My eyes tear up every time I look up at the canyon walls to say my silent goodbye. I sit alone in Camp Cicada while the others are eating breakfast, laughing a bit too loudly, muffling their own feelings in outward jocularity. I hear a canyon wren sing its silly song; it sounds like a firecracker fizzling out.
07:30. After a final group photo, we get on the motor-rig and cast off.
08:40. At the sight of the jet boat passing us going upriver to pick up the 8-dayers, everyone becomes a little more somber.
09:25. Mile 254. Sight the first seagulls from Lake Mead.
09:30. Change boats and say our last goodbyes to our great crew. At the big bend in the river below Burnt Spring Canyon.
10:30. Reach Lake Mead. The channel opens and the water changes colr from its familiar reddish brown to a deep emerald green. The water coming off the lake feels cool, even though we still in full sunlight.
11:10. After we transfer our belongings into clear garbage bags, to pass the Homeland Security inspection at Hoover Dam, our bus pulls away from Pearce Ferry.
Our first brush with civilization, such as it is, is Dolan Springs, Arizona. Civilization, in this case, being defined by the availability of cold drinks, ice cream, and flush toilets. Dolan Springs is one of those places that makes me wonder what drives people to live out in the middle of nowhere only to surround themselves with other people living in shabby trailer homes?
01:30. We cross Hoover Dam into Nevada. Even though Arizona is on Mountain Time and Nevada is on Pacific Time, it's 1:30 in both states. That's because Arizona refuses to switch to daylight savings time during the summer.
From the hotel drop-off, we take a taxi to my parent's house. Here we are, unwashed after 14 days and carrying our belongings in five clear garbage bags. The taxi driver can't contain himself. "So what's with the garbage bags?"
Sure, that night we slip our freshly-washed bodies between smooth clean sheets. But when we lie on our backs and look up, there are no stars.
Would I do it again? Absolutely. I didn't want to leave. I didn't return to a life where the ordinary seemed so small and trivial. If the Grand Canyon makes a person feel small, the compensation is that you also feel a part of the whole. And that is larger than the trivial pursuits of this other life.
I hadn't thought about making a second trip. This one was such a "trip of a lifetime" that I never considered doing it again. And, having gone through with it, I've become more interested in exploring new places that I really hadn't considered before. So when Allen mentioned that our group was unusual because this was the first dory trip for everyone. (John had been through the canyon a couple of times, but on rafts.) He added that most people liked their second trip the least. The memories of their first trip colored their expectations with rosy tints that could not be realized. I know I wouldn't want to miss the Deer Creek hike or have to share the Motor Pool at Havasu with 40 other raft riders. And what if we didn't stop at my favorite campsites, or they'd been washed away, or someone else go them?
Although all those things could be disappointing, having worked through them ahead of time, I don't think they would bother me. There is so much more to see than what we saw. You can't really see the Grand Canyon again any more than you can put your foot in the same river twice (or even once, as Allen pointed out). The Grand Canyon is not a place as much as it's a process.
Because of the type of person I am, because I like to know the context and parameters of an experience, I think I would enjoy my second trip as much, if not more. I enjoy a book more the second time because once the plot is resolved, I can pay attention to plot and character development and to the way the book is written. And it's the same for movies. When I study these photographs, I see things that I missed in the hurried action of the time. I want to go back and really look at them. I wonder, why didn't I explore more? Oh yeah, it was so hot that all I wanted to do was sit still in any spot of shade. So there are things I'd do differently. Now that I have a rough feeling for the scope, I think I could pay more attention to the details.
