(This is an excerpt from a compendium of travel diaries. This is copyrighted material, please do not copy without permission. Thank you. Email lynna.howard@mac.com for permission.)

Desolation Canyon in July is a primer in mosquito seasons and hot enough to earn John Wesley Powell's description, "desolate." Our publisher arranged the trip with Dvorák's Kayak & Rafting Expeditions. We go when space is available for me on one of their rafts. Leland elects to explore the plateaus west of the Green River (also in the proposed wilderness area) and I am nominated to explore along the river...

Christy Klug and Will Robards, river guides for Dvorak Kayak & Rafting enjoy a break in Desolation Canyon. Christy is licking the wrapper of a Luna Bar -- she's addicted. Photo by Lynna Howard

One of the BLM's standards for proposed wilderness is "opportunities for solitude." If that's what you're looking for, you could certainly find it here. It is almost sinister the way the road seems headed for the biggest Nowhere on the planet. The sense of loneliness and of no-way-back increases when the road dives down into Sand Wash and follows the flash flood plain deeper and deeper into crumbly, cakelike cliffs. Green River Formation sedimentary rocks are anemic, sallow in comparison to the Wingate sandstone cliffs along the San Rafael. The rock looks like old sugar, loosely bonded and weathered. In most places, it doesn't break cleanly into vertical walls, but forms piles of coarse-grained skirts around erosion-resistant buttresses and pinnacles. The Green River has cut deeply into the Tavaputs Plateau, but the drama is not as great as one sees in the Upper Black Box of the San Rafael, or even along the Dirty Devil. Opportunities for solitude are extensive on the plateau, but hard to come by along the river corridor...

Most of the tourists that come to raft or kayak the river arrive by small plane from the town of Green River, Utah. They land on a dirt strip on the Tavaputs Plateau and walk down to the boat launch. Because they don't drive the long dirt roads, many tourists arrive without an overall sense of place. Much of the proposed wilderness area, especially the plateaus, are not included in their experience-- all they see is the river, one event among many in this wild place. The river corridor is like Main Street in a wild west town. All the activity centers there, but one block away civilization ends...

Broad and silty, the Green River is not green here, but café au lait brown. It begins as a clear mountain stream in Wyoming's Wind River Mountains, but is a big, brothy beast of a river by the time it reaches Desolation Canyon. The river was a barrier to travelers on the Oregon Trail and later to ranchers. From 1920 to 1952, a ferry at Sand Wash charged to take wagons, stock, and lots of sheep across the river. Now only the sun-faded, dust-crusty remains of a cabin and stables tell a silent tale of old entrepreneurial efforts...

Desolation Canyon is 59 river miles long, stretching from Sand Wash in the north to Three Fords Canyon in the south. There are about fifty riffles and rapids in this stretch and their intensity varies greatly with the water flow and with changes wrought by flash floods and landslides. From Desolation Canyon, we will continue downstream through Gray Canyon, both named by John Wesley Powell. One of the other guests asks me why Powell would name such a beautiful place "Desolation." Powell had other interests. To him the desert environment, the impoverished soil and the inaccessible canyon added up to desolation. At Gray Canyon, the geology changes, with the rocks being mostly of the Mesa Verde Formation, though for most river runners, the noticeable difference is the more open feel of 36-mile long Gray Canyon. Near Rock Creek, Desolation Canyon is deeper than the Grand Canyon is at Bright Angel Trail, but not nearly so dramatic. The facts here are misleading....

I find a petroglyph panel above my tent site. A beautifully rendered buffalo and several desert bighorn sheep have been pecked into the rock. About 800 to 1000 years ago, Fremont Indians produced this art by picking patterns into the desert varnish on a vertical section of the cliff. Nancy Feldman (one of the guests on this outfitter-guided trip) climbs up to see it in her bare feet. She's tough, 76 years old, and a veteran of many expeditions. Her husband, Raymond, follows. Raymond is thin and equally tough, like aged jerky. A few other guests come to see the panel, but most don't bother. I'm fascinated by the way their interest is narrowed to the river, to paddling "duckies" (inflated, kayak-shaped, beginner craft), to watching for the next set of riffles or rapids. To each his own. People come to wilderness areas for different reasons and with different backgrounds. Most of the river runners have only a limited interest in foot trails, in jeep roads on the reservation side of the river, etc. The river is their mode of transportation. As a result, if you hike even a short distance from camp along the shore, you'll be alone. The guides also "read" the water and little else. They are contemptuous of those who can't read the water, reminding me of cowboys that judge man and woman alike by their horse sense...

At Firewater Canyon we beach again, this time for a short hike up the canyon to view the ruins of a moonshiner's cabin and still; and to fill water bottles at the spring. Janel leads me and four other guests on the hike. Everyone else opts not to go. Ten-year-old Dominic and I are both more afraid of poison ivy than we are of being dunked in the river. (Past, horrific experiences.) I stop short of the ivy and hand my bottle up to others. Dominic takes a close, but careful look at the plant for future reference. There's poison ivy in many spots (usually close to streams or springs) in the canyon. We all enjoy the short walk, less than half an hour, and the close-up view of the moonshiner's rock hut, complete with many tools of the trade, a rotting coat hanging from a hook, and some rock and bone tools from the Fremont Indian era. I love these unattended, outdoor, in situ museums. All the artifacts are more meaningful when they're still in place. Nearby juniper berries provide the makings for gin. Later discussions reveal that Colin, Dave, and two of the male guests know a surprising amount of technical detail related to concocting illicit liquor. The Brits, Irishmen, and Americans are completely in sync on this issue...

Hikers take note, the path to the moonshiner's place is just north of another path that leads up the main branch of Firewater Canyon. There are Indian ruins not far from the river in the main branch...

In the morning, Nancy and I take a ducky across two lines of small rapids to see the bear prints. This is a bit tricky because Nancy has some experience paddling, but not enough strength to steer. So her 76-year-old body goes up front. I have some experience rowing a one-man raft but no ducky experience. Still, we manage quite well and I beach us on the end of the sand spit that we aim for. The bear tracks have disappeared in some places, but are wonderfully clear in others and I get some good pictures. Nancy and I set a good angle on the way back, but loose it when we hit the eddy line, so I end up drawing us in backwards. ...

It is here, or at nearby Three Fords Rapid that Powell's party had trouble, "We come to a long, bad fall, where the rocks on the left turn the waters to the right. Bradley is knocked over the side; his foot catching under the seat, he is dragged along in the water, head down. Powell pulls him in."

At Three Fords Rapid, we officially leave Desolation Canyon and enter Gray Canyon. The cliff walls are lower and the sparse plant life becomes even sparser. From here on down to the town of Green River there are many more trails, cow paths, 4WD roads and places remembered for their outlaw history (the Wild Bunch). We camp early near Range Creek Rapid. Desert Bighorn Sheep parade around for our edification on the eastern bank. Well, we've had bears and landslides, now we need Bighorn Sheep. The sheep are colored like the rocks and are hard to see until they move. There are more bear prints on the sandbar downriver from our camp and a three-foot long snake meanders through the Feldman's tent site. Some of the guests are starting to say that there might be a bit too much wildlife....

...Will and I are resting in the eddy, watching Christy and Dave when they perform the most spectacular flip I've ever seen. They get into the hole sideways and the breaking wave tosses their ducky so high into the air that when the human cargo falls out, I can see the entire length of a Christy body (all 5 feet 11 inches of her) and a Dave body (six feet) in the air before they hit the water. "Perfect!" Will says admiringly, "That was perfect."...

The photo session is just winding up when rain begins to pelt down on us, on the river's ruffled surface. Clouds roll in and mix with the rain to partially obscure Nefertiti Rock. It is all so beautiful it could make you cry, or laugh, or laugh and cry. I throw the rainfly on my tent and don't care if I get wet watching the cliffs transform into mysteries from ancient Egypt....

The guides are out of beer and Leland's parting gesture is to give me a beer for each of them. Dave ends up with two beers, one for sweetly giving kayak rides to the children in the shallows and one from Leland. "Me ship has come in!" he laughs. Images courtesy of Leland Howard.

Whitewater rafting can be a dangerous sport. Know your skills and the river before you begin. This text is in no way meant to be adequate preparation for rafting or kayaking the Green River. Travel at your own risk.

Please do not copy or distribute this text without the permission of the author, Lynna Howard. Contact: telephone, 208.357.1917; email lynna.howard@mac.com. Thank you.

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