We go downriver only about a mile and pull in at Blacktail Canyon to look at the Great Unconformity. Even for us geologically-impaired members of the troop, the small and narrow canyon is impressive.
We pull over for lunch above Stone Creek on a miserable spit of sand baking in the sun. There is no beach. We find a bit of shade to huddle in, but it is very hot. After lunch, Chuck tells us to wet our shirts. Then it's hikers, ho! I'm still exhausted from yesterday and the sun saps the last of my energy. So I walk only to the first waterfall and rest there with Hawk, Pat, and Allen. After drenching myself in the waterfall, and cooling down enough to have goosebumps, I find a little spot of shade under a ledge next to the creek and nap.
I wonder how long adventure group is going to take, because I have to pee. We aren't supposed to pee in the sidecreeks and I can't imagine walking all the way down to the river again and back up. And staying here by the waterfall is so much nicer than sitting in the sun by the river. AJM returns at last and says that it was hotter than our clothes-dryer. "My shirt should have a warning label: do not place in dryer or wear in Arizona."
Nature is being insistent now and I hike down to the river behind Amy, as fast as I've ever hiked. We both bare our bottoms and squat in the river and grin at each other. I don't think I've ever peed with a woman before. It's strange isn't it that men pee together at urinals, but women don't. I think again about the scene in Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, where eating is considered shameful, but the equivalent of dinner parties are held for elimination. Why is one bodily function shared and the other hidden away?
As I mentioned, the rule is to pee in the river (but not any of the side creeks). If we all peed on the ground in the campsites or near the trails, the Grand Canyon would smell like a litter box that hasn't been emptied. For men, peeing in the river is an easy unzip of the fly. Times like this make you wonder if the real reason that women used to wear skirts is to make it easier to squat. Wearing shorts you can either slip them down to your knees, squat, and moon the public. Or you can wade waist-deep into the water, pee through your clothes, and then rinse them out. Generally, the women in our group chose the former, searching for some sheltering brush or reeds. If there were none, then we'd duck down behind one of the dories. I'm glad I had two years practice with squat toilets in Japan.
Now in the Granite Narrows, good campsites are scarce. The crew wants to camp close to Deer Creek, so that we can start the hike there early tomorrow morning when it is still cool and before it is overrun with other groups. Our campsite is small, but with a lot of tamarisk to screen each site. There isn't room for the two of us together, but we can sleep head to head. SAM is across the path next to the river. His site overlooks an excellent bath-deep pool for washing ringed with large flat rocks.
I'm well-rested after my long nap and feeling more sociable. Pat and John and I gather at Hawk's campsite, near the kitchen. We eat dinner together. As people are lingering over dessert, I decide I must have a photograph of the sunset. I go to get my camera and hear scuffling and rocks sliding. For a moment I think that SAM has climbed up the wall and fallen. As I turn to look I see a large rock fall and bounce toward the water where Colby, Frankie, Nancy and Nan are having their dessert. Bighorn sheep are scrambling on the narrow ledge above us sending another splatter of rocks into camp. Everyone starts shouting at once. No one is hurt. The group by the river all rolled out of the way in time. Hawk, whose sleeping back is littered with fist-sized rocks, had just gotten up for another beer.
