid, which is long and choppy within the narrow canyon walls. Back in 1869, Powell’s expedition couldn’t find a way to portage around this rapid so they tackled it head on. When they returned three years later, they decided to call it Sockdolager, an archaic slang term meaning “a forceful blow” which is possibly what they felt as they paddled their way through it.
After jostling around a few more rapids, I looked forward to our campsite at Zoroaster Camp. It was a small, concave stretch of sandy beach surrounded by rough jagged cliffs in colours of grey and black. The landscape blended with the murkiness of the Colorado, projecting a very different sight to the usually stunning hues of red and orange. It was wonderful to observe the constantly changing face of the Grand Canyon.
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