Ramblings of a Colorado River Guide

By Joe Ballent

It’s raining on Tavaputs again.

The sleepy plateau is majestically cloaked in clouds, rain, and shadow, a stark contrast to the burning orb beating down like, as Ed Abbey would say, a white scream. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and the sand out of my hair, ready for another sunny day in Green River, Utah. A quick trip through the kitchen and across the boatyard grants me another breathtaking view of the high desert, and I find myself reflecting on past summers, this gorgeous country, the great people I work with, and what it really means to be out here.

It is May of 2008, and I walk out of the Salt Lake airport to meet the Holiday Driver known only as Bossi. Bossi is a man shrouded in mystery, and bears a reputation to be feared. In a voice that can only be heard, not described, Bossi introduces himself to me as a ‘fifth year rookie,’ and we begin our drive through a full-blown blizzard to arrive in Green River. My first experience as a Holiday employee is having blocks of bacon thrown at me by our boss and ‘summer dad,’ Tim Gaylord. So begins a journey of epic proportions.

It is a pitch black night, probably in June, and I am driving back from Moab with Leland around midnight. A relentless lightning storm is tearing apart the sky like paper, illuminating the landscape with each brilliant flash. Jagged spears of light and energy sparkle and crack the night violently, only to disappear in a flash of a second, and I find myself thinking maybe the natives had it right all along; somewhere up there in the strata, the Thunderbirds are beating otherworldly demons back down into the depths of the desert, their triumphant cries manifested in bone-shaking thunder that rattles the ground with each echoing boom.

It is June, it is July, it doesn’t matter. It is river time, and the current rocks my boat gently down stream to camp, which is more of a mindset than a place. Boatmen and guests alike trade stories, laughs, and horseshoes. Utter serenity envelopes me as I drift to sleep under the blanket of the milky way, a perfect solitude interrupted only momentarily by the brilliant flash of a shooting star.

It is afternoon later in the summer and our trip returns. A grin sneaks across my face as my friend Kyle, Holiday’s hardest-working and best-looking guide, emerges from the shuttle. I know all kinds of adventures await us, be it camping, freelining, rock climbing, biking to the radio tower, burning quesadillas, warehouse pull-ups, or just tormenting Tim. We work relentlessly, a well-oiled machine, to unpack the trip, compost organic waste, and park boats and trailers. Later we go to Ray’s Tavern, where I discuss life with Noel to the beat of my favorite jukebox tunes. Night finds everyone back at the bunkhouse, swapping trip stories and enjoying each other’s company. Brian plucks the guitar masterfully, a gentle tune the backdrop to a blazing sunset.

It is late and time for bed. Have to be ready for that pack and trip tomorrow; as I lay down, laughter and singing waft through the bunkhouse like a lullaby. I think about how lucky I am to have this spectacular desert as my home, and the chance to share the canyon rivers with others. In the distance thunder rumbles gently. Drifting off to sleep, I smile.

It’s raining on Tavaputs again.

Early Spring on the Colorado River

By John Wood, Holiday River Guide

I have recently returned from five days ‘off-grid’ on one of our Colorado River Cataract trips. It was the first trip of the season with a small intimate group eager to expose themselves to all this remote canyon in the heart of Canyonlands National Park has to offer. It has been quite a while since I have made the journey down this fabled canyon in high water. My memories were there but tarnished by time and the approaching hallmark of turning fifty.

Most of us change a little every time we expose ourselves to a powerful natural place. This change was evident on the faces and in the conversations of all that were on this trip. As a group we discussed everything from art history to global warming and the inescapable reality that it is all connected. The river reminded us that the decisions we make in our kitchens and backyards can impact the riparian zones we were all floating past.

One of my favorite parts about an early spring trip is that there are fewer groups on the river. In FIVE days we were only passed once by a competing outfit that was out doing a ONE day version of our trip. As I hailed them over to coordinate camping plans the vacant look in their eyes was telling. They sat six feet above the water on a large motorized pontoon and I could only imagine the ringing in their ears from hours of a full-throttled engine. While they had all invested sizable treasure by scrimping on time they missed the experience.

The journey is one of contrasts with the early days spent floating through the eons of time that shaped the river canyons of Canyonlands, but always in the back of your mind are the rapids. In high water there is nothing like them in this country. It’s not just the SIZE of them but rather the sections that are continuous with large rhythmic breaking waves that are not predictable. As a guide it becomes harder to sleep through the night the closer you get to the BIG rapid day.

On Thursday we as a group had to find safe passage through the North Seas, Mile Long, and Big Drop rapids. The Colorado River filled our boats at least four times and sent us through multiple wash and rinse cycles. Our rafts took the hits and our oars made the pulls while we all hollered and laughed our way through the whitewater. The next day we all returned to our real lives and the daunting task of figuring out how to live in a way that leaves behind a clear future… a task with no one answer. On our trip by taking the time to ‘disconnect’ from the frenetic pace of our daily lives we had all taken a necessary first step.