Searching for Conflict Deep in the Grand Canyon

Travel stories where everything goes according to plan tend to be dull. It’s not as interesting to read about a trip where the flights were all on time, the beach was sunny and peaceful, the venues amazing, and precious insights were had, such as, “as I watched the [insert name of native people] traditional ceremony, my perspective changed — we had more in common than I realized.”

No! We want to read about smelly seatmates, threatening hurricanes, simmering arguments that suddenly flare up, and maybe a few medical emergencies, up to and including the potential loss of a limb.

Conflict, toil, and trouble — that’s what makes an interesting travel story.

So I watched. And I tried. I egged on my 15 travel companions to start an argument, maybe a family feud between the eight person strong McMullin clan and the upstart five-member Muir family. The rest of us could sit back and watch them snipe at each other and “accidentally” shove rivals off the raft during the day.

Or, even better, a fight between our two guides! A fistfight¹ would be travel story gold, but I’d settle for a shouting match or two over the best route to take through the rapids.

Heck, there could be at least some sort of trip disaster, right? — maybe our raft flips in the whitewater and we lose all the snacks for the rest of the week because someone forgot to tie down the snack bin?

Alas, I’m sorry to say that a Colorado River trip through the Grand Canyon is probably going to give you an amazing, memorable, and wonderful experience whether you like it or not.

On our trip, everybody got along sickeningly well. Meaningful conversations took place. Children frolicked on the beach each night. And Taffy never forgot to tie the snack bin down.

To be sure, a Grand Canyon river trip is not an island resort experience. Yes, we had beaches and, yes, we had delicious meals cooked for us each night (I thought our head guide Sean was kidding when he said we were having steak our first night. He was not.) And our guides also did the hard work of navigating our raft, leaving us free to scream and cheer as we swooned into churning waves.

But this is an expedition, not a restful retreat. No air conditioning, running water, or glamping here. If you forget something, too bad. There are no roads or resupply for the weeklong 188 mile journey once you push off from Lee’s Ferry.

How Grand Canyon Trips Work

You can hope to get lucky and enter a lottery for a permit to take yourself down the Colorado River — we encountered a few non-commercial groups in their smaller boats and rafts. I’m sure it’s an awesome experience floating down with your pals.

But for me, in a trip involving 188 miles along a river for a week, in the heat of July with no grocery stores or hospitals around the corner, along with a half dozen boat-swallowing rapids each day, a commercially guided trip was the way to go.² (Also, I like people cooking for me when I’m on vacation.)

Our cooks/guides were Sean and Luke. Their casual, yet competent demeanor reflected decades of combined river experience. They both came from river raft guiding families, plus Sean had a geology degree, which comes in handy when explaining 1.8 billion year-old rock layers to new tourists every week. (The oldest Grand Canyon rocks rest in the Vishnu Schist layer. Schist happens!)

A typical day

“So, what do you actually do on the trip? Just look at rocks all day?” gently asks Ms. Anysecondnow, as I show her trip photos in the comfort of our air-conditioned home. Au contraire, ma femme! Our trip was so much more than rocks! (Although, let’s be honest, to visit the Grand Canyon is to see endless rocks. They are fascinating and beautiful but, to her point, it’s a lot of rocks)

What did we do? Every morning, we shook out the sand, enjoyed an ample hot breakfast, then packed and loaded up our gear on the raft. Our group got pretty good at this and by the end of the week we could also set up and take down the beachside kitchen.

Eventually, Sean would call out, “Who’s ready to go rafting?” and we settled into seats. “Who starting in the bathtub?” (three seats in front that get the most spray) “Who’s going in the tearoom?” (several protected seats in the rear away from the spray and also conveniently next to the snack bin). We all moved around to different seats throughout the day. Dashing my hopes of conflict, I didn’t observe a single fight over seats during the trip.

And off we would go down the river, sunning ourselves on the raft, chatting, eating, and then cooling off as the raft plunged into rapids and we hung onto the handholds. Midday lunch was a chance to laze on the sand, play bocce ball, and splash in the river.

Several times a day, Sean would steer us toward shore for off-the-river treks down slot canyons, climbs to waterfalls, and hikes to historic artifacts, including a memorial and the remains of river runner Bert Loper’s boat: “I belong to the wondrous West and West belongs to me.”

Then, each late afternoon, we docked at a new campsite stretch of sand and cliffs and unloaded the raft. We’d then reconnoiter and set up our sleeping spaces with a cot, tarp, sheet, and pillow. In the meantime, there would be more children frolicking in the water and plenty of time for wandering, reading by the riverside, or just watching the green water gurgle by.

Around 6pm, the guides would set out hors d’oeuvres and we’d start to gather in a chair circle. Soon, dinner would be ready and we’d chew and chat, watching the setting turn the canyon orange and gold. Sunlight quickly fading, most of us would turn in by 830 or 9.

A highlight side stop was the Little Colorado river confluence. The blue-hued color contrasts with the green main river, and we hiked up along the limestone edge to a natural chute where the current whisked us down the river.

Since the water is just a few feet or less deep here, our guides recommended reversing our life jackets and stepping into them like a diaper so our backsides got protection in the chute. I resisted this sartorial choice until I saw others doing it. When I take my first turn in the person sized rapids, I’m glad I did, because I feel at least two hard bounces off of river rocks that would have bruised my tailbone without the lifejacket padding.

Another memorable side stop was a longer, steeper hike up to and then above a 100 foot waterfall. We crept along a ledge overlooking yet another slot canyon to get there. Amidst the never-ending arid canyon, the top of the waterfall felt like a mini-Eden with cascading pools and (small) trees.

Trip mascot and adventurer, 8 year-old Jeffrey, was often throwing, skipping, or climbing rocks. On one “expedition”, he set off a mini-rock slide of shale that echoed in the narrow side canyon. Not to worry, as he quickly called out to whoever could hear, “Trust the process!” Oh, we do, Jeffrey.

Anything else? The stars, of course. Every night far more than you could count.

On the last night, around 2am, my eyes opened and I looked up. A light rain had stopped a while ago but it looked like the cloud cover remained. In spite of the clouds, I thought I saw a few dots of light and so I reached for my glasses. Gazing above, I could make out part of the Milky Way through a small, clear circle of sky among the thinning clouds. A few seconds, then minutes passed and the circle grew, like a camera aperture opening. Swaths of more stars emerged in the growing circle, framed by the sharp canyon walls and then I slowly fell back asleep, stars in my dreams.

1. Although with our guides, I don’t think a fistfight would have lasted long. Assistant guide Luke was a big dude. Speak Softly and Carry a Big Dutch Oven could be his motto. Fortunately, that oven provided brownies and cake each night.
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2. The Park Service limits the number of canyon trips so you’ll need to book early, at least a year in advance. However, if you’re going solo like me, and feeling lucky, you can grab the last slot on a July trip two months before– thanks to a tip from our friends, the McMullins. ↩︎