Warm night last night. I slept for half an hour outside of my sleeping bag. I had a quick breakfast of granola and green tea. Lindy as usual was ready to roll well before Sharon and I were, so he had to wait while we dawdled. When we were all packed he was off like a shot. In a few minutes we were in the park passing Jumpup Canyon. Soon after we reached a small spring coming out from under the canyon wall. The large number of fish suggested that it was perennial water source. The creek flowed uninterrupted from here to the Colorado River.
Just over a mile from these seeps we came to a unique spectacle. A large flower garden hung from an overhang in the canyon wall, showering the creek with cool and delicious water. I found myself wishing I were hot and miserable so that I could refresh myself in the Showerbath
Spring. Instead of just relishing the beauty. As it was, it was too cool too stay under it for long.
After we left Showerbath Spring, the route down the creek quickly became more challenging. I soon came to the conclusion that Lindy was some sort of sorcerer, because I was having trouble keeping up with him as he scrambled over small cliffs, through gaps, and across small pour offs. I NEVER have had trouble keeping up with people in the past and here I was being challenged by a 69-year-old man. Obviously, the only explanation is some sort of magical power that he has attained whether through divine or dark means, I don’t know. He denies this. Of course, he would. Keeping his silence on the subject was probably part of the deal.
After a while we stopped to wait for Sharon, she had been close behind us a little while ago, but we had lost sight of her. We waited and waited . . . and waited. After about 15 minutes I began to worry. After 30 I was truly concerned and I headed back to look for her. I began to have vision of finding her in the creek face down somewhere or splattered across a rock under some cliff. What would I possibly tell her family? Would I be able to revive her?
Finally, I heard someone scrambling behind a boulder. “Sharon?”
“Yeah?”
Fantastic at least she was conscious and oriented said the EMT in me. I rounded the boulder and discovered a standing but very distraught Sharon in desperate need of a hug. “I’m so stupid. I’m such an idiot. I was following footprints. I’m so stupid.”
“Hey calm down you’re fine. What happened?”
Sharon had followed some tracks up onto the benches above the lowest level of the cliffs. When she lost the rail, she couldn’t find her way back down and had been searching for a route for quite some time. Eventually, she found this route next to this boulder, which she had just barely managed after lowering her pack. I showed up just after she had gotten down. Her route did look heinous. Thankfully though, she was fine, just a bit rattled. The only casualty of the incident was her camera, which has fallen out of her pack.
The traveling got gradually easier as we approached the river, and we began to encounter a number of people who had come up the canyon as part of a rafting trip. Finally we rounded a bend and stepped through some deep mud to get onto the banks of the unnaturally cool and green Colorado River.
We stopped for a while at the confluence to take in the massive gorge. It was hard to wrap my mind around the fact that this was just the lowest and shortest of the three massive walls between river and rim in this part of the canyon.
From the confluence we worked our way up the river, picking our way through sharp boulders and even sharper vegetation. It seemed like everything we touched would either cut, scrape, or prick us. Luckily the river was low and we were able to take advantage of the sandy beaches next to the water fairly often.
As the afternoon wore on I soon left Sharon and Lindy. Maybe Lindy was human after all? I’ve always enjoyed boulder hopping. And I enjoyed the jumping and dodging and ducking and wearing, while the sun slowly sank saturating the scene with sensual tones (Sorry I couldn’t help myself.) and the backside of “Abbey Road” ran through my head.
Occasionally, I would stop next to the river and wait, and each time they took a bit longer to catch up. By the time we reached Fishtail Creek, it was obvious the day was done for them. It was too dark to continue anyway.
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