Humbled on the Colorado Rafting Trip

The first day was filled with anticipation and some hints of anxiety about the unknown.  Down in the bottom of the Grand Canyon is a land and space that is timeless yet tells the story of geological changes of millions of years.  Scientists don’t even fully know the story of why and how the canyon came to be.  A vortex of mystery, legend and stories of survival and death lurk the canyons grand wall.  Down on the river, we realize how small we are, in the bottom of the earth, the depth of being very far from civilization.  Once you begin, there is no turning back or getting out.  You must finish the journey.  We don’t know what is before us.  Will we all come out alive?

The hike to Travertine Falls spelled  before us adventure and reward.  The pristine water offered purification and cleansing, perhaps for more than just the body.  The delight in watching the boys laugh and splash was priceless.  These boys who had once had death wishes and slow contracts to suicide, now bathing in the full present moment of being filled with life graced me with tears in my own heart.  Bringing addicts into the wilderness to find sobriety is the most powerful form of therapy that I can speak of, and I got to witness the truth of this.

Before I speak of further tales, I must take a moment to highlight the epic archetype of Chad Stone.  Chad Stone is my age and has spent his entire life on the river in the warm season and the mountain in the cold season.  He is a rebel to traditional suburban lifestyle, a combat warrior for the environment and a monster sized man with a large voice, stern eye and a golden heart.  Exactly what 20 y.o. boys in sobriety need to be our grand master guide on the river.  Chad Stone makes no bones about speaking his truth.  Quite possibility the most type A person I have encountered in a river sarong.  But, one most understand that his sergeant like approach to barking out commands is from a space of pure divine love.  His love for the river runs in his blood.  He is EXACTLY who I want in charge in my safety on the river.  I quickly loved Chad Stone.  Despite his gruffness, I deeply admire his commitment to inspire respect for ecosystems and legends of the canyon.    By far, the most organized outdoor guide I have encountered in 20 years of doing this kind of stuff.

Tuesday on the river was relatively short. The sun was hot and the river is very cold.  We set camp just the other side of the falls above rapids and below a sweet spring crashing into a little pond.  Only a few of us actually explored the magical spot at the back of the beach camp.  I had opportunity (throughout the trip) to get to know each of these young men on a more personal level.  The one on one chats were my favorite.  Each of them shared a part of themselves with me that I could have never learned in the group setting.  I came to see the deeper heart and feel the inherent goodness in each.  Society views “drug addicts” as dark and criminal. In reality, most are old souls who have held the pain they feel in the world in deep places that they have even hidden from themselves.  To witness the awakening into sobriety is more powerful than anything I have observed, including the transformations that happen in yoga and other spiritual practices.  

Wednesday would be our most powerful day on the river, for all of us.  We got up before the sun was above us and hit the river fast.  White water would be the mothering and baptismal experience for much of the day.  As we blazed the violent rapids, we all laughed and hooted as big waves crashed in our faces and soaked us with chills.  Between rapids, the guide on our boat told us stories of canyon legends.  John Wesley Powell and others who faced the canyon with none of the amenities and supplies that we were securely brimmed with.   And then we begin broaching the mother of all rapids, number 231, also known as “fangs”.  Moments before we hit fangs, Kyle (our fearless boatman) tells us the legendary story of Glenn and Heidi, the honeymooners who decided to adventure the whole river.  They never made it past fangs and their remains were eaten by the vicious rock and forceful vortex of current that sucks what she wants straight to the riverbed.  “If I say hunker down, duck and hold on for dear life”, Kyle screams as we launch into the mouth of the rapid.  I began to pray, hard.  It was a blend between adrenaline that brought one to laughter, shrieks and tears, somewhere knowing we would be OK.  Ahead of us, we began to see the yellow helmets of our buddies flying off the row boat.  One, two and three! Chad Stone cursed loudly “keep rowing!” As we passed our friends bobbing in the water, we could see the look of sheer terror in the eyes.  But seeing faces was also a relief.  

Later, the boys who “swam” would each tell us the feeling of the forceful current sucking them deep into the river, slamming them against the rock and inviting them into death.   We were able to link the irony of fighting for life versus using dirty needles and living in dangerous situations just months prior.

Thursday morning we did yoga on the beach, just as the sun was breaking the canyon wall.  In the practice, I linked the metaphors of allowing for releases in the body, breath, mind and heart to create space for sobriety, nature and spiritual expansion.  Looking up the sapphire sky in relaxation pose reminded us of being fully present with the canyon.   I encouraged the guys to understand the meaning of “Namaste”, and the exchange of peace between each.  My intent was to sprinkle a little compassion into their hearts to soften the constant bickering that seems to go on between them.   Again, someday they will understand on a deeper level.  Much of my work is about planting seeds of inspiration to transform inner personal struggles into embracing the beauty of being whole.

As we loaded the “floatilla” (4 boats firmly tied together), Chad firmly reminded us of river safety.  We spent the entire day in the basking sun, unable to jump in to refresh ourselves (unless we had a rebellious moment that was quickly addressed by our grand master).   The highlight of the day was busting out the guitar and listening to the musicians on board echo lyrics of familiar tunes.  Time seemed to stand still for a while.  The canyon began to feel like a desert oasis of de ja vu around every mirroring bend.  Drinking water and having cold river water splashed on my head did not prevent heat exhaustion from beginning to take over the brain. We began to see human life.  Helicopter after helicopter flew through the canyon walls (from Vegas) with Asian tourists being flown down to a helipad leading to a dock for their canyon boat tour in a high motor large passenger rig.  They took pictures of us as we floated by.

Finally, we found a rough looking spot, covered with the usual growth of the Mohave Desert.  Before Chad would let us off the boat, he let us know there were a few tight sand spots, but that the brush would be filled with rattlesnakes and scorpions.  (My plan to sleep tentless under the stars quickly drowned-and that’s another story.) There was no openness to throw a football or do kung fu and yoga like we did on the glorious beach before.

After a hard night sleep under the canyon walls and infinite supply of stars, we pushed forward to our final destination, Lake Mead. We landed on shore and spent the next several hours contributing to de-rigging our home of the last few days.  I looked back at the river for a final goodbye, expressing gratitude for the lessons, the experience and for bringing us all back.