Just got back from a nine-day river trip with CRATE. I don't like motorized trips. They seem to me a bit like doing a rim-to-rim in a day. You see everything, but it becomes a blur. But this was a natural history trip with Dr. Bob, from whom I have taken several geology classes, and Dr. Ron, a biologist extraordinaire. So number-one son and I signed on.

I learned a lot, which was the point. Took pages and pages of notes and pestered the experts about stuff. We hiked up North Canyon, Buck Farm, Deer Creek, Kanab, and Havasu. Rode most of the way with a boatload of Canadians (go keeners!). Another thing about motorized trips is they often attract the blase type of passenger who has done it all and been everywhere, and this is just another notch in the belt. The Canadians were there for the action and the expertise.

It rained the first night. Then it rained every day. I had my rain gear, and my wet suit (yes, I am paranoid), but a lot of people didn't bring rain gear, or not good rain gear, because it was supposed to be hot in May. Indeed, but this is the Grand Canyon, and sometimes it has its own agenda.

I have done three private trips, and the first one we flipped a boat in 24 1/2, the second one we flipped a boat in Bedrock and I got to ride down the left side sans boat. The third time I was white knuckled all the way with the thought of another flip, even though we didn't. So on the motorized trip I thought: at least we won't flip!

So we get to Havasu, and the boats tie up in the fast water, as they do. We go for a hike, and when we get back there is another boat upstream from us, trapped on our boat. They are pushing and shoving and motoring, and suddenly, POP! Then POP! POP! Three of our valves tear out and the upstream pontoon deflates.

The boat lists, water is pouring into the motor well. The boatmen snatch up all the bags rapidly vanishing into the water and tie them on the uphill side, then put us all on the good boat. As we try to free ourselves, with the upstream boat floundering under its flat side, we start to be pulled under the boat just downstream from us, a Hatch boat.

"High side, High side!" Wait a ding-dang minute! Why am I high siding on a boat the size of a greyhound bus? Then one of the ropes holding the Hatch boat in place goes "SNAP!".

"Everybody down!" We all huddle together, trying to figure out where we will jump if the boat gets sucked under. If we go straight in, we will all be sliced off by the Hatch boat. If I jump to the rear, I go into the rapid. If I jump forward I go into the rocks. If I jump onto the other boat, it is half sunk. Then a bystanding boatman jumps into the Hatch boat, revs up the motor. The remaining rope is cut, and we swing free. It takes hours to fix the valves (we have two spares, but not three, and they have to fiddle with the third valve to make it work. And then it LEAKS!)

So we continue downstream, the bad valve bubbling away madly. We pull over just before Lava to fill the pontoon (good thinking, guys) but not for every rapid, which makes me very nervous. I'm nervous anyway, but the boat is sinking! It leaks!

At one point the motor quit, and the boat is sinking, so we started to sing, "And my heart will go on..." But I still don't look like Kate Winslet.

Anyhow, we made it, and the food was good, and the boat didn't sink. But if that River is out to Get Me, I might as well stay in the little boats.

Poem: written by Robert, Slim, and Lynn

There are strange things done 'neath the noon day sun
by those who toil through stone.
They face the waves that gape like caves
as they perch on the bow, alone.

Dr. Bob talks of sexy rocks* and tales of ancient terrain
Ron has the style of a nutrient pile* and we echo in refrain
But a cad on a raft, he rammed our craft and it listed, to our dismay
But our fearless crew knew what to do and leapt in to save the day

With a sense of brava we splashed through Lava on our newly inflated pontoon
We camped on the sand with our merry band, after enjoying the full moon*.
There are strange things done 'neath the noon day sun by those who toil through stone
But none so strange as by those deranged within the Precambrian zone.

*in joke alert