In my continued quest for pure desert bliss, the top of the list was the Paria River, a classic backpacking trip to many. I had hiked enough of it previously to know that this was going to be a winner if we could be so lucky to float it. With windows of boatability occurring only once or twice a year in good years, it is among the most fickle and least boated on the Colorado Plateau. The number of kayak trips thus far may be able to be counted on one hand. It did not help that I lived 8 hours away, necessitating a considerable time and transport investment to pull off the trip. We would have to maximize our chances of success. It did help that I had Jeff and Keith on call and carefully studying snowpack data, flow gauges, precipitation gauges, weather outlooks, and historical records. For my part I poured over maps, pinpointing landmarks and places on the imagery that could be challenging with high flow. I also realized a key piece of the puzzle: the formidable 3 miles of Class IV+ boulder gardens could be bypassed on a quality high water trail if necessary, lowering the overall commitment and opening the possibility for Sara to join us.
For over two weeks the monitoring ensued. We almost went for the weekend before but made the correct decision to bail. Finally the right conditions looked like they would align and the weather models merged into agreement: a warmish storm could give us the rain-on-snow melt pulse we required to run the river. It was still a gamble as we drove across state lines. We needed a river that was not too high or too low, and lasted long enough to carry us through. The wrong conditions could leave us halfway through a forty mile canyon with post-flood quicksand to painstakingly post-hole through rather than a silky conveyor belt. If all went well (and spoilers, it did) we would get to enjoy forty miles of sinuous narrows and broad canyon as we floated through the Jurassic and then the Triassic. Navajo Sandstone, Kayenta Formation, Moenave Formation, Chinle Formation, Moenkopi Formation. Each rock type giving us different views and a different style of river.
We carried our loaded boats down to the water's edge from White House Campground. Thankfully we found the river higher than the couple inches and glistening mud flats we saw in the midnight moonlight hours before, but the river still appeared startlingly modest. I could only hope this would not be a repeat of our bump and scrape trip down the Dirty Devil! Like the Dirty Devil we found it a silty slurry, destined to coat everything it touched in fine silt difficult to remove. Just as we were about to put on Jeff's friend Zac pulled up, readied himself in record time, and joined us for the cruisy float down to the Buckskin confluence. After a couple short miles we passed underneath powerlines, the last sign of humanity until Lee's Ferry. The walls grew around us and the river deepened slightly. We bobbed up and down over sand waves. Gradually we began to read this opaque river and understand its dialect, detecting subtle features in its surface hinting at its depth below. We did the best we could to follow the main channel and avoid the lurking sand and gravel bars. I knew the canyon and our trip was just getting started but already all the worries of southern California began to fade. Finally some therapy.
Eroded beehives of Navajo Sandstone and intricate honeycombed rock adorned the surrounds. The deeper the canyon, the more sheer the rock walls. Smiles appeared and would not leave us for the next 2.5 days.
I had not seen this stretch of river before so it was an extra treat. Like the Zion Narrows there were many places where the water would T-bone into a wall, necessitating careful maneuvering to split the difference between slamming into the wall and being broadsided by an eddy. Wall-bang turns Jeff called them. The patterns, the colors, the shadows, the sliver of sky. The scenery was unforgettable. And I knew it would get better.
One more ninety-degree corner and the confluence of Buckskin and the Paria abruptly appeared, a stately Y shaped incision in the earth. There is something about these joining of the waters: the Virgin & Orderville, the Green & Colorado, the Colorado & Little Colorado. This one was up there with the rest of them, accentuated by the quiet mixing of Buckskin's red-brown waters with the Paria's green taupe (see the frontispiece photo by Sara). We walked our boats up to the nearest sand bench and then jaunted up Buckskin a mile and a half to visit the boulder jam there. Buckskin was of course stunning, improved by the ankle-biting stream to walk up. Like its bigger sister the Paria, every twist and turn revealed a new pleasing sight. The shapes, patterns, textures, and sculptures of the Navajo Sandstone are unlike anything else on Earth so I will let the photos speak.
We parted ways with Zac, destined to hike upstream back to his car to
meet prior commitments while our adventure continued downward. The river seemed to be ever so slightly up. I was now back into familiar territory, having passed through here years before on my Hayduke journey. If anything the views were better than I remembered. Rather than looking at my feet while hiking, this time I was floating along, looking upward and spinning around at will to take in all I could. It was divine and I could only feel both privileged and spoiled. My camera was busy. So busy that I frequently struggled to put my camera away and regain my paddle as quickly as I could before crashing into a wall.
Every thousand feet the sinuous canyon would turn another corner. Every
corner holding a new grandiose view- sheer 800ft cliffs, cavernous
alcoves, mysterious cracks, hanging gardens. Even looking at the photos now does not do the memory justice. This was quickly shaping up to be one of the best trips I had ever
done. Everyone wore a smile in agreement.
We reached Big Spring at 3:40p and stocked up our supplies with fresh transparent water (a novelty for the day!). Though early, we opted for a camp opposite the spring knowing that the further down the river we went the later the snowmelt pulse would reach us in the morning. After a little searching we found the perfect spot for camp on a high level sandy flat complete with two trees to hang our shelters from. We had a leisurely afternoon lounging and discussing our expectations of the river's flow. We caught a particularly bright moon rising over the canyon walls. I consciously appreciated how much warmer this trip had been than our Thanksgiving Cataract trip.
We were expecting precipitation to fall overnight but we awoke to dry ground. This had us a little mystified and frankly a little worried that the rain did not melt snow in the headwaters as we expected. A quick visit to the river revealed exposed rocks and ankle depth- not boatable! This was worrying even though we had planned to have a slow morning, not expecting the melt pulse to arrive until 10a. Around 9a I heard an audible change in the river and sure enough saw the river noticeably rising before my eyes! That got our attention and we packed quickly, hoping to ride the peak. We were on the river by 9:30a, with more than half of the sinuous Navajo narrows to go.
Again the views changed with each sweeping corner. Again we felt spoiled to be here, experiencing this place. A light morning rain kept things cold but made the rock glisten, a fair trade.
After passing a tall bank with several fresh beaver slides, we pulled into the small eddy at the mouth of Wrather Canyon where a small flow of crystal clear water entered the muddy river. We tied up our boats and set off in the light rain in search of Wrather Arch. We followed the slickrock and sandy bottom of the creek, occasionally taking a bankside trail when the creek became too overgrown. After passing a couple nice sweeping alcoves the trail veered up a steep sandy hill and we could see our destination protruding from the canyon wall.
Wrather Arch was impressive; my photos do not do it justice. It was a thick and broad span with a great pile of sand and boulders inside. What immediately stood out was the lack of trails running all over the place like you'd find at some more popular national park. The echo was fantastic. We had miles to gain on the river still so we made our way back down to the river. Wrather was a worthwhile diversion and a welcome opportunity to break up the paddling.
Back at the river it was time for a quick lunch. We were happy to note that the river had risen about an inch since we left for our walk. The more water, the faster and smoother the ride. Although the canyon was already wider and less sinuous at this point, we had a mile further until the river finally cut through the Navajo Sandstone to the softer red-brown Kayenta Formation. Two more miles further bedrock began appearing in the river channel, boulders became more abundant, and the combination of the two created our first Class III rapid worthy of a quick scout. Several more features appeared in short succession, giving Sara an opportunity to practice eddying out and portaging.
Though this stretch of river did not hold the same awe-inspiring
grandeur of the river-width Navajo narrows upstream, it had its own
majesty with abundant bedrock, stepped cliffs, new colors, and broader views. As the rain
picked up we enjoyed the glistening sheen of wet slickrock. So far the
features were more fun than scary.
We managed to float right
past the last reliable spring, a landmark I was sure I would spot.
Apparently the Kayenta has a distinct limestone bed in it that created a
channel spanning 2-3 foot drop, followed by a couple holes. The river
was getting interesting and our smiles were continuing to grow. Shortly
on I spotted the Bush Head Route snaking its way up canyon right- Ryan
and my escape route from our alternative Hayduke Trail. Everything downstream until
Lee's Ferry would be new terrain for me. My excitement built.
And so did the boulders! After one long portage for Sara to bypass two drops and another scout just beyond, it was decision time. We had about 1.5 hours of usable daylight and we had good river flow- we should make the most of both. We had reached the 3 mile section of 80ft/mi Class IV+ boulder gardens, which highly conveniently had an easy to follow high water trail to bypass. As quickly as we could we deflated and folded Sara's boat and I set her up with my phone with the trail marked and set up a mutually agreed upon meeting location at the end of the boulder section. The bet was that Jeff, Keith, and I would have to do less scouting and portaging allowing us to get through before dark, and that Sara would be able to make comparable time on the trail. Amazingly this worked! We arrived about 5 minutes before Sara did and everyone had the best possible time.
I took few photos in this section as the fast paced river and potential carnage necessitated my hands on my paddles at all times (see videos below for footage of this section). We had to scout a few times and made two portages (the only two portages of the whole 40 miles of river), but were amazed at how much of what we encountered was read-and-run Class III-IV. The last mile was the most challenging and contained the two portages. It was some of the most enjoyable boating to date with a few of the larger single drops and more sustained rapids I've ever done. The light rain, darkening skies and fog clinging to the cliffsides only enhanced the adventurous mood. Right on cue we identified the landmarks signaling camp. And just before dark; it was 6pm as we hauled ashore. In contrast to the previous night's established sandy camp, we had to search the wide cactus-coated river flat for a suitable campsite, eventually finding one in an old channel 500ft from the river.
I was slow to strip my wetsuit off with all my other camp duties, but when I finally did had a comfortable evening standing around and chatting. It was great to get through the boulder section and to find it so runnable. We had the small matter of tomorrow to go. The rain was quite different than forecast and we were now far enough down the river that the timing of the flood pulses would be harder to guess. We hoped we would not have too little river in the morning. We also hoped we did not have too much! Like kids going to sleep on Christmas Eve, we wondered what the morning would bring.
It rained all night and continued into morning. We packed half motivated until Jeff returned from his jaunt to the river- it was up! Time to mobilize! I packed the rest of the stuff as efficiently as I could, cringed (OK yes squealed) as I put on my sopping wetsuit, and loaded my boat. This time the river was noticeably more brown, the color of Buckskin, rather than the green tinge it had before. Back on the muddy river!
Class II-III fun continued with the occasional bump and scrape, but generally this last section was a scenic two hour jaunt amid ever-changing views. The wet shaley muds of the Chinle, Moenave, Chinle, and Moenkopi colored the landscape like heaps of molten rainbow sherbet. The partially vegetated sand dunes draping the base of the cliffs had a particularly pleasing golden sheen. Generally the view was grand and broad as the river opened into sweeping curves and wider floodplains as the world between the cliffs expanded, but at intervals the river would swoop onto a cliff, cutting to reveal the subtle layers.
The smiles did not cease until we
reached the bridge at Lee's Ferry, 40 miles from our start. We ended
at the Lee's Ferry boat ramp where we cleaned gear and ourselves in the
clear blue-green waters (warm compared to the snowmelt we had been in), which incidentally would be the same slurry as the Paria
were it not for the beast of a dam upstream. We were regarded with curiosity by the rafters preparing to depart and the one ranger making her rounds. We played it cool. "Paria River." "Muddy stream." "We had a nice time." The happy details would be too much to convey. For them Lee's Ferry, the start of the Grand Canyon, is where adventures begin. For us it was the end. Where rare events and careful planning led to great privilege and incomparable sights.
What a trip! I had high expectations but they were easily exceeded. Jeff, Keith and my careful monitoring of gauges, weather outlooks and snowpacks paid off. We hit the river at flows of about 150-250cfs at which some sections were a little bony, and agreed that 400-500cfs would have been about ideal. As far as we know this was the first Paria packraft trip. Jeff and I agreed that
within our expanding desert river experience, this was easily one of the best trips we had done. Forty crisp miles of some of the best and most varied scenery I've ever savored, viewed from a lazy slow-motion conveyor belt or a bouncy high-speed jalopy, requiring only two short portages and a few stone throw's of walking at either end. As Jeff correctly pointed out we could count the pieces of wood in the canyon on one hand. There was no "approach" or "exit," the whole trip was the main event. Overall the weather cooperated marvelously, giving us moments of sun and days of glistening slickrock and fog-laced cliffs. We encountered zero people to break the spell.
We completed the car shuttle, said our goodbyes to Jeff, succumbed to an unfortunate return to Lee's Ferry to retrieve left gear at a 1.5 hour penalty, and then were on the long road back to the lights and worries of southern California. The return to Lee's Ferry was enough time that we saw the river shrink back down to barely boatable flows. As we drove back I thought of the elusive river shrinking back into the desert sands, saving its bliss for some distant day.
Last but not least, my masterpiece...
Thanks to Jeff, Keith, and Sara for one of the best trips I've ever done.
