As we made our way to the Beamer Trail, one question dominated our minds: Will we be able to get a ride across the Colorado? A maze of Locust and Willow thickets, small cliffs, drainages, and use trails to campsites made finding Beamer Trail a small chore, but once on it, it was easy to travel until Lara Canyon, where we stopped to fill water bottles and watch a small pod of rafters run Lara Creek Rapids, before the high cliff section of the trail.
The Beamer Trail has a reputation as a twisting, narrow trail that slopes off toward the 500 ft cliff and the Colorado River. While there were certainly parts with vertigo inducing exposure, they were not particularly long and difficult. At least that’s what I was thinking until I heard Sharon scream, “Oh Shit, LINDY OH NO!”
I turned around; Lindy had fallen off a stiff drop and was on his back, a basketball-sized rock was rolling off of him. He then got out of his pack and began stumbling around in a daze, only a meter away from a 100 ft pour off. Sharon and I simultaneously yelled, “Lindy, SIT DOWN!” But he continued to stumble and mumble. “I’m alright. I’m fine.” Until Sharon jumped down and essentially pushed him down onto a rock.
I immediately joined them, and Sharon (a nurse) began to clean and bandage his wound, while I (an EMT) did a quick check of his vitals. Long story, short . . .he was fine. He had stumbled and fallen off a small drop after he had lost his footing on some small loose rocks and the small boulder a saw on his chest had actually rolled onto his head, but the worst thing he had to show for it was an inch long gash on his forehead. I irrigated it and bandaged it, sealing it as tightly as possible after making sure it was clean. Sharon and I both suggested walking out up the Tanner Trail to get it taken care of more appropriately, but feisty ol’ Lindy wouldn’t hear of it. “Let’s go catch our boat!”
We reached the Little Colorado River, a small-bright turquoise Creek that, nevertheless, was chest-deep, half of which was mud, near the confluence. We poked and prodded, trying different points, when I got in deep enough that my pack started floating me away with the slow current, forcing me to retreat back to the bank. Frustrated, we went upstream until we found a good crossing with a slightly less muddy bottom.
As soon as we got back to the Colorado, the late-twenties guys popped out of the bushes, “hey you guys want a beer?” We chatted with the rafters for half an hour; while they shared their food with us insisting “They had more than they could ever finish.” They informed us that they were actually working. They were conducting a survey of the water quality and biodiversity of the nation’s waterways. What a fun job! They then gave us a ride across the Colorado. Almost too easy!
The rest of the evening we spent half the time on the fabulous slate shelves on the cliffs along the river or on narrow game paths on the slopes above. The other half was spent connecting these corridors by boulder hopping our way through dense willows and locust trees, the latter are covered with ½ inch to 2 inch long thorns that clutch, tear and snag anything they come into contact with. At one point I actually screamed in pain when a step brought one of the thorns into the ball of my foot. I limped around for a while. But by the time we stopped for the night I was fine.
We are camped on a small beach just south of Khagunt Creek, should be fun again tomorrow. Sharon and I checked Lindy’s forehead one last time tonight. So far, so good—no sign of infection. I continue to be impressed with the durability and strength of Lindy’s 69-year-old body. However, I’m beginning to have doubts that he has the ability to complete the entire route, at least in the time allotted. It might be just too much for him.
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