There are a lot of things I didn't write about the trip at first. Like how embarrassing it is to try to get out of a kayak when you're old, fat, and totally out of shape.
The work of unloading the supplies from the trailer on the first day wore me out. Handing over the stuff to be loaded into the canoe wore me out even more. The heat took its toll. Walking to the restroom for one last normal visit just about finished me off. Then I had to push the kayak out into the water, mud sucking at my feet, and try to figure out why my center of gravity is so low. (You don't have to tell me. I figured it out) I got one foot into the kayak, dropped my ass into the seat, then tried to bend my leg enough to get it inside with the rest of me. (Houston, we have a problem.) I had to use both hands to pull my leg to my chest, as the kayak began drifting in the current. I almost lost my paddle, got my foot into the boat, and tried to look casual. I didn't fall into the river or swamp the boat. Victory! Five minutes later, I'm stuck on the first sandbar of the day. I had to get out in the mud (always mud), not lose the boat that can float now that it's free of my weight, get back into the deeper water, and repeat all the earlier steps for getting into the cockpit. I think it was 10 or 15 minutes before I got stuck again, but it was not as easy now that the wind was blowing straight at us.
Day Two
We found a campsite on good rock above a bend in the river. My neck and shoulders were screaming. My hands ached from gripping the paddle with a death grip, just like the one I use when holding the steering wheel while on the freeway. The canoes had to be unloaded completely each night. We used the very heavy water jugs to anchor our tents in case of a high wind. Trickster desert at play.
There was a melon ranch across the river. (Ruby Ranch) The irrigation pumps, voices, engines, and a dog barking punctuated the sounds of the wind and the river. A block of white house rose incongruously above the crops.
We worked hard to paddle against lots of strong wind all day. Tiring. We had rain, thunder, lightning, heat, wind-blown waves, riffles, shallows, rocks, mud, mud, mud, and a surprise dust storm. There were bright blue beetles, lizards, baby toads, ducks, mysterious water birds, crows, and hawks. The sides of the canyons had become taller as we paddled south. One might think the river carved its way deeper into the rock, but it's the rocks pushing upward as the incomprehensible number of years pass. The river changed color often, sometimes several times a day.
It rained off and on all night. The sound the rain made on the tent was delicious. My hair already felt like Astroturf. Still no sign of George and party. They were supposed to be at Mineral Bottom in five days instead of our leisurely six, so they'd have to pass us sometime. Two days of wind put us behind our intended schedule, so they must be running late too. Why were we worrying about George?
We had curry and rice for dinner during a pause in the drizzling rain. I then discovered I hadn't packed any shirts other than the filthy damp tank top and short-sleeve shirt I was wearing. Uh oh. The clean shirts were in the suitcase in the back of the truck in Moab. I could get voted off the river.
As we sat around the fire that night, I thought about all the writing I was planning to do while on vacation. I brought books to finish and a new issue of The Sun magazine. All I actually accomplished was the taking of notes in a notebook I left out in the rain the first night, curling it up nicely. Tomorrow I'll write, I told myself.
