Working Up

by Dwayne Phillips

From June 28th through July 3rd, I had the privilege of being on a raft on the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. This was part of a family trip “for the guys.” On a trip put together by my father-in-law Allan, his two sons, me (a son in law), my three sons, two other grandsons, one grandson-in-law, and one great grandson spent five days and five nights on the Colorado River. These blog posts are part of the story.

Friday July 2nd, the afternoon – it was hot, dry, and windy. It is hot, dry, and windy every afternoon in the floor of the canyon during the summer. The sun heats the rock walls of the canyon all day. By afternoon, the heat from the rock walls rises. Something must replace that rising air, so wind blows into the canyon, usually from down river to up river.

This afternoon was the hottest of the week. That was no surprise as we had traveled some 200 miles down the river during the week. The sun burned extra hot, and the wind blew extra strong (at least 30 miles per hour) and hot. Most days the afternoon “breeze” felt like a blow dryer in your face. This afternoon it felt like a blast furnace, like the heat from the 400 degree F asphalt I worked while in college when I was much younger and far more resistant to such.

Ahead of us was an evening camped on a sandy beach. We all quickly surmised what that would be like. Strong winds while sitting on a chair in the sand. We were going to be sand blasted. This was one of those occasions when you are right no matter how hard you prayed to be wrong.

We pulled ashore at a camping spot at 6 PM. The lead river runner assured us that the wind would die down. That made sense. As the sun set, the rocks would cool, the heat rising would slow, and the hot winds would slow as well. We all knew too well that sometimes nonsense happens, so we had our doubts.

As usual, we unloaded the rafts, erected our cots, and to break the usual we didn’t unpack anything from our duffel bags. There was no use having our personal belongings coated with the blowing sand. Instead, we sat in the usual circle of chairs, drank water and lemonade, and munched on Chex mix.

The hot wind blew the sand as predicted. We sat there, munching Chex mix, speaking little, and being coated with sand.

This was miserable.

Some of us complained to one another. “Surely there was a better campsite somewhere. Why didn’t we keep going? What was wrong with the river guides? How we were to eat a supper full of sand?”

Fatigue from a week of restless nights and an afternoon of blast furnace winds conquered many in the camp.

I remember talking with brother-in-law #2 at about 7 PM. We knew we were to leave the camp site at 8 AM and would be out of the canyon an hour after that. “All we have to do,” I said in a vain attempt to reassure, “is make 13 more hours. Just 13 hours.”

The longest hour of the rafting trip stretched into two hours – two miserable hours of being covered with sand and praying for relief.

Just as the lead river runner had predicted, at 8 PM the wind subsided. It didn’t quit, but it did lessen. The sand quite blowing as well. Perhaps all the blow-able sand had been blown onto us, and perhaps the wind was no longer strong enough to blow sand. Whatever the reason, we were able to eat dinner without swallowing sand.

A good meal does wonders when you are tired. We were tired, and we had a good meal. The longest two hours were over. We still struggled through a restless night, but by 10 AM the next morning we had taken a shower and were about to fly to Las Vegas.