Green River, Day Four—To Mineral Bottom

Last night was the worst sleep I've had in a long time! For starters, the ground was harder than it looked, with an inconspicuous hump beneath my back. Then, during the night, it was either like a sweat lodge inside my sleeping bag, or a mosquito fest if I was poking out. Even if I went a few minutes without any pesky bugs, without fail, one would soon be buzzing at my ear or sucking blood from my arm.

Somehow I survived, and this morning we all awoke at our usual time, just as it was light enough to see. (No one brought any kind of chronometer on this trip, so telling time was always a guess.)

We ate oatmeal and bagels, which is the same breakfast we have eaten all week. Then we rolled up our bags and packed away the food to load on the boats for our final sojourn along the river.

I think that most of the group was anxious to get home, so no one (except me) wanted to stop anywhere. My one wish was to visit the other inscription from 1836 of the French trapper, Denis Julian, located in Hell Roaring Canyon, which was near the end of our route.

Finally on the stand-up (or sit-down) paddleboard.

Today was my day on the stand-up paddleboard. It was my first time on it, and I liked it from the beginning. It floated lightly on the river, barely piercing the water more than a few inches. The lack of friction helped it glide easily. Rather than stand up, I sat down and used it like a kayak.

At early morning, the sun still bent low in the sky. The ocher hue of the cliffs reflected in the water. I would paddle for a while, then stop for a moment and let the current slowly carry me while I searched as far as I could along the cliffs for anything compelling. I found a few arches and interesting pinnacles.

We passed Two-mile Canyon where I had walked yesterday, then Horseshoe Canyon, which was much wider and open than I had expected. We had settled into two groups, with one canoe and the raft well behind us.

Sometimes while on the SUP, I would drag a paddle so that it turned the board, leaving me to spin in a slow circle. This gave me a panoramic view from behind.

Other times I just laid down on the board and closed my eyes. I bobbed gently like on a water bed. I could hear the subtle wake behind me, and birds chirping in the willows. If I didn't have to keep looking up to see where I was drifting, I could have fallen asleep.

As for the Denis Julian inscription, I was disappointed. Dave wasn't able to spot the right canyon and we floated past it, completely unaware. I guess I'll have to return another day.

Dave and Christian in placid water.

Coming around a bend, we spotted the small launching site of Mineral Bottom. For the last time we paddled our vessels to the bank of the river and pulled them ashore. A short time later, the rest of the group caught up. Now came the busy time of loading things back onto the truck.

Today we traveled 10 miles, bringing our total trip mileage to 68.

While we were busy strapping the canoes to the T-rack, we heard a heavy clap in the air, and then a loud voice, either hollering in panic or excitement. I walked up the small slope to see what it was and saw what looked like a para-glider in the air. Then, just a few seconds later, I hear another yell, and then near the top of a tall cliff, I heard another heavy clap and watched a parachute come out. These were base-jumpers! They swirled around in the air for less than a minute, then landed in the same graveled parking lot where we stood. Looking at the top of the 1,000 foot cliff, we could see other people. Two more jumped down within the next two minutes.

Sinuous and steep is the road coming from Mineral Bottom.

The road out of Mineral Bottom is steep and sinuous. It is picturesque to the photographer, but wary to those scared of heights. There are no guard rails and many places that are wide enough for only one car. Just for the fun of it I chose to run up from Mineral Bottom. It was well worth it. I got passed by three cars, who kicked up small amounts of dust.

One of our dilemmas of shuffling the vehicles is that we knew that Dave's truck only had six seat belts for our seven people. I volunteered to ride in the back of the truck until we got back to my vehicle in Green River.

Once I completed my trot up the hill, I climbed into the bed of the truck and laid back on bags, with a rolled up foam pad to rest my head. I had a cool breeze blow across, and best of all, no mosquitoes! This was the most comfortable bed I had had in four days. ♠


The Standup Paddleboard
Green River Trip, Day 1
Green River Trip, Day 2
Green River Trip, Day 3

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
 

Green River, Day Two—Into Labyrinth Canyon

We pushed off early this morning into a relatively smooth current.  Having learned from our incident last night, we piled more gear onto the inflatable kayak, which I manned.

I found it difficult to steer and the boat dragged from being so heavily-laden. A large cooler sat at my back, and the jumbo food pack at my feet. I used my sleeping bag, which was supposedly in a water-proof bag, as a seat.

After several miles I finally learned how to keep the nose forward without floundering and how to drag the oar to correct my direction.

Jayden at home on the kayak.

Our goal today was to get some distance, and that we did. For miles we pushed along past banks choked with tamarisk and willow, past low-lying hills of rock. Wade spotted a mine shaft. We saw deer coming down to drink from the water. Further down someone spotted a turkey on the bank. Occasionally we would see a blue heron take off and glide over the water. Beneath the overhangs of the rocks the swallows had built their nests of mud.

We passed a prominent rock on our left that had an interesting construction of layers in the shape of a nipple. This is known as Dellenbaugh Butte, named after a young artist on John Wesley Powell's second expedition of 1871.

Dellenbaugh Butte.

Past here the river becomes wide and very still. I thought I could hear some cattle beyond the banks, but wasn't sure.

In one place we attempted to go ashore, but Dave capsized his canoe near the edge. It wasn't as bad as yesterday and he was able to stable himself near the shore and tip the water from the canoe.

The San Rafael River comes in at the right, barely noticeable, punching through the tamarisk.

We found a small sandbar where we pulled ashore and ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch. We used a small aluminum table.  This sandbar sat in the middle of the river, with very little vegetation, providing the perfect place to eat. With the high level of the water, islands of sand, such as this one, have been almost non-existent.

Eating PB&J for lunch on a sandbar.

Wade and Jordan on the canoe.

From here the cliffs gradually grow taller as we enter Labyrinth Canyon. Now I moved to the canoe with Dave at my rear and we glided at a quick pace. All I had to do was row and he would do the steering.

When we planned to stop at Trin-Alcove Bend, we told Christian, who was on the inflatable kayak, to hug the right shoulder. He was far behind us, but stayed on the right bank as he should. We had found a small sand bar where the rest of us had already landed and when Christian moved in he did a perfect job steering, landing exactly on the sand bar.

Tason adroitly paddles the stand-up paddleboard.

Trin-Alcove Bend is where three canyons come together. I think it must look more spectacular from the far side, as we were up close. Much of our view was choked off from growth. A small inlet leads toward the canyons, up which Jordan and Tason took a canoe. We could hear people making noise from there, but the rest of us chose to stay at the sandbar. Any walking route to the alcoves was too choked with vegetation.

From Trin-Alcove Bend, we only had a few more miles to go to reach our camping site. The river makes a large curve. From our perspective on the river we could see canyons coming in and countless miles of cliffs that were essentially blocked off from the average river goer by the thick stands of tamarisk. I wonder what is out there to be discovered? I'll bet that a lot of this area seldom sees a soul.

Christian wanders on the inflatable kayak.

Coming around the bend, the winds began to pick up. As we were within sight of our camping spot, a strong gust blew into our face, leaving our canoe wobbling and turning sideways. We paddled even harder and struggled reaching the shore. At last we made it, but I worried for the others, especially Jordan on the inflatable kayak.

Luckily, we all made it, and just in time. The winds became stronger and I imagined one of our canoes capsizing had we still been on the river. Rain began pelting down as we pulled our vessels onto terra firma, and strapped down anything we didn't want to blow away.

Today we traveled 26 miles, making a total of 33 on this journey.

Taking a break at Trin-Alcove Bend.

Our camping spot is on a long bench of tamarisk and cottonwood. The mosquitoes live close to the shore and are fierce. I immediately killed a couple dozen that had landed on my arms and face. They were even biting through my shirt.

We built a fire to help smoke out the bugs, and began cutting up peppers and onions for dinner. As we unloaded the boats, I was disappointed to learn that my waterproof bag for my sleeping bag wasn't sealed off all the way. My sleeping bag was completely saturated with water! I spent the rest of the evening draping my bag over trees or rope to dry it off.

[As I write, it is now dark and the others are beginning to sleep, and a frog is just now hopping over my sleeping bag. I am shining the light on him and he is moving toward the fire.]

Our campsite is at the foot of a canyon and after dinner I got out to explore a portion of it. It goes back quite a ways and perhaps a person could hike completely out. I climbed onto a shelf where I could double back and get a view of the river.

On my way back I discovered an arch high on the rim of the canyon. I doubt it has a name, so I decided to dub it “Lacy Arch.” I've never had an arch named after me, so I might as well take the opportunity.

Our final adventure of the day came shortly after my hike. Dark storm clouds moved in and for thirty minutes we got pelted with rain. We all huddled beneath our tarps and waited it out. A few small waterfalls cascaded down the cliffs.

It is getting late now. Someone is snoring and occasionally I hear a crackle from the fire. Birds are whistling in the dark distance, some sounding close. Perhaps one is a blue heron. I can hear crickets and sometimes the churning of water on the river.

* * *

John Wesley Powell moved down the river at much the same pace as we did. Just as each bend of the river brought a new panorama for myself, around every corner brought a new vista for Powell and his expedition, who were nearly the first Europeans to explore this river:

“July 14, 1869—This morning, we pass some curious black bluffs on the right, then two or three short canyons, and then we discover the mouth of the San Rafael, a stream which comes down from the distant mountains in the west. Here we stop for an hour or two, and take a short walk up the valley, and find it is a frequent resort for Indians. Arrowheads are scattered about, many of them very beautiful. Flint chips are seen strewn over the ground in great profusion, and the trails are well worn.

“. . . Now, we enter another canyon. Gradually the walls rise higher and higher as we proceed, and the summit of the canyon is formed of the same beds of orange-colored sandstone. Back from the brink, the hollows of the plateau are filled with sands disintegrated from these orange beds. They are of rich cream color, shaded into maroon, everywhere destitute of vegetation, and drifted into long, wave-like ridges.

“The course of the river is tortuous, and it nearly doubles upon itself many times. The water is quiet, and constant rowing is necessary to make much headway. Sometimes, there is a narrow flood plain between the river and the wall, on one side or the other. Where these long, gentle curves are found, the river washes the very foot of the outer wall. A long peninsula of willow-bordered meadow projects within the curve, and the talus, at the foot of the cliff, is usually covered with dwarf oaks. The orange-colored sandstone is very homogenous in structure, and the walls are usually vertical, though not very high. Where the river sweeps around a curve under a cliff, a vast hollow dome may be seen, with many caves and deep alcoves, that are greatly admired by the members of the party, as we go by.

“We camp at night on the left bank.

“July 15—Our camp is in a great bend of the canyon. The perimeter of the curve is to the west, and we are on the east side of the river. Just opposite, a little stream comes down through a narrow side canyon. We cross, and go up to explore it. Just at its mouth, another lateral canyon enters, in the angle between the former and the main canyon above. Still another enters in the angle between the canyon below and the side canyon first mentioned, so that three side canyons enter at the same point. These canyons are very tortuous, almost closed in from view, and, seen from the opposite side of the river, they appear like three alcoves; and we name this Trin-Alcove Bend.” ♠

The Standup Paddleboard
Green River Trip, Day 1
Green River Trip, Day 3
Green River Trip, Day 4
 

Green River, Day One—A Wild Beginning

We dipped our oars into the river where the current was gentle. We had lashed the two canoes together using rope and an old paddle. Dave thought it best that we ride side-by-side until we got use to the water.

Jayden and Jordan took the front seats of each canoe, while Wade and I the rear. Tason manned the kayak and Christian the inflatable raft. Dave had the privilege of being the first to ride the stand-up paddleboard.

It was late afternoon when we pushed off, having spent several hours traveling from home and shuttling the pickup truck to Mineral Bottom.

We passed the old truss bridge for the railroad, then glided beneath the freeway. Within ten minutes, all signs of civilization were past.

The old truss bridge near I-70.

The water-flow, as expected, was much higher than normal, moving at 15,900 cubic feet per second. But the high flow didn't seem to affect us. Everyone appeared to have control of their vessel. On the kayak, Tason moved wherever he wished in effortless fashion.

Thick forests of tamarisk and willow, with the occasional Russian Olive tree, grew along the banks, choking out most signs of shore. We were surprised when twice we spotted a deer poking through the salt grass to get a drink.

Beyond the lush banks, hills of cracked gray rock looked as if they could have been on the surface of the moon. They looked perfect for petroglyphs and I wish I could have stopped and explored.

Jayden and Jordan are ready to go.

During our navigation of the wide, muddy river we often encountered islands, and faced the decision of either going to the right, or the left. With a lower water level these islands may have offered soft sandbars, but instead they were enclaves of willow and tamarisk.

We passed old structures that have been long out of use. A cable stretched across the breadth of the river near what appeared to be an old home.

Five miles from our launch point we pulled our boats ashore to explore Crystal Geyser, an interesting geological feature that occasionally shoots water high into the air, but is much less reliable than Old Faithful. The rocks around the dormant geyser are painted orange from mineral deposits. An experimental well was drilled into the ground during the 1930's and if you look down inside the wide conduit you can see bubbling water. Occasionally it erupts, creating the geyser. But today had no such luck.

Tason looks down an exploratory well at Crystal Geyser.

Returning to the water, Christian switched places with Jordan, putting him on the canoe in front of me. The winds had been picking up all evening, making it difficult to row. Gusts blew from the south, creating a headwind. At one time they were so strong that they created white-water over the surface of the river. But we kept plugging along, still able to navigate.

We came to another island and decided to take the left fork. Because of the difficulty of the headwind, we looked for stronger rapids to help pull us along. We aimed for a long string of whitewater and as soon as we hit, the oar that lashed the two canoes together snapped in half.  The two boats folded inward and both capsized! Within a split second, two boys and two men were floundering in the water. Trash bags full of gear floated and began to disperse. A rush of water almost took my glasses off. It was now panic time!

Even though I wore a life jacket, I struggled to breathe with water splashing on my face. The other vessels quickly came and did whatever they could to keep us together.

Luckily, clear minds began to prevail and we all grabbed onto the canoes to help keep them afloat. Both were on their sides and full of water. One canoe had sunk so far into the river that it was vertical, with only the nose poking from the water. Some of my gear, like my little waterproof camera bag, I was sure was gone. Jordan, who was on the inflatable kayak, began plucking bags out of the water and heaving them onto his boat. It was later recalled that he had “superman” strength, showing abilities far beyond that of a fourteen year old. But in spite of his efforts, much of the gear remained in the water, bobbing up and down with the current.

With all our might we grabbed hold of the canoes and pulled as we swam toward shore. We got closer, but the current wouldn't let us completely approach. Once we even started getting further away. The temperature of the water was cold, but bearable.

Although I focused on getting to shore, the prospects of the incident crossed my mind: losing food, water, sleeping bags, and cooking equipment would be devastating to our trip. Either it would be a long, miserable trip without many of our necessities, or else it would be a long hike back into town.

At last we reached a pitiful shore. The banks were steep here and willows choked out any possibility of going further inland. But we were glad to be able to touch the bottom, although my sandals sunk quickly into the thick mud.

Regrouping after swamping the canoes.

We pulled the canoes and all the gear we were able to salvage onto the small bank. With one man on each side we tipped the water out of each canoe, then placed them up-right to float once again on the water. Then we gathered the scattered gear and loaded back up.

By now we were all frazzled (at least us newbies). Christian and I now steered the unlashed canoe, but it felt swirly and unstable. I'm sure our confidence was at an all-time low.

Within a mile we found a cleared bank where we decided to pull ashore and spend the night. Never was I more grateful to be standing on dry land! We traveled a total of seven miles today.

Christian displays the oar that snapped and caused the canoes to overturn.

The miracle of the day was that of all our gear, my ball cap was the only thing lost! Even the dutch oven was intact, with the lid on and full of water! I don't know how that happened. My sleeping bag got a little wet, but my camera bag was found completely dry.

We are camped in a little valley that in the past has served as a farm. There are abandoned structures scattered around, as well as a large pump with an arm extending into the river. In the distance I can see large irrigation sprinklers and even a tractor. Perhaps in some years, this land is used to grow water melons.

Our gear is spread about, everything laid out to dry.

This evening we ate brats for supper. Jordan and Tason each caught catfish while waiting for supper.

There was a lot of drying that had to be done.

Our goal for each evening was to hold a small devotional where we could share spiritual thoughts and uplift one another. For our first night, we had asked Christian to share a thought. Although he had prepared ahead of time, his message blended well with the events of the day.

He shared a scripture in 2 Nephi 4:35 that reads: “Yea, I know that God will give liberally to him that asketh. Yea, my God will give me, if I ask not amiss; therefore I will lift up my voice unto thee; yea, I will cry unto thee, my God, the rock of my righteousness. Behold my voice shall forever ascend up unto thee, my rock and mine everlasting God. Amen.” He then shared his experience as the canoe first capsized. Although he was scared in the beginning, he said a quick prayer and suddenly felt a calm come over him. He also pointed out how the winds died down after our incident, which allowed us to get to shore.

As he shared his feelings, the words in Psalm 46 came to my mind: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah.”

Tason angling for catfish.

The sun is now down and the wind has picked up again. A half-moon is out, but mostly covered by clouds. There have been several flashes of lightning in the distance. I can hear the flow of water chugging along just down from where we have our sleeping bags. Right now the bugs are loving the light from my headlamp that I use to write.

* * *

As a person who has a passion for history, I can't help but to compare our trip down the Green River with that of John Wesley Powell in 1869. The Powell expedition was the first major party to explore what is now known as the Green and Colorado rivers. They started at present-day Green River, Wyoming, and rowed four boats into unknown territory, all the way to the Grand Canyon and beyond. Many of the landmarks along the way were named by Powell's party.

They began their journey down the river at the exact time of year as we did. After traversing Desolation and Gray canyons, they emerged from the Bookcliff range at the present site of Green River, Utah. This is precisely where we began our journey. The following are excerpts from Powell's journal:

“July 13, 1869⸺This morning, we have an exhilarating ride. The river is swift, and there are many smooth rapids. I stand on the deck, keeping careful watch ahead, and we glide along, mile after mile, plying strokes now on the right, and then on the left, just sufficient to guide our boats past the rocks into smooth water. At noon we emerge from Gray Canyon, as we have named it, and camp, for dinner, under a cottonwood tree, standing on the left bank.

“. . . A long line of cliffs or rock escarpments separate the tablelands, through which Gray Canyon is cut, from the lower plain. The eye can trace these azure beds and cliffs, on either side of the river, in a long line, extending across its course, until they fade away in the perspective. These cliffs are many miles in length, and hundreds of feet high.

“. . . This afternoon, our way is through a valley, with cottonwood groves on either side. The river is deep, broad, and quiet.

“About two hours from noon camp, we discover an Indian crossing, where a number of rafts, rudely constructed of logs and bound together by withes, are floating against the bank. On landing, we see evidences that a party of Indians have crossed within a very few days. This is the place where the lamented Gunnison crossed, in the year 1853, when making an exploration for a railroad route to the Pacific coast. [This is a reference to the Gunnison Massacre.]

“An hour later, we run a long rapid, and stop at its foot to examine some curious rocks, deposited by mineral springs that at one time must have existed here, but which are no longer flowing.” ♠

The Standup Paddleboard
Green River Trip, Day 2
Green River Trip, Day 3
Green River Trip, Day 4
 

I think we looked like this when our canoes overturned!  (Painting by Ethen Allen Reynolds)

The Stand-up Paddleboard

This guy named Dave is crazy!   Not only does he hope to send us all toddling for 68 miles down an overflowing river, but he has a vision of doing it in a vessel made from our own hands! And, mind you, none of us (other than him) have any experience taking on such a task. As for myself, I have never floated down a river in my life. And for the rest, most of them are just young pups, no older than sixteen.

The stand-up paddleboard is Dave's dream idea. This small craft is similar in shape to a surf board, but larger. It is designed to stand upon and to use a long paddle as an oar. Of course, Dave wouldn't take on such a venture if he didn't make the perfect product. In his mind's eye it would be made of wood, smoothed and varnished to perfection. He is no stranger to this kind of craftsmanship. In his garage hang two wooden canoes—one made by his father, and the second made with his father. The two of them took their canoes to Minnesota once where they spent several days exploring the Boundary Waters. When his father died, Dave spent countless hours building another wooden canoe, one that he would saw in half and create a top for, so as to enclose it. This would be his father's casket.

On the same stretch of river which we hope to travel, he once took his young family of four children, ages 2 to 12. The water, just as it is now, was at peak flow from spring run-off. He tells the story of getting his two-year old son and wife situated in a canoe, then turning away to do something else. A sudden gust of wind picked up and took them down river, and in a scary several minutes they thought they were doomed to separation, or worse. Miraculously, he was able to catch up and bring them back.

So, Dave is no stranger to the world of canoeing. Our trip would consist of a small fleet of canoes and kayaks, as well as the stand-up paddleboard which we had yet to make. The idea was that as a group, which included boys from our church, we would spend one night a week working on the paddleboard.

Our work began on the kitchen floor, tapping holes into a piece of paper.

We began late in November when snow still covered the ground and nights were long. We had six months to complete the task, which we felt was ample time. Dave had purchased paddleboard plans from the Chesapeake Light Craft company, deciding on the “Kaholo” model. Had we known how close we would cut it in the end, we would have picked up our pace in the beginning.

We began our work on a Wednesday evening in the kitchen of our church where we laid down a quarter-inch thick piece of plywood and tacked on a large sheet of paper with patterns of random pieces. Although the shapes didn't make sense to me at the time, they were the outlines of the bulkheads, side panels, deck strings, and tail block. We used a hammer and anything with a sharp point, such as a screw, to tap holes through the pattern and into the plywood. Then we removed the sheet and used a pencil to connect the dots. Magically, the patterns were now drawn onto the plywood. On another night we would use a jig-saw to cut them out.

Then, on a cold February night in Dave's garage, we used zip-ties to fasten the pieces together, beginning at the bow, and working toward the stern, connecting the side panels to the bulkheads. The plywood bent to conform to the shape of the bulkheads. For the first time, the stand-up paddleboard, or SUP, began to take shape. Then we inserted the deck stringers into slots over the bulkheads that formed a grid appearance and created a sturdy foundation to support the paddleboard.

Fastening the frame together with zip-ties.

As we plugged along at our project, the craziness of life kept getting in the way. Usually, Wednesday evening was our time set aside to work on the SUP, but it was often trumped by other activities in which we were obliged to participate. As a result, we fell behind in our plan of action.

Using a straight-edge saw to cut strips of cedar.

Christian and Jayden help out at the cabinet shop.

In March we went to a cabinet shop with eight sheets of cedar wood. With the help of one of the workers we started by putting each sheet through a plainer, which took off the surface and made them smoother. Then we ran the sheets through a straight-edge saw, which sliced them into quarter-inch strips. This became a tedious chore as it could only cut one strip at a time, but it sure beat doing it by hand. By the end of the evening we had several strips of cedar wood, each one-inch wide. I will admit that in my limited mind, I wasn't even sure how we would use these, or how they would work into the paddleboards.

Knowing that we were running behind-schedule, Dave spent many hours on his own building the vessels. Where we had used the zip-ties to hold the pieces together, he now used an epoxy made of resin, hardener, and wood flour to truly fasten them. Once glued together, we clipped off the zip-ties.

I was surprised to see how Dave built the deck that would cover the top of the paddleboard. Instead of simply cutting out one piece of plywood and using that as the deck, Dave took several one-inch strips of cedar, intermingled with walnut, placed them side by side, and them glued them together. After cutting it out in the shape of the deck, he reinforced it with a sheet of fiber glass. So, I learned, that the preference to use strips of wood was more for appearance than for practical purpose.

Finally looking like a SUP!

Although Dave was always the mastermind behind the project and did most of the work, the boys were very beneficial in the construction. They cut out pieces, sanded, glued, lifted, and even gave advice. The work went much quicker when they showed up and were able to help.

With only one week left until we embarked on the Green River, our efforts with the paddle board were now doubled. Dave glued the deck, fiber-glass side down, into place on the paddleboard. Working in his backyard with the SUP placed on a picnic table, we used a router to trim the edges, and we sanded the sides and deck. Any blemish, rough spot, or imperfect edge would catch Dave's eye and he would go over it again and again until it was smooth. The one thing I learned about Dave is that he's a perfectionist.

We glued cedar strips to the sides and used finishing nails to hold them in place while they dried. We then covered the entire surface (in stages) with fiber glass, which we brushed with three coats of thin epoxy-resin. Each coat required several hours to dry.

Dave uses a router to trim the edges.

Our original plan was to finish the paddleboard with plenty of time to take them on the lake to make sure they could float. We were beginning to see that we may not have that luxury. Calculating things out in his mind, Dave discovered that the SUP weighed 18 lbs. more than it was supposed to weigh. Instead of being 40 lbs., it weighed 58 lbs. He worried about this, hoping it wouldn't sink in the Green River!

We watched curiously at the CFS of the Green River, which was much higher than normal. A couple of weeks ago the discharge had been as high as 20,000 cubic feet per second, but now fluctuated between 15,000 and 16,000 CFS. A strong current would be good to carry us down the river, but it may not be so good if we were to capsize. It would also flood out many of the good camping spots along the way.

With only two days to go, we were all busy in Dave's backyard. Some of the boys used a jigsaw to cut out paddles from quarter-inch plywood. We would then cover them in fiberglass and screw them onto the end of a PVC pipe and use them as paddles. (Although this was an ingenious idea, the paddles turned out to be too flimsy and we had to scrap the idea.)

Jayden and Tason work on the ill-fated paddles.

We glued together more cedar strips, and then cut them out into the shape of a fin. The fin, after being reinforced with fiberglass, would go on the bottom of the paddleboard.

During this final week, Dave would often wake up at three in the morning to continue work on the SUP. It was to apply another coat of epoxy, or attach the deck, or any of the other works of a craftsman. In the few hours he did sleep, he would dream of the paddleboard, and dream of floating down the river. Good or bad, our river trip consumed his attention.

On our final night before launching, we remained as busy as ants. Now it was loading up food, sleeping bags, life jackets, packs, paddles, chairs, and anything else we might need for the trip. It was now or never, and do-without for four days if we forgot anything.

We borrowed a trailer and T-rack to carry the canoes, kayak and paddleboard. We spent time tying them down and throwing all our bags into the back of Dave's truck.

Inspecting the paddleboard for any imperfection.

Just to make things interesting, one of the boys, Jayden, decided to take a joyride on Dave's backyard zip-line. Without noticing the vehicle that was parked at the end of the run, Jayden slammed into the truck and put an ugly gash into the crown of his head. At first, we thought he had a concussion because he was staggering around like a drunk. We settled him down and looked with horror at the bloody hole in the back of his head. We worried he wouldn't be able to go on the trip with us. His dad came and got him and that night he had three staples placed in the crown of his head. And they gave him the green light to go!

As for the stand-up paddleboard, Dave had glued on the fin, but decided not to varnish it because it would take a couple days to cure. He did a little touch-up work on the nose, but was dismayed when it touched the lawn and blades of Kentucky bluegrass stuck to the wood. No big deal, he said. He would sand it down in the morning. Our plan was to leave at 6 am!  Does he remember that he needs to get some sleep??!!!

Using epoxy-resin to attach fiber glass to the deck.

We met at Dave's house bright and early Wednesday morning. The sun hadn't quite crept over the mountains yet. A pink hue filled the sky, and soon, a golden wave of light poured over the alfalfa fields that surround his house.

All the boys showed up on time and anxious to go. Just 230 miles to drive until we could set our eyes on the Green River.

Dave had been up early working on the stand-up paddleboard, sanding down the nose and drilling a three-quarter inch hole for the plug. It was now ready to sail. The vessel was a piece of art with the cedar and walnut strips, glossy exterior, and the wood bent with the curve of the bow that seemed as perfect as Roman sculpture. Now was time to put it to the test. ♠

Green River Trip, Day 1
Green River Trip, Day 2
Green River Trip, Day 3
Green River Trip, Day 4