Grand Canyon Journals - Part 9: Hiking White Canyon

 April 14, 2000

The sky was completely socked in when I woke up this morning but the clouds were starting to roll out over the far canyon rim. I was the only one up for awhile but soon the cooks joined me and it would be a long time this morning before the others rolled out of bed. Cloudy mornings have a tendency of making people hunker down in bed for just a little longer than normal. As the sun started to come up and the skies started clearing, I watched as wave after wave of clouds turned a brilliant reddish orange and disappeared over the rim into lands unknown. Beautiful.

Cloudy Sunrise

After breakfast of melon, grapefruit, pancakes and sausage, I packed a lunch and headed off for a hike since we had a day off from the river. I hiked up a nearby hill and over a pass, dropping down into Shinumo Wash. When I reached Shinumo Creek, which I had been assured the night before was has lots of "foot dry" crossings, it was about mid-thigh deep and a deep brownish red in color. Evidently, it rained somewhere up in its drainage basin last night. I followed the creek for a ways soon coming to the remains of W.W. Bass's camp, which contained pots, axes and other miscellaneous metal objects lying around. He was the person who operated the cable crossing that we inspected yesterday.

I continued along the river but soon became rim rocked when it swung alongside the cliffs and pinched off my route. Left without a choice, I took off my footgear and waded across with much difficulty against the strong currents. I air dried my feet, got my shoes back on and set off up stream again only to be rim rocket yet again. After the fourth such occurrence, I just waded in to the muddy froth boots and all. Finally I made it to White Creek where the hiking was much easier and after about two miles, I was up in the Tapeats layer and the canyon really started to narrow in. Soon, I could reach out and touch both sides and the stream disappeared underground. I rounded a bend and found that I was once again rim rocked in by a large what would be a waterfall in wetter times but this time there was no way around. I poked around and soon was joined by baggage boat oarsman Lee and we ate lunch in the dry coolness of the canyon while waiting for others to arrive. Only two more people (both crew members) made it, the rest having given up long ago and returned to the comforts of camp.

Lee Rim Rocked In White Canyon

I wanted so desperately to stay longer and maybe even take a siesta but the long six-mile hike in had depleted most of my water supply and I knew that by the time I reached camp, I would be extremely thirsty. I started the six-mile back keeping a steady pace and made good time but when I reached camp I was utterly exhausted and parched to the bone. Everyone is still in celebration mode (ABC) after yesterday and soon some cigars and scotch were being passed around. I declined on the cigar but enjoyed the scotch immensely. I have always known that food tastes better when roughing it outdoors but I learned that the same principle also applies to scotch.

I separated from the group to read and do some writing down by the river with the last light from the fading sun and then rejoined the group for a dinner of pasta, shrimp, salad and French bread. I sat around the campfire for a while but the ramblings of the other clients weren't for me so I walked down to the river where crew members Bronco, Lee and Nick were sitting on the boats swapping stories. I joined them silently, spending the rest of the evening listening and sipping my scotch. I am a client but feel closer to the crew and desperately wish that I were one of them. Thankfully they sense that and for the most part treat me as one of their own kind, allowing my into their inner circle when others are not. Sometimes like tonight, I join their circle but maintain my distance by just listening so as to not over stay my welcome.

When the other clients had slipped off into the shadows of the night, we moved to the fire to finish warming what the scotch hadn't and then slipped off into the shadows ourselves. Lying there counting the stars, I realize that the halfway point of the trip is fast approaching and all of a sudden, I am sad.