Rafting and Roughing It on the Black Canyon of the Gunnison: Part Four

My Happy River Companions: Steve, Jen, Andrew, Ryan and Glenn

Only a handful of experiences in life—at least ones that occur over a forty-eight hour period—may be considered transformative.  The below is part four of one of mine.  My journey on the Gunnison River gripped me with so much passion and awe that I’ve chosen to share it with you in its unabbreviated version.  I’ve posted this story in four parts.  I hope you’ll be with me and enjoy it throughout.  You can read all parts in (reverse) sequence in the category Outdoor Adventures.

From Smith Fork on, the waters flattened out some three miles to the take-out. The canyon opens wide to pink sandstone walls here, a gentle float that doesn’t require the wearing of life preservers or much attention paid toward the river’s movements. Now it was time for us all to just loll about on the raft. We looked back at Ryan in the gear boat, no longer worried that he’d make it through the turbulent waters without a hitch; he rowed along calmly just like us. By now we had all downshifted into supreme relax mode, the kind of lulling feeling you have after having gone through something fairly intense and completely stimulating.

The Dudes

Talk of showers was beginning by now although I believe it was Jen who initiated it first. I quietly scoffed at the idea of using a blow dryer. I had been transformed in less than forty-eight hours. My skin glowed with a golden, bronze-y tone and although I hadn’t bathed much, the river kept me feeling cool and fresh. I even forgot about my grey hairs and was actually beginning to enjoy “peeing in the woods.” But it was the canyon walls, the bobbing in the raft and the riverside meals I had enjoyed the most. I also had become very endeared to my fellow campers and guides and felt delighted that we had all shared such conviviality and affection toward each other in such an inspiring setting. Camping and rafting do bring you better in touch with nature and your fellow man. And certainly one of the best places to do it is in the Black Canyon of the Gunnison River.

Epilogue

I experienced the above adventure just over a year ago and wrote most of the story shortly thereafter. Steve, Glenn, Jen and I returned a month ago for a second time around. This time Jen’s slightly younger brother Andrew (who happens to work for Martha Stewart!), flew in from New York to join us. Ryan headed up the journey as lead guide. Rick had left Black Canyon Anglers during the year to start a new life in environmental work in the Pacific Northwest. Josh, another expert river runner and most affable guy, teamed up with Ryan as the second guide. Josh has been “riding rivers” for years in addition to working his day job as a realtor. We came to know Ryan better on this trip and enjoyed goofing around with him and Josh, both on the water and off: Although forever professional, both approached most of our doings with a more laid back attitude, setting the tone for a more relaxed trip overall. With the two of them, we even got into some kid-like shenanigans such as jumping off cliffs into the river, something that Rick surely would have discouraged.

Our Big Kid Ryan

Ryan and Josh

Josh Manning the Gear Boat, the Heavier Raft

Andrew complemented our cozy, already formed group very well. And in the end, it was he who furnished us with the best camping poop story of all. Indeed our fascination with the groover continued and this time around, we went so far as to ask the guys who’s job it was to take care of it upon return to the lodge. (Like all duties, they share that one with the same whoever-gets-to-it-first attitude that’s applied to the rest of the numerous river trip chores.)

So how was it for me second time around? Totally awesome, once again. I rarely do the same trip twice unless it’s to Paris or to ski in T-ride, but this one is truly super special. I didn’t feel the same sense of wonder I felt first time around since I was no longer a virgin rafter/camper on the Gunnison River. But it still felt extraordinary to me and this time I had the added sensation of “coming home.” It has definitely helped me to be less of a Parisian princess as well. This time I experienced less separation anxiety over my dry bag being tossed in the gear boat, but then again I got smart and brought a mini dry bag as a “purse.” (No one snickered about this either since most everyone asked me to hold something of theirs in my little ditty bag as we traveled along the river.) This time I had my hair colored shortly before the trip (hence, no need for mascara touch ups) but I did experience a big breakthrough in not looking at myself in a mirror at any time during the trip. I actually had forgotten my compact—but I’ll take kudos whenever possible.

Moi, au Naturel!

Jen asked me halfway through this last trip if I was coming back next year, an almost inconceivable thought since I rarely do any travels twice, let alone three times. I’m thinking about it though since experiencing this stunningly beautiful remote wilderness location with the expertise of two top-notch guides and a fun group of fellow campers makes for a most memorable getaway. Next time though I’ll be sure to outfit myself with a good pair of river shoes (first time around it was sneakers, then this time Teva flip flops—what am I thinking?) Progress has been made though since this last time I hardly thought twice about an eventual scorpion in my tent and actually didn’t ponder the pygmy rattlesnake once. And peeing outside beneath the stars appeared almost romantic. Wow, maybe I should go again. Am I becoming more Rocky Mountain girl than Parisian sophisticate? Whoah, whoah, not so fast, my dear.

Black Canyon Anglers, 970-835-5050, BlackCanyonAnglers.com
River trips are typically conducted May through early October; float trips tend to be best from July on. Day trips are also possible.

Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park, 970-641-2337

Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park

This part of the Black Canyon, just outside of Montrose is the widest, tallest and perhaps the most awe-inspiring. (Experienced riders and rafters run the lower canyon in the Gunnison Gorge National Conservation Area as we did.) Open year-round, the Visitor Center here is an excellent place to begin your visit to this relatively little-known National Park. Then drive the South Rim Road to various lookout points where you’ll find great places to hike and picnic. I’ll be writing more about the Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park in the not-too-distant future.

“Our surroundings were of the wildest possible description. The roar of the water…was constantly in our ears, and the walls of the canyon, towering half mile in height above us, were seemingly vertical. Occasionally a rock would fall from one side or the other, with a roar and crash, exploding like a ton of dynamite when it struck bottom, making us think our last day had come.”
Abraham Lincoln Fellow, 1901

In 1901 Abraham Lincoln Fellows and William Torrence floated the Gunnison River (named in honor of Captain John W. Gunnison who lead an expedition here in 1873-74, but bypassed the gorge in search of a river crossing). They traveled thirty-three miles on a rubber mattress in nine days and determined that construction of an irrigation tunnel was feasible. Despite a handful of installations, the Black Canyon of the Gunnison has remained amazingly unspoiled today. A true gem of southwestern Colorado, a wonder of the United States.

Latest dispatch from Josh ten days after our last trip:

There was a tremendous storm that hit the Gunnison Gorge last Thursday. Several of the washes turned into torrents of water and boulders. Caddis Camp, where we stayed the night, is no longer a camping spot. Alll the sand was washed away and it is now a pile of debris and rocks. You have to respect mother nature!

Thank you to the Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park for the above image.

Rafting and Roughing It on the Black Canyon of the Gunnison: Part Three

Day Two: The Bigger Rapids Day

Only a handful of experiences in life—at least ones that occur over a forty-eight hour period—may be considered transformative.  The below is part three of one of mine.  My journey on the Gunnison River gripped me with so much passion and awe that I’ve chosen to share it with you in its unabbreviated version.  I’m posting this story in four parts.  I hope you’ll be with me and enjoy it throughout.  You can read all parts in (reverse) sequence in the category Outdoor Adventures.

The cowboy coffee tasted all the more delicious the next morning, grounds and all.  I relished this in my tin cup along with a plate of blueberry pancakes and ham as well as a slice of chocolate cake from the night before while gazing out onto the shimmering Gunnison.

This being morning, talk of “the groover” increased tenfold. I had already been cautioned that use of the groover was technically mostly reserved for Number Two. (Just like everything else, the groover was also pack in/pack out. Wow.) “Why do you call it the groover?” I ventured.

Decamping: Could that be the Groover?

“It’s actually an old army rocket box,” Rick replied. “Steel tight. In the old days people would sit on it and get well you know, grooves in their butt. We have ours set up though with a toilet seat.”

I was beginning to be more intrigued. They had it positioned up beyond the back of camp, but there was no way I was going to hike up there during the night even though my hunny had lined the path with glow sticks.  (You’re supposed to pee in the river, but I had ruled that out during the night as well.) I saw the roll of toilet paper (a true luxury in the wild!) placed at the foot of the path and knew that if it was missing, it signaled that the groover was occupied. More giggles followed until it was finally my turn to check out the set up. The T.P. was there, so I was good to go. I followed the rocky path fifty yards up to nearly the base of the canyon wall where I turned to see, beautifully poised beneath a box elder, the groover. A copy of American Angler, a fishing magazine, had been carefully sealed within a Ziploc bag beside it. Unlike at the outhouses furnished at the put-in and at a few other locations in the canyon, no nauseating smells emanated from this tranquil spot situated beneath this lovely shade tree. O.K., I sat down and all I’ll tell you is that from there—high up on the river’s banks—I saw one of the most sensational views of the journey. I felt truly on a throne overlooking a kingdom.

More chuckles followed when it came time to load the groover onto the raft along with our enormous mound of BCA-emblazoned dry bags.  Rick and Ryan took care of this and every other detail with the utmost of professionalism, a task they had clearly carried out innumerable times before. Steve and I folded up our encampment without much effort. He commended me on my adventuresome spirit. (Surely he was most impressed by my delightful reaction to the groover.) But then he stupidly pointed out a scorpion scrambling from beneath our bedding.  I, of course, then let out an annoying shriek. (I later learned that they’re apparently harmless, but still.)

At least I didn’t need to make any wardrobe choices since by now we were all on day two of the same bathing suit and PFD (personal flotation device). I brushed my teeth in the bush, ran a brush through my hair and another towelette over my face, applied layers of sunscreen and declared it good.

We sailed off as though we were all experienced rafters by now. Once on the water, Rick informed us that today would be “a bigger day,” that most of yesterday’s rapids were Class IIs and today there’d be some Class IIIs. Parts of the canyon walls gleamed brightly this early in the day. Alternating layers of Neapolitan ice cream were served up in front of us: This is how we came to know the mighty grey-black walls of the canyon and their creamy pink and beige fillings, referred to as intrusions. (These diagonal stripes were actually formed by molten rock that had forced itself in between other rock formations a gazillion years ago.) Even more so than in other parts of the West, here we floated down a geologist’s dream. We all traveled once again in Rick’s raft while Ryan manned the heavy load of gear.

A Gunnison Gorge Big Horn Sheep in the Shadow of the Canyon

Clearly Rick knew every nook and cranny of this geological wonder, pointing out rainbow and brown trout darting beneath the surface and cliff swallows and king fishers soaring above our heads. We got supremely lucky at one point when we spotted two big horn sheep grazing at the river’s edge. Farther down in the canyon, we gazed open-mouthed at a golden eagle soaring above us; indeed the craggy cliffs of this mountain gulf provide excellent nesting and hiding places for a great variety of wildlife. We longed to see a mountain lion basking on one of the rocky outcroppings but were told we’d spot a much smaller creature, a ringtail cat, at best and even those typically only come around the campsite at night in search of food.

The mood shifted from tranquil to uproarious as soon as we hit the rapids. I almost fell out of the boat at one point only to be yanked back in by Steve, an expert boatsman who was careful to keep his eye on his duties as well as me from the get-go. We all took turns being tossed about as Rick cautioned one side than the other to “look out for the rock wall!”

“Maintain your center of gravity,” I advised my fellow rafters during a lull in the activity. I learned this in ski training, a skill that I sensed definitely applied to rafting, particularly when launched through whitewater. Balance in any activity reigns supreme. Everyone looked at me in an affirming manner but no one seemed to want to give me any credit for any solid sporting advice. Why spoil my reputation as a super softy?

The raft cavorted and bucked through the Class IIIs distinguished by names such as Boulder Garden, Feather and Cable. “O.K., give it all you got,” hollered our oarsman as we all paddled furtively on command, careful not “to rock the boat” in any manner. “O.K., now three forward. One. Two. Three. Good. Now two back. One. Two,” Rick continued. By now we were all fairly good about staying in sync, everyone pretty much paddling in unison.

Leaving the Rapids

Finally we plummeted into Grand Finale, the last rapid of this fourteen-mile stretch of the river known as the Gunnison Gorge Natural Conservation Area. We floated through tranquil waters, craning our necks up the canyon walls a short distance more before arriving at a sandy beach, a well-known site called Smith Fork. Here we all piled out, left our life preservers behind and filled our water bottles up for a hike up into a tight, side canyon. Glenn had decided to stay back and cool off in the icy waters of the river while we headed out on our adventure. We climbed over rocks that varied in size from tiny pebbles to enormous boulders way bigger than our raft, passed cascading pools of pristine water lined with ochre-colored slabs to find our way to the biggest and most inviting basins of them all, deep lagoons fed by a series of charging waterfalls. I hopped right in and felt instantly delighted by the freshness, purity and inviting temperature of the water. Steve grabbed my hand and lead me beneath one of the pelting falls. Here we sat and enjoyed an exhilarating hydrotherapy experience like none I had ever sampled before. Then the guys wormed their way behind the falls, caving between the rocks, while Jen and I luxuriated in our open-air jetted tub. Beneath the brilliant blue skies of this hot and sunny Rocky Mountain day, the moments passed here felt beyond idyllic.

Glenn: Our River Bather

We rock scrambled back only to find Glenn soaking in the chilly river, seated in a camp chair with the water lapping at his shoulders. (He later declared that he had plenty of body insulation that allowed him to tolerate such frigid water.) By now we were all ravenous, so we hit the Pringles (good camping chips) and lemonade while Rick and Ryan prepared lunch. That was to be the last of the many memorable and most delicious meals we shared together; our trip was drawing to an end.

Thank you to Ryan Gluek for some of the above images.