Green River, Day Three—Through the Great Bow-knot

We watched the sky last night, hoping the storm wouldn't carry into today. It hasn't. This day has been our best weather yet on the river. No rain, only mild winds, and just a handful of clouds. Of course, the sun has cooked us.

This morning the river was a placid sheet, interrupted only by subtle ripples and the dip of our oars. Random whirlpools bubbled to the surface as if from an underground vent, then fizzled away and disappeared.

Dave on the canoe.

The river seemed to meander endlessly past cliffs and canyons. In some places an old dirt road suddenly appeared beyond the bank of the river, undoubtedly a bygone uranium track. It would be interesting to see where the roads come from and how they descend the steep declivities to the river. High on a ledge we saw an old piece of mining equipment that had been abandoned for decades.

Near the mouth of a canyon there is a slide of large rocks next to a cliff with dozens of names etched into them. None of them are ancient, but many are interesting, including a couple artistic drawings.

Here we met a group of three adventurists from Fort Collins who had camped here and were packing to leave. They wore no shirts and carried a case of beer. They seemed in no hurry to head down the river. They were only the second group of people we'd encountered on the trip.

We stopped here to look at the writings and to eat another round of PB&J for lunch. I will admit that our food supply is becoming mushed and mangled. All the bread is smashed. Anything in a box, like oatmeal packets, have long fallen from their torn covers. A bag of hostess donuts was nothing but crumbs.

Dave and I were together on the canoe again, and by the time we pushed off from lunch, we were far behind the others. Somewhere on the left bank is an inscription by a French trapper named Denis Julien. It is dated 1836. In search for this inscription, we pulled our canoe up to a small opening in the tamarisk, with a trail leading further ashore. We docked there and pulled the canoe aground. We followed the trail until it met an old mining road, leading to nowhere obvious.

I was disappointed that we didn't find the inscription, but knew we didn't have much time. We turned back to our canoes. By the time we pushed off, we had mosquitoes around us everywhere. Dave said I had at least 200 on my back! We swatted, splashed, and hit, which nearly caused us to capsize. I had blood smeared all over my arm. The bugs didn't leave us until we had been back on the water and were going at a good pace.

By the time we caught up with the group, we learned that most of them were anxious to keep moving and to find a spot down-river to camp. But Dave and I had other plans: to hike to the saddle of Bow-knot Bend.

Bow-knot Bend.

Looking south from the saddle of Bow-knot Bend.

Named by John Wesley Powell in 1869, Bow-knot Bend is a vast loop in the river, that after seven miles of curling around high sandstone cliffs, returns withing 1,000 feet from where it began. Combining that with another large loop in the river, it is reminiscent of a bow-knot.

A short, but steep trail winds up a rock slide on the hill and at the top is a sweeping panorama of both sides of the loop. The view from the top is fascinating, as it shows a different perspective than the choke-filled banks of the river, beyond which are bare shelfs and slopes. Far below on the opposite side of the bank, we spotted three riders on horseback.

About a mile past Bow-knot Bend, we rejoined our group who had found a great camping spot with oak trees and skunk brush, next to some short cliffs. Today we traveled 25 miles, bringing our total trip mileage to 58.

We had the rest of the evening to relax and eat supper. We fried up the last package of brats and poured in cans of chili. We topped it with a small bag of cheese and crumbled saltines. I think for all of us, it was the best tasting meal we had eaten. I'm not sure if it was the great flavor, or the fact that anything could have been savory after three days on the river.

Tason leaps off the cliff.

The boys found a spot to go cliff diving. The jump landed them into a deep, but slow portion of the river, just beyond a growth of willows. Jayden didn't jump because of the staples in his head. Christian was very hesitant to jump, but eventually got pressured from the other boys. After that, he was hooked, and was anxious to go again.

The rest of the evening was spent lazily passing the time. Christian etched his name into the rock. Jordan caught lizards. Tason and Jayden slept.

Dave returns from a spiritual journey up the river.

Our campsite as seen from above.

Dave went back out on the SUP and paddled at least a mile up-river to Bow-knot Bend. We didn't see him for two hours. I later learned that he was paddling in memory of his father, with whom he spent considerable hours on this river. Paddling up-current was a difficult task. Many times he considered giving up, but then gained courage when he thought of his dad. He would set a goal of a landmark, and not rest until he reached it. His journey was quiet and peaceful, and gave him ample time to think and reminisce.

I did my own thing and hiked up on the bench away from the trees and along a small trail that led to Two-mile Canyon. I didn't see anything earth-shattering other than great views and interesting geological formations. It is amazing how once you get away from choking riparian section of the river, that the view opens up and there is very little growth.

On my way back, I found a small ledge where I could overlook our camp. The low angle of the sun began to bring the hues of sunset, transforming the walls of the cliffs into a magical ocher, and casting a shimmering reflection across the water. From here I had a long view of the river. I watched Dave on the paddleboard, slowly moving with the current, until he pulled ashore directly below me.

Once again it is dark and we have been blessed with good weather. But the mosquitoes are relentless, taking the edge off of any aesthetic pleasure we may be feeling. I can hear cicadas, and the flow of the river just below us.

* * *

One hundred forty-eight years ago, John Wesley Powell and his crew traveled the exact same stretch of the river as us. Back then, the shores were not infested with tamarisk yet, so their view was slightly different than ours. But the tall sandstone cliffs, which haven't changed in millennia, appeared nearly the same to them as it did for us. The expedition even camped on the south side of Bow-know Bend, probably not too far from our camp:

"July 15, 1869—About six miles below noon camp, we go around a great bend to the right, five miles in length, and come back to a point within a quarter of a mile of where we started. Then we sweep around another great bend to the left, making a circuit of nine miles, and come back to a point within six hundred yards of the beginning of the bend. In the two circuits, we describe almost the figure 8. The men call it a bow-knot of the river; so we name it Bow-knot Bend. The line of the figure is fourteen miles in length.

“There is an exquisite charm in our ride today down this beautiful canyon. It gradually grows deeper with every mile of travel; the walls are symmetrically curved, and grandly arched; of a beautiful color, and reflected in the quiet waters in many places, so as to almost deceive the eye, and suggest the thought, to the beholder, that he is looking into profound depths. We are all in fine spirits, feel very gay, and the badinage of the men is echoed from wall to wall. Now and then we whistle, or shout, or discharge a pistol, to listen to the reverberations among the cliffs.

“At night, we camp on the south side of the great Bow-knot, and, as we eat our supper, which is spread on the beach, we name this Labyrinth Canyon.” ♠

The Standup Paddleboard
Green River Trip, Day 1
Green River Trip, Day 2
Green River Trip, Day 4