Grand Canyon Solo (and Backward)
Late fall, long ago, in the midst of a radical sabbatical yearlong roadtrip. While looking through my files of backcountry and river info, pondering just what to do and where to go next, I found an old press release from the Nevada Commission on Tourism titled "Canoeing the Colorado", part of which described the opportunity to paddle up into the Grand Canyon.
Now, normally, when the topic is paddling in the Grand Canyon this means getting your name on the private boater's waiting list and being patient for a decade or more. Or shelling out serious greenbacks to a commercial rafting company and assuming the role of "paying customer".
But this brief description revealed yet a third way to enjoy the splendor and solitude of the Grand Canyon; by starting at Pearce Ferry, at the extreme eastern edge of Lake Mead, it is legal to paddle 40 miles back into the Grand Canyon, all the way back to Separation Rapids.
Sounds like a trip to me, and so I'm off to northwestern Arizona. First stop, the Hoover Dam visitor's center, to pick up the free backcountry permit required for this paddle. Then south on Rte 93, over the Hoover Dam into Arizona and through the Detrital Valley for 40 odd miles to Dolan Springs Road and north towards Pearce Ferry.
Dolan Springs Road starts off paved, runs through a fantastic Joshua Tree forest on the Grapevine Mesa and through the Hualapai Valley and turns into an all-season gravel road before it ends at a Lake Mead Nat'l Recreation area campground (perfect for laying over and staging gear for a dawn put-in).
Next morning I pushed off from the beach at Pearce Ferry, crossed a scant two miles of Lake Mead (hugging the south shoreline for protection from the chop) and turned hard right, up the Colorado where it cuts through the Grand Wash Cliffs.
Within a few miles the canyon walls had begun to close in nicely and I began to comprehend the incomprehensibility of the scale in the canyon. Paddling upriver everything is vast, except my canoe, which seems smaller than ever. What at first appears to be a 200 foot tall cliff face a half mile away becomes a thousand foot tall wall two miles distant when the speck of a raft floats into view at the base.
Even the eddies are massive. Water cutting a half-mile curve slowly turns an unseen eddy; hit it right and the free ride upriver goes on and on.
Barely four mile up the canyon there beckons the first of many startling "discoveries" Emery Falls.
Emery Falls is a verdant spot of greenery. Fern, moss and other plantlife spills down the weeping cliff faces on either side of the falls. Well worth a lengthy contemplative stop. Look at the huge pile of bowling-ball sized rocks piled at the base of the falls....do you REALLY want to go stand directly under that cascade of water knowing how those rocks got there?
After a lengthy respite at Emery Falls I continued making my way upriver, searching now for a campsite as idyllic as the surrounding views. After attaining a somewhat faster section or two a likely side-canyon appeared, with a decent landing and a series of plateau-like rises at the back. Beaching my canoe here I was ready to make camp, 'til I discovered a well hidden but uninhabited tent city assembled in the far reaches of the canyon. I later discovered that this area was part of the Hualapai Indian Reservation and that this tent city was a semi-permanent fixture for the convenience of Indian-run raft trips.
Continuing upstream I soon became less picky about finding just the right idyllic spot, and, as the sun began to set, settled on a flat topped slab of rock at the water's edge. A flat-topped slab of rock exactly 7'2" long by 5'3" wide. I know these exact dimensions because those dimensions are, to the inch, the footprint of my tent. "Staking" down the tent in this precarious position involved tying rocks to the rainfly lines and hanging the lines over the edge of the slab. The first step out of the tent was a doozey.
Still, I'm not complaining, I'm camped in the freakin' Grand Canyon.
Breaking camp the next morning I am quickly back on the water. The current seems slower, and I wonder if upstream releases making their way some 300 miles downstream from the Glen Canyon Dam are a factor. Or perhaps I'm simply becoming adapted to the immensity of scale in this wondrous place.
A full day's paddle upstream brought me to a large side canyon on river right (river left to me, as I was going upriver). I suspect this was either Ticanebitts or Burnt Springs canyon, and, in retrospect, really wish I had bought a Grand Canyon River map before setting off.
Whichever side canyon it might have been, it offers the idyllic campsite I had sought, and I decided that here I would stay until I was nearly out of some vital provision (food, water or pipe tobacco).
Having brought in a 5-gallon carboy of water I won't soon go thirsty. Having brought in copious amount of tobacco I won't soon lack for a smoke. My food supply is a bit thin, but, what the hell, this would be an appropriate place for a fast.
Speaking of 'baccy, Diane has provided me with an "emergency" stash of pipe tobacco, having witnessed my behavior on a past trip when I lost my Burley & Bright with a week still to go, being reduced to scavenging for anything smokeable. Visiting a tobacconist after that trip she explained her plan to provide me with a sealed back-up stash, just in case. When the tobacconist inquired about my preferences in pipe filler, she told him that she really didn't know, but she had seem me apparently savoring old cigar butts crumbled into my bowl. I can't imagine what's in my emergency stash, but I'll bet it's strong.
Two days on full relax mode in my idyllic side canyon and I judged that I could make one more day upriver and a quick, current-assisted two day paddle out before my vital supplies were exhausted.
A long, long day of upriver paddling, which took me past several deep and inviting side canyons brought me at last to an exhausted halt where the increasing current told me my day was done. Here I found the nicest side canyon yet, on river left (my right), with a fine clear stream flowing out and a series of pools and cascades stretching back up canyon. Once again proving the adage true the best sites are the ones you work the hardest for.
A fine night, the moon nearly full, my bourbon flask nicely chilled in the stream and my decision made that this was as far upstream as I could manage.
Next day, as I am lazing about the campsite, a rafting party drifts into my hidey-hole and professes their astonishment at seeing a solo canoeist in these parts. I discover from them that I am camped in Spencer Canyon, that the fast water immediately at the mouth of the canyon is what remains of Lava Cliff rapid, now drowned by Lake Mead, and that I am less than 6 miles from the permitted limit of upstream navigation, Separation Rapid. ("Permitted" because some scofflaw folk have been known to portage Separation and continue upstream).
The rafters, still seeming not to believe that I am where I am, ask "How long are you planning to stay?"
I tell them that "It seems improper in this place to contemplate time in any measure less than a season so I'll probably stay 'til my food runs out"
Whereupon they begin disgorging bags and coolers from the rafts and plying me with excess foodstuffs. Having restocked my food larder I thank them as best I can, and they push off into the dreaded "flats" to conclude their trip. I am left to contemplate their largess - I've got a restocked pantry, a clean water supply and sufficient tobacco. Unfortunately I need to be back at work in, lessee, just under 11 months. Dang!
Another dawdling day in Spencer, a long easy day's float halfway down the canyon to another find side canyon (if my second site on the way in was, as I suspect, in Burnt Springs Canyon then this last campsite was likely in Ticanebitts) and I judged that I was ready to head out.
Having stated that I was gonna stay 'til my food ran out I spend a final day fattening up on the rafter's provisions and, as the full moon began to illuminate the tops of the canyon wall I broke camp, loaded my little boat and spent a last magical night creeping stealthily down the Colorado, the air still, the river surface smooth, hearing every mouse scrabble and critter scurry on the canyon walls amplified by the silence of the canyon.
Back to Pearce Ferry (glad as always to see my truck still where I'd parked it and in one piece), back on the road, back through the Joshua Forest (even more scenic in the moonglow) and, just to feed my sense of the absurd, into the neon and cheesy crowds of Las Vegas as the sun rose, wondering where my next stop would find me (Answer - Waldo Lake in the Willamette Nat'l Forest, another very peculiar place to paddle).
There are several ways to experience the Grand Canyon. From the rim, if you can elbow you way through the crowds of tourists. Downriver, as a private boater, if you have the skills and don't mind waiting 10 or 12 years. Downriver, as a big-spender with a commercial raft company. And, best of all, heading upriver, as a classic river rat, going where you want, when you want, how you want. Going that route the river won't be all that you'll attain.
A few if-you-go kinda notes:
- The permit requirements may have changed. When we were in the area a few years ago an outfitter told us that permits are no longer required. Seems hard to believe that permit-type regulations would get less restrictive over time. Check before you go.
- DO get a map. There are several good Colorado/Grand Canyon maps available that cover the section from Lee's Ferry down to Pearce Ferry. Just read 'em "backwards".
- Off-season is better. Just like nearly anywhere else. Think spring and fall.
- There is some boat traffic, especially on the lower, more-backwatered portions of the river. You may encounter houseboats off Lake Mead as far upstream as Emery Falls, and possibly other motorboats further upstream.
- The downriver flows do increase and decrease with some unknown regularity. Good for you if you can figure out the timing, I couldn't.
- There is one tiny town along Dolan Springs road for last
chance provisions, ice and gas. Has a restaurant too. Last time
we ate there Diane ordered a tuna salad and the "chef"
asked if she perhaps knew how that was made. She ended up in
the kitchen showing this poor schmo how to "make" tuna
salad.
Mike McCrea still routinely
searches high and low for the Fuller Brush man in a quest for
the perfect teasing comb.
FROM OUR FORTIFIED FEATURES VAULT:
Making the most of a dime is Thirsty Work 8/01
Send your girlfriend adrift in the Southwest wilds and see if she passes The Marriage Test 4/01
Shuttle Bunnies 2/00