Congratulations to our Photography Contest Winners

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With gratitude to all the friends and guests who entered, we are proud to announce that Anton Foltin of Phoenix, AZ is the grand prize winner of the second annual Colorado River and Trail Expeditions photo contest! In addition, Libeth Saenger of Aachen, Germany swept all three people’s choice categories.

Anton’s winning image of Havasu Creek was taken during our 10-day photography workshop trip in the Grand Canyon in May of last year. Libeth captured her popular shots in August on our 12-day Alsek River expedition in Canada and Alaska. For their efforts, Anton will receive a complimentary 8-day Grand Canyon river trip this summer and Libeth will have her choice of our Utah trips. Cheers to our winners and their keen eye for photography!

Havasu Creek, 2015 Photo Contest Winner

Anton Foltin‘s 2015 grand prize-winning photograph. Late afternoon light plays on the blue water of Havasu Creek. Grand Canyon NP, AZ.

Next year, the winner could be YOU!

CRATE’s photo contest begins with our rafting seasons each April and is ongoing throughout the summer. Participants on our trips are encouraged to upload a total of ten of their favorite images to share at www.crateinc.com, and can specify six to be entered into our contest. We offer three categories in which our guests can showcase their talents – “Scenery”, “Guides and Guests”, and “The River” – as well as two ways to win.

The people’s choice winners are the most popular photos in each category. We track the ones that are shared the most and receive the greatest number of “likes” on social media. This year Libeth swept all three categories, but we have room for three photos and three winners here.

 Libeth Saenger’s winning photo in the “scenery” category. Sweeping vista of Lowell Glacier and Lowell Lake, with peaks of the Wrangell-St. Elias Range beyond, taken from the top of Goatherd Mountain. Alsek River, Yukon Territory, Canada.

Libeth Saenger’s winning photo in the “scenery” category. Sweeping vista of Lowell Glacier and Lowell Lake, with peaks of the Wrangell-St. Elias Range beyond, taken from the top of Goatherd Mountain. Alsek River, Yukon Territory, Canada.

The grand prize image is chosen from the total pool of entries by an expert in the realms of river running and photography. This year’s judge was landscape photographer Tom Till, who – in the name of full disclosure – is also my dad. As a professional photographer, he has spent the last 40 years photographing around the world but concentrating on the Southwestern US. During that time he has logged many hours on the river, both as a boatman and a photographer. His gallery in downtown Moab, UT and his website, http://www.tomtill.com, showcase his iconic images of the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon and Canyonlands, as well as images from around the globe. I can say, with only a hint of bias, that he really knows his stuff.

When asked why he chose Anton’s image, Tom said,

“Picking this photo was a tough decision. There were five or six in my final running and any of them could have won. I chose Anton’s for the emotional response it evokes. Many of the photos were very technically sound, so I tend to go with photos that are something I haven’t seen before or take new twist on the landscape. Also, very few pictures capture the true color of the water in Havasu as closely as this one does. The composition is nicely balanced, with a beautiful waterfall and the afternoon reflective light on the walls and in the creek. It’s very close to how I know Havasu to look in reality.”

We are currently finalizing the entry process and prizes for our 2015 photo contest so look for more information here, as well as on our website, about how you can participate this summer.

We want to see the canyon through the diverse and talented eyes of our guests, and share the images of the places we love with fellow river runners. Any and all photos that showcase the beauty, excitement, camaraderie, serenity and awe of a river trip are welcome. The more participants and images the better!

To see the remainder of Libeth’s winning photos along with the rest of the incredible entries we received in 2014, visit www.crateinc.com and click on the “photos” tab at the top of the page.


Bring on the Snow

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I’m learning to ski this winter, and it is a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. It seems like my legs are always on fire as I struggle to hook the edges of my skis into the side of the mountain. They’re on fire when I’m standing in my boots in the parking lot. They’re on fire the next morning when I limp out of bed. Everything about learning to ski is awkward. Just when I think I’ve got it, I wobble and end up spinning like a starfish on my belly. I feel one confident turn for every ten I take. It’s annoying, exciting and humbling to learn something so foreign as an adult.

But learning to ski has given this desert girl a gift I have never fully realized before. Learning to ski in the Wasatch Mountains this season has opened my mind and my heart to of the beauty and wonder of snow. As a river guide, I’ve always known conceptually that snow feeds everything else I love to do, but this winter I’m turning that concept into a connection that I appreciate more than ever.

I have been lucky enough to experience precisely two “powder days” this winter, where the expanses of bottomless new-fallen snow look almost too pristine to play in. But I am beginning to understand how nothing could keep me out of them either – not fog, not cold, not work. I am able to understand an obsession I have only observed until now. I haven’t fully cultivated my personal relationship with the snow just yet, but I know that my love lies partly in standing at the top of a sparkling slope, high above the populace in the valley. It has to do with feeling a cold breeze brush my face at the same time my warm, worked heart is beating beneath all my layers. And yes, it has to do with the one good turn in ten, which is shockingly but certainly worth the effort of all the others.

Still, I think my obsession is shaping up to be a little different from that of the die-hard powder seekers. My bond with the snow is less about adrenaline and more about appreciation. It’s about perspective. Never has it been so clear that this precious powder is the direct lifeline for the other obsessions in my life: deserts and the rivers that course through them.

The headwaters of the Colorado River lie in Northeastern Colorado in the Rocky Mountains where the entire river is a stream running through a meadow. I’ve hopped across it. The Green River’s water comes from the remote Wind River Mountains in Wyoming. I’m aware that not much of the water in either hail from the Wasatch Range where I’ve been skiing, but I feel the connection nonetheless.

When I’m falling and flailing through deep powder I know that this moisture is infinitely precious to my way of life and the places I love. With any luck the white stuff I’ve been wallowing in on skis will continue to accumulate this winter and then slowly begin to melt come spring. Then I’ll get to experience it all over again it runs from the high country to the lowlands, through my favorite rapids and past my dearest hiking spots. I’ll get to sleep on a raft gently tugged by the current as the melt rushes by, and wake up each morning to the sound of the river bouncing off the banks.

As of yesterday the National Water and Climate Center’s snow reporting sites for the Colorado River Basin above Lake Powell were reporting snowpack at 87% of average. The Green River Basin was reporting 100% of average. That may sound pretty good, but compare those numbers to the snowpack in 2011, the most recent high water year for the Green and Colorado Rivers. At this time in 2011 the Green River basin was reporting 137% of average snowfall and the Colorado basin was at 149%. Considering how low lakes Powell and Mead have become over the last decade, we can always use more of the magic white stuff.

Luckily, we still have time left in this winter – time for snow to fall and for me to fall into it. Many of the things I do and the places I love hinge on how much snow is gifted to our highlands each winter. As it continues to fall, at least here in Utah, I am thankful today but always wishing for more.


Flowers of the Canyon Country

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As the winter months bring snow and rain to the Canyon Country, the red desert sand becomes moist and fertile for the plants that find home here. With the warming spring temperatures, the landscape opens, bursting with colors to attract pollinators in hopes for reproduction. While some plants bloom consistently from year to year, others lay dormant waiting for abnormally wet seasons. Other opportunistic species bloom throughout the season, on a larger-than-seasonal cycle. Often times a strong monsoon season will find conditions prime for a fall bloom more spectacular than the spring. For those traveling downstream on a river trip, the following flowers might be spotted while drifting by on the boat or while hiking in side canyons.

Prince’s Plume

Stanleya pinnata MUSTARD FAMILY

Reaching heights of 4 feet tall, this yellow flowering plant blooms from the base up. Prince’s Plume thrives in soil rich in selenium, which gets transported by pollinating insects and can accumulate to toxic levels higher in the food chain. The Native Americans would mash up the roots to treat aches and pains.

IMG_2757One of my favorite places to see Prince’s Plume bloom is in Cataract Canyon camping at Little Bridge Canyon on high water trips. There, the top heavy blooms nod in the evening breeze on cool May nights.

Crimson Monkeyflower

Mimulus cardinalis SNAPDRAGON FAMILY

Usually found in shady side canyons next to springs or streams, the Monkeyflower blooms throughout the summer months. In Grand Canyon there are 7 different species closely related and nearly impossible to differentiate without the blooming flower.

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Some of the most spectacular places to see Crimson Monkeyflowers are found hiking to waterfalls in Grand Canyon. Hiking up Saddle Canyon and back to the narrowing V of the canyon, Monkeyflowers can be seen growing thick along the water’s edge. Thunder River falls is another place Monkeyflowers thrive, where the mist of the cascading water creates a moist environment even under the direct desert sun.

Golden Columbine

Aquilegia chrysantha BUTTERCUP FAMILY

Often found growing next to Crimson Monkeyflowers, Columbine grow in less dense populations in shady canyons next to water. Like Monkeyflowers, there are 7 similar species in Grand Canyon blooming with a variety of colors. Because the nectar is stored deep inside of the flower, its main pollinators are butterflies with long proboscises and hummingbirds. Bees with short proboscises will often bite through the flower to get to the nectar and avoid the task of pollination.

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Rounding the bend to the falls in Saddle Canyon, in the narrowest spot between canyon walls is where you can see 3 different species of Columbine bloom. In red, pink and yellow, the backward facing spurs stand tall to the sky, hoping for butterflies not bees.

Century Plant

Agave utahensis AGAVE FAMILY

Once thought to grow for a hundred years before blooming, botanists now know that the Century Plant blooms after 20-40 years before dying. Stems extending underground called rhizomes can clone the next generation next to the mother plant. The flowering stock can shoot up 15 feet into the sky, the climax after a long life in the desert.

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While hiking to the top of the Redwall layer of limestone through the Eminence Fault break from the eminence camp, Century Plants appear as candlesticks in the fading afternoon light. One Grand Canyon river trip participant informed me that the post-flowering stalk of the Century Plant makes a good walking stick because it is light in weight, rigid and strong.

Globemallow

Sphaeralcea grossulariifolia MALLOW FAMILY

Thriving after rainy seasons, Globemallow can be seen blooming both in spring and fall on talus slopes along the river. Seen in shades of reds and oranges, 10 different species of Globemallow can be seen in Grand Canyon. Because hybridization is common, differentiating between species can be difficult. Native Americans harvest the roots and make a sticky pulp in cold water to treat stomach pain and diarrhea. Globemallow can also be made into a tea that finds soothing effects.

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Driving to the put-in for Desolation Canyon in the spring feels like driving through an ocean of orange Globemallow blooms. Often opportunistic, Globemallow thrive within disturbed landscapes, lining the highways dissecting the desert Southwest. Hiking to the Doll’s House on a Cataract Canyon is a spectacular site to see globemallows bloom among other wildflowers.

Sacred Datura

Datura wrightii NIGHTSHADE FAMILY

Also called Moonflower, Sacred Datura blooms at night and tends to whither in direct sunlight. Because of heavy concentrations of toxic alkaloids found in the leaves, contact with the plant can cause fatal hallucinations. Hawk moths are the Datura’s main pollinator, and form a symbiotic relationship. Because of their extended proboscis, the Hawk moth can extract pollen from deep inside the flower. Hawk moth larvae feed on the alkaloid-rich leaves making them toxic to predators.

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One of my favorite places to see Sacred Datura is hiking through the winding narrows of 75 mile canyon above Nevills Rapid. The tall, vertical walls of Shinamu Quartzite provide enough shade to protect the flower from shriveling up throughout the day. Looking at the shapes formed by the Datura Flower, its impossible not to think about the artwork of Georgia O’Keeffe.

-Ben

Who can identify the following desert wildflowers? Feel free to post your answers in the comment section below.

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Source:

River and Desert Plants of the Grand Canyon. Kristin Huisinga, Lori Makarick, Kate Watters. Mountain Press Publishing Company, 2006.


Cathedral in the Desert

Cathedral of the Desert The following is an excerpt from my thesis written for the Environmental Humanities graduate program at the University of Utah, where I graduated in 2012.

Finding Grandpa’s picture in that place was my first clue that he had been there before me. But at the time I floated within the walls of the drowned Cathedral in the Desert, and took my own picture, Grandpa’s ghost was just 4 years old and 40 feet underwater. “Cathedral in the Desert, 17 September 1965, Clear Creek- Escalante Canyon before Lake Powell got to it. But the Reeder boys got there before Lake Powell did,” read the caption written in cursive ballpoint pen. In the picture was my dad and one of his brothers running around an alcove rimmed with maidenhair ferns fed with falling water. The towering, curving walls looked as if they would close out sunlight, except for the few minutes of noonday sun. While most of Grandpa’s pictures I found were black and white, this was an exception, revealing shades of green rarely seen in the desert. My photo in color film looked monochromatic, taken 42 years later.Cathedral of the Desert 2007

In my picture, the Cathedral was half buried up to the lip of the waterfall, even with a reservoir stricken with a decade of drought. An 80-foot thick, dull-white bleach zone marked the high point of the reservoir and dissected the contrast of red rock with streaking tapestries of desert varnish in blacks and browns. This was an important event on my journey, one that revealed currents in the river to follow. To see these canyons, these tributaries leading to the main stem of the Colorado River as my grandpa did, would be to witness a world of balance between humanity and the world that sustains us. I would learn that the question I was pursuing was not what I am willing to die for, but what I am willing to live for….

In April 2012, I drove the Hayduke to the Cathedral in the Desert to see how the high water of 2011 had reburied this reemerging icon. As I motored into the Cathedral, I barely recognized the canyon from just 5 years before. The elevation of the reservoir had risen 35 feet from when I was here in 2007, to 3,636 feet above sea level. Where I motored, the paradise Grant captured in 1965 lay 80 feet below me. I motored around the bend and around the next, and tied off to a chock rock exposed at the top of the second waterfall all but buried.

IMG_4955 I camped that night up-canyon of the Cathedral, and did what Grant would have done– I marveled at the beauty of what was left. Beyond the black waters of the stagnant canyon, restoration is thriving in shades of green moss, maidenhair fern, and electric cottonwoods. The bleached zone on the canyon wall was dissected with fresh desert varnish, streaking down in vibrant contrast. 3,557. This is the elevation at which the Cathedral stands in full glory.

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Through these drought years I think about what’s happening in Glen Canyon. It seems that since 2002 the water levels have fluctuated around 50% capacity. I go to www.lakepowell.water-data.com to see how far the Cathedral lies underwater, waiting for the day it dries out. Today the reservoir is just over 100 feet below capacity, 48% full. This means that the water covering the bottom of the Cathedral is 41 feet thick. I feel very ambivalent about high water years. While a thick snowpack means big water in Cataract, I know all that water going downstream stops in Lake Powell and reburies places that have reemerged. Over the last decade I have returned to the Cathedral in the Desert to see the progress of restoration, of the natural processes that carved these canyon walls reclaimed. And what I see is the dead zone of the reservoir ebb and flow between these arcing walls. With our changing climate I know that it is inevitable that this place will return. The Cathedral in the Desert remains an icon that represents the beauty of a special place lost, but also the fragility of providing water in the arid west that so many people depend on. To witness this reemergence is to realize a world where we as humans find balance between growth, progress, and the beauty of the natural world that also sustains us. This is the world I hope to share with my children.

-Ben

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A Brief Tour of National Parks in Thailand

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAI recently returned from Thailand where we spent time exploring some of the National Parks. While there are many differences between the National Parks in Thailand compared to the United States, the experience found me reflecting on the positives and the negatives of the Parks in both places. While Thailand is only three fourths the size of the state of Texas there are 127 different National Parks, compared to just 59 National Parks in the United States. The Park Service was first created in the U.S. in 1916 with Yellowstone as the first park. Thailand created its Park Service in 1961 with Khau Yai as the first park. So why the discrepancy in numbers?

Size does matter. The largest National Park in the U.S. is the Wrangle St. Elias N.P. in Alaska, covering an area of over 13,000 square miles. Thailand’s biggest is Kaeng Krachan N.P. covering 1,125 square miles, close to the size of Yosemite National Park- the 16th largest park in the U.S. The parks we visited had a much different feel. Instead of visiting a swath of protected land, in Thailand we found pockets of special places protected from already busy tourists areas.

In Krabi province we hiked to a lagoon. Just outside of Railey beach we found the trail that went straight up the mountain, and back down into the innards of this peninsula peak. This hike made Grand Canyon hiking seem easy! The trail was only maintained with old ropes to help navigate vertical rock sections and very slippery mud. One group we passed was tying in with ropes and harness. When we got to the lagoon we had the place to ourselves. Wading into the center of the green pool we found ourselves surrounded by a vertical forest, with verdant plant life growing out of the limestone cliffs and closing out all but a circle of sunlight above. It felt like we had stumbled into an unknown paradise. There where no placards along the way, no steps cut or built into the trail, no improvements constructed to frame our perception of this place.

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Nearby Diamond Cave was another National Park site that had a much different feel. This was the only place that had an entrance fee, all of $1. It reminded me of a mini version of Lehman’s Cave in Great Basin National Park in Nevada. Although we were only allowed to see a tiny fraction of the cave, similar infrastructure had been built to protect the fragility of the stalactites and stalagmites. Unlike the mandatory cave tour in Great Basin, we were free to explore the fenced section on our own.

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Next we went to the Than Sadet National Park on the island of Koh Phangan. We passed a small visitors center with no entrance fee and walked up to a waterfall. The one sign that we saw told us we were looking at a waterfall named Phang Noi, a small fall sliding down a sliver of rock in the jungle.

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Up the trail was a larger falls, and the path turned into a scramble. Like the lagoon there were no improvements, just a trail through jungle and up rock, reaching an amazing viewpoint.

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I appreciated the experience of exploring National Parks in Thailand. It felt more raw, less developed. I felt that it gave me freedom to interpret the landscape through my own lens. But I also felt that these parks were somewhat dirty. It made me appreciate the parks at home, where these special places are well taken care of. In Thailand we saw a lot of trash along the way, wrappers dropped and broken sandals laid victim of challenging terrain. I think that the best way to view our National Parks here in the U.S. is to get off the paved trail, get away from the signs and improvements and get on the river. To travel down the river through Canyonlands, Grand Canyon and Glacier Bay, is the best way to really see wild places in pristine conditions.     -Ben


Remembering Martin Litton

DSCN0156   From the Green River to the Redwood Forest to the Grand Canyon, Martin Litton was unapologetically dedicated to the defense of wilderness in the American West. As a journalist and a boatman he was openly passionate and sometimes downright angry, critically weighing in on some of the region’s most contested environmental battles. Litton’s efforts achieved lasting results, not only setting him apart as one of the most respected and effective conservationists to date, but propelling the environmental movement into mainstream consciousness as well. He was an accomplished outdoorsman, river running legend, Grand Canyon outfitter and an integral protector of the wild places he loved. Litton died Sunday at his home in Palo Alto, CA, at the age of 97.

Litton fell in love with wilderness as a teenager when he and a friend rented burros and spent 12 days climbing Mt. Whitney in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. He was a pilot in World War II before tackling environmental issues as a journalist for the Los Angels Times, Sunset Magazine and as board member of the Sierra Club. His work eventually landed him on a Grand Canyon river trip and he was immediately hooked. He founded a river company called Grand Canyon Dories and ran commercial river trips in the small wooden boats until the mid 1980’s, all the while continuing the outspoken activism that he had become know for.

Though he spearheaded campaigns that turned the tables in numerous environmental battles, one of Litton’s most recognized accomplishments is his contribution to the defeat of two proposed dams on the Colorado River within the Grand Canyon. By publicizing the government’s plans for the dams, scrutinizing their research and writing about their process, he helped bring the nation’s focus to the Grand Canyon like never before. He nearly single-handedly convinced the budding Sierra Club to take on the cause of the Grand Canyon and he used his own boats and skills as a boatman to row the dam’s most powerful proponent through the corridor of the canyon itself. Ultimately, Litton was instrumental in convincing politicians and the public alike of the Grand Canyon’s intrinsic value as an untouched wonder and irreplaceable national treasure. The Sierra Club’s anti-dam campaign eventually led to the defeat of both Grand Canyon dams in the critical months just before the project would have been finalized, eventually flooding parts of the Grand Canyon and changing it forever.

Here is author Kevin Fedarko’s telling description of Litton addressing a board meeting of the Sierra Club in 1963 at the Jack London Hotel in Oakland, CA. In this excerpt form Fedarko’s book, The Emerald Mile, Litton implores the club to take up the fight against the Marble and Bridge Canyon dams.

 “He began by declaring that it didn’t make a hoot of difference that the canyon might not look any different from the top if the dams were put in. The river was the essence of the place, its heart—the thing that had not only carved and shaped the rock but also sustained the unique and fragile ecosystem at the bottom. If the river were dammed, the spirit of that place would vanish, and what replaced it would be a poor substitute: a pair of stagnant reservoirs whose surfaces would endlessly and noisily be crisscrossed by powerboats and houseboats and water-skiers.

What this amounted to, Litton continued, was the annulment of a space whose value resided not in the fact that it was accessible, but rather in that it was isolated and untrammeled. Indeed, access to the masses was the very thing that would destroy what made the place so precious by canceling out those elements that the canyon now possessed in abundance—the silence, the solitude, and the fact that it was so implacably cut off from the rest of the world. Those qualities were as fragile as a little wooden boat, and as Roosevelt’s words clearly implied, the willingness to nurture and protect such treasures amounted to a national test of character, as well as a covenant with future generations of Americans. A test that the Interior Department and the Bureau of Reclamation had demonstrably failed. Inside the canyon, Litton thundered, Interior and Reclamation are interlopers, and we don’t have to surrender to their scheme because the place doesn’t belong to them. It’s our canyon. It’s our national park.

As for the idea that the government was too big and powerful to confront head-on, Litton’s contempt was scathing. Of course it will be an uphill battle, he said. Of course our resources are limited and our numbers are few. But in God’s name, how can anyone in this room look themselves in the mirror if we don’t resolve to go after this with everything we’ve got?

 Historians often minimize or discount the impact that any one individual can have on human destiny—and for good reason. Given the broad tides in the affairs of men, and the complexity of the forces that shape and change history, it is almost always a mistake to ascribe too much significance to the actions of a single person. But even the most jaded observer can concede that, every now and then, a man or woman steps up to the plate and takes a mighty swing that clears the bases and fundamentally changes the game. In the Jack London Hotel that morning, this is what Litton achieved.”

 To read more about Litton’s life, his work and his lasting impact on the conservation movement and river running, check out the links below.

http://www.latimes.com/local/obituaries/la-me-martin-litton-20141202-story.html#page=1

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2014/12/141202-grand-canyon-dams-colorado-river-martin-litton-conservation/


Giving Thanks

On Thanksgiving Day, when it comes time to truly tally all that fills my world with joy, it is impossible not to include my life as a river guide. Though I’m grateful each time I look over my shoulder at a rapid safely navigated or emerge from a hike into a hidden side canyon oasis, this time of year I welcome the opportunity to reflect on the unmistakable elements of my life outdoors that make it so darn full. Here are just a few:

Today I am thankful for wild places; any wild place, all wild places, untouched as they can be by the long reach of our industrial human hand. A place where it is possible to find solitude, to sit in silence or to observe the natural processes of this incredible Earth, is a place to be grateful for in my book.

I feel this gratitude when I’m hiking by myself, but not completely alone, listening to the playful chatter of a family of Ravens. When I lie down at the end of a long day beneath an infinitely dark sky filled with the crisp glitter of stars beyond stars, I cherish places removed from floodlights, stoplights, even my own porch light. After I’ve happened upon a herd of Desert Bighorn sheep, a dozen of them huddled atop one crumbling boulder, or a rattlesnake barely decipherable from the cactus its tangled among, I am a gracious visitor in their habitats. I am thankful for the a lone Gray Wolf who recently made her way 450 miles to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, sparking the possibility that her species could return there someday after a 70-year absence.

Today I’ll toast the rugged, remote, untouched, undiscovered corners of the Earth and the need for them among all of our modern distractions.

I am also thankful for the organizations and individuals who fight for protection of wilderness and how we use get to use it. It seems I read about a new assault on a sacred place almost daily and am disheartened to think about it being irreversibly or unnecessarily altered. Still, it is also often that I meet and hear inspiring stories about people who persist in the fight to protect open spaces.

Currently, the dedicated activists at The Grand Canyon Trust and Save the Confluence are working to dismantle a development proposal that would place a tramway and snack bar at confluence of the Little Colorado River in the Grand Canyon. The Canyonlands Watershed Council and the Sierra Club are fighting fracking and natural gas drilling operations that are already underway on the borders of Canyonlands National Park. The Grand Canyon, the Book Cliffs, Utah’s Canyon Country and Alaska, the spectacular landscapes in which we work and play, in are constantly threatened by encroaching civilization. Thankfully there have been and continue to be explorers, writers, artists, activists, politicians and every-day people who take on the well-being of wilderness as their own. It is not easy and not often gratifying. I praise their energy and dedication.

Finally, I am eternally appreciative of the CRATE family and my place in it. I’m talking owners, guides, guests, friends, guests-turned-friends, drivers, allies, pioneers, legends, cronies, everyone. This company is tight-knit and we are all better for it. Along with being fortunate to wake up at the bottom of a canyon most mornings, I am lucky to spend my days exploring with folks who have become my closest friends. On each trip I am supported by the curiosity, kindness and team spirit of the CRATE crew. Laughing and living with them and having the opportunity to do the work we do as guides is a privilege.

Our crew is as diverse and talented as our clients, who are an exemplary bunch as well. Every day on the river offers me something new to learn. Whether I’m getting details about being a tugboat captain on the Mississippi River or spending the afternoon listening to a 14-year-old’s perspective on life in the Netherlands, I am able to show people a special part of the world and they are able to show a special part of it to me.

I am thankful for the relationships and the set of skills I have acquired over course of thirteen seasons that allow me to spend time with such vibrant people and have a part in this exchange.

So today, as much as ever, I am grateful that I get to be a river guide and that I am able to spend time in spectacular remote places with genuine people with which to share them. Happy Thanksgiving to river runners and wilderness enthusiasts everywhere. We are quite a lucky bunch. Cheers! – Mikenna

Yucca bloom in the Maze, Canyonlands, NP.

Yucca bloom in the Maze, Canyonlands, NP.


Going Down Big- Cataract 2011

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The snowpack in the mountains of Utah in June, 2011 were 420% of average. The guides at Colorado River and Trail Expeditions knew that they were about to witness the Colorado River in flood stages that nobody had seen in nearly 30 years. In fact, the boatmen that were running the river in 1983 and 1984 were still talking about how big the water was in Cataract Canyon. The stories were told over and over again to the point where newer guides would reenact these legendary boatman by putting their hands on their hips, puffing their chest out just a bit and stare off into the imaginary distance with a voice full of reverence say, “back in ’83…” The truth was that we all just wanted our own stories to tell, to know just what it felt like to be confronted by waves like the Red Wall, standing a boat up vertically.

So when we saw the snowpack data, and how it just continued to stack up in the spring instead of melt down into the rivers, we knew that there was potential for the water to get even bigger than anyone had ever seen before. We started to get ready, with newly acquired aluminum frames to run in our 35 foot long Leyland S-Rigs, fired up the motors and packed out the first trip. It was the beginning of June, and Cataract hadn’t yet reached its average peak flow of 50,000 cubic feet of water per second. When the big flows would boil down between the big canyon walls was anyone’s guess, but it was known that the cycle would begin just 3 days after the first sun-burn days of summer. Rigging the boats at the ramp we felt the first trails of sweat dripping down our backs and we knew the Rockies were melting.IMG_4042We were on a four-day motor trip, so we had plenty of time to hike side canyons to waterfalls and ancient Native American cultural sites. At Little Bridge Canyon we camped at my favorite high- water campsite, with Prince’s Plume, nodding off at the end of its bloom. 4 feet-high candlesticks, these members of the mustard family found root in the soils of this ledgy camp.

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By the time we pushed off, the water had risen past the top of the main ledge and we knew the rapids were getting bigger down below. At Brown Betty Beach, the sand was buried, up past the base of the Tamarisk at the very top of the beach. We stopped for lunch. And while our group was eating Mexican salad wraps, we called out on the satellite phone to the Colorado Basin River Forecast Center to find out what kind of flow we were looking at. 67,000 cfs. None of the boatman here had quiet seen this much water before and the intensity of the situation seemed to escalate. We cleaned up lunch, not eating much ourselves, and pushed off. Brown Betty Rapid seemed monstrous- if this is what class III looked like- we were in for a big day. When we got to rapid 7, the North Seas, and the haystacks stacked up, feeling like Hermit Rapid on steroids!

Capsize and Mile Long Rapids made us feel like we were running a completely different river. Our normal rock-monolith markers were now buried deep, and creating ferocious hydraulics. Our big boats flexed in the troughs, absorbed breaking waves and extended through the maelstrom up into the desert sky. It felt like a wild roller coaster, yet the boats felt surprisingly stable. At Big Drop II we stopped to scout and decided to go right down the middle.IMG_4107

At this water level there was no gap between where the Ledge Wave lies, and the chaos from Little Niagara- today they met and formed the Red Wall. We motored in at full cob, and I’ll never forget the sensation of climbing, climbing, climbing, and the pure exhilaration of cresting the wave, and falling back down the backside. Repeat customer and friend of CRATE Lina Berman filmed the following video from the front of the boat, and when she saw the Red Wall Wave approaching, she dropped her camera to hold on with both hands.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3g2UKLLdv8

This crux of the canyon lasted but a few seconds, and while we knew there were more big waves to run below, the biggest were now behind us. The excitement and thrill from this day left an impression in my mind over the last few years. We saw nearly 80,000 cfs that summer, with the river peaking at 89,000 cfs. It did not get bigger than the high water seasons of 1983 and 1984 where it got over 100,000 cfs, but it was high water for much longer. The slower winter run-off related to above average peak flows of 50,000 cfs for over 60 days. That’s 2 months of high water compared to the average peak day of high flow. And the next generation of boatmen did have stories to tell, enough to have rookie boatmen rolling their eyes now when we talk about 2011.

Of course, not everyone is looking for the craziest ride of their life. When the water drops, as it usually does in late June, July and August, the beaches we camp on can stretch on for nearly a mile. The way that high water flows deposit fresh sand on the banks gives you the feeling that nobody has ever been there before. And with just 5,000 people traveling down Cataract Canyon a season, (compared to 25,000 in Grand Canyon) you just might not see anyone else at all. Cataract Canyon always holds some sort of mystic in my mind. As the winter approaches I watch the snowpack to see what kind or runoff next spring will bring. Whether its big water or big beaches, wild flowers or slot canyons, the river running through Canyonlands has something amazing to share.DSC_0436


Flash flood at Redbud.

IMG_2067The desert air darkened with thick clouds that moments before could not be seen through the walls of a canyon a mile deep. The August heat suddenly gone, shifting as fast as the moods of the people as fast as blackened pillows blocking the sun. In what normally is a peaceful part of the canyon began to feel threatening. The monsoon that would open up would last about 35 minutes, thoroughly soaking through every piece of clothing- rain jacket or not- where five miles upstream and downstream was as dry as the desert ever was.

Two distinct images remain poignant to me. The first when the people huddling under the draping drenched rain fly peeled their dripping heads away from the canvas and saw the thousand foot waterfalls pouring red mud off the rim and realized this might not be so bad.IMG_2070

As they emerged from their wounded tent pile they saw the unnaturally green river swirl red like blood taken from hundreds of sources along the vein, the Colorado River.IMG_2071
The second was when I walked away from the small beach camp called “Brower’s Bower”, named for David Brower who’s efforts in part prevented the Marble Canyon Dam that would have inundated this part of Grand Canyon, and walked into Red Bud Alcove. I had been here before when it looked like it usually does, an overhanging dry fall.IMG_1901

I crossed the stream and entered the short box canyon into a froth of thick moisture. The falls fell furiously, in some sort of hurry, and upon hitting the streambed pushed and rolled boulders toward the main artery. IMG_2066I could see that this was how rapids form. Inside the alcove the noise of the water intensified as the volume of water increased. Feeling the power of that place in that moment taught me the extremes of this canyon. IMG_2069Where thirty minutes prior the 115-degree temperature was sucking moisture out of my skin, now the water pounding my body felt like the verge of implosion.IMG_2068

And then it stopped. The rain first, the Arizona monsoon clouds empty. Then the water running together collecting the red sand down the slopes above and over the rim to the river, it slowed and stopped. All that red mud, changing the river to blood, went downstream like it has for six million years. Downstream. Back to green, the color of the water of the bottom of the reservoir named Powell. Time to cook burgers beans and brats for the hungry wet people.


Larry Stevens–River Map and Guide

Order this book from the our River Journeys Store!  
LarryStevensGrandCanyonGuide
Larry Stevens recently released his updated guide to The Colorado River in the Grand Canyon.  The guide is in full color and includes a map of the river similar to the Belknap River Guide.  River miles in the book correspond to the most recent USGS-GCMRC measurements.  Rapid ratings are based in order of four water levels:  Very Low(1,000-3,000 cfs), Low (3,000-9,000 cfs), Medium (9,000-16,000 cfs) and High (16,000-35,000 cfs).  The guide also includes camps that are commonly used and a sun and shade diagram that lets boaters know about when the shade will hit in the afternoon, and when the sunlight will hit the camp in the morning.

In addition to the river map the book is full of useful information about Geography, Geology, Human History, Biology, and Ecology.  Larry Stevens has a PhD in Zoology, and is a natural historian and river runner with 35 years engaged in ecological research in the American Southwest.

The Geography Section of the book engages the reader by introducing the Colorado Plateau region and explaining Spatial Scale.  A graph showing the average daily temperature and mean monthly precipitation is also included in this section.The section finishes up with some bleak predictions for the Colorado River because of Climate Change.

The Geology Section of the guide is very in depth and will keep the novice and seasoned geologist intrigued with its great diagrams and in depth information.  The geology section includes a diagram of geologic stratigraphy of the Grand Canyon, Landscape evolution paleographic illustrations by Ron Blakey, and a River Basin Development diagram.

The human history timeline of the Grand Canyon is another highlight of the book.  This timeline starts with the Paleoindian Period and ends at present day.  Find when Georgie White first experienced the river and when Verlen Kruger did the first non-motorized up run through the Grand Canyon.

The Biology and Ecology section has a lot of great information and pictures of the flora and fauna of the area.  It is especially interesting to see photos of all of the native fish of the Colorado River and read about the challenges they face.

Colorado River & Trail Expeditions just got a new shipment of these books.  To order this new guidebook for the Grand Canyon and the Colorado River just visit the new Colorado River & Trail Expeditions Store.