Little Colorado: Cameron to Confluence Part 4

Little Colorado Part 4:

Horse Trail to River Camp 

We woke up the third morning emboldened by the fact that we had made it to our cache and that we would actually have time to enjoy the upcoming portion of the journey.  We had been told by countless sources that the section from the Horse Trail to Salt Canyon was the most spectacular of the entire trip and we were eager to see for ourselves.

Sorting the cache and making breakfast.  Super excited for hot coffee!!

Having to only make six to eight miles we let ourselves sleep in and took comfort in the lazy morning and huge cooked breakfast we consumed.  By this time we were both quite sick of the protein bars, which had been our staple food for the last two days, and could not believe how much a hot meal and coffee could affect ones mental well being for the better.  After breakfast we packed up and headed out as the first rays of sun touched the canyon floor  

Jarrod enjoying the leisurely morning

The four miles from camp to Blue Springs were quite enjoyable.  There were a few crossings here and there but we became proficient at cutting the corners of the small river we were traveling with and made good time.  About a half mile above Blue Springs, the environment changed dramatically.  Again.  Bill Orman had warned us about this section due to it resembling “Quicksand Alley” in its “quicksandness” I have to admit, Jarrod and I were so sure it was going to be dry we didn’t pay too much attention to it.  

Looking down canyon from camp

We came around a right bend in the canyon, downstream from a sheer face where a number of new springs were adding water to the ever-growing river and were met with a long narrow section of wall to wall mud.  We did our best to stay together in the middle of the canyon but could not help but encounter large deep sections of quicksand sinkholes.  Eventually we made a left hand turn and had to hop to a particularly muddy island in the center of the river.  We knew Blue Springs had to be close as we came to the realization that we were in the very section Orman had warned us about.

Jarrod coming into the second "Quicksand Alley" above Blue Springs

Slowly moving down canyon we tried to find solid rock to stand on.  At one point I looked back and Jarrod had a hit a spot of quicksand up to his waist.  We decided to take a little break (as seemed to be our usual protocol once things got tough).  Eventually we came to a river-wide house sized rock blockage.  We had to inch our way down between the massive boulders on far river left before crossing back to canyon right.   By this point we were in head down and move mode and I ended up walking right by Blue Springs itself!

Misstep

I stopped just downstream, took off my pack for a break, and thought to myself, “huh, it looks like there is a lot more water in the river all of a sudden.”  Jarrod came around the corner and said, “Hey, did you see the Spring?”  I told him I hadn’t and walked back upstream to get a glimpse.  

Blue Springs.  There is great sandy beach here that would make an awesome camp.  Next time.

Blue Springs is a truly special place.  It is the source for the year round flows and turquoise water that the LCR is so known for.  It was incredible to see it bubbling up from a head wall on Canyon left and I was able to sit and ponder on how singularly amazing it was to see this place, that because of the difficulty in reaching it, few ever see.  As I sat and took it in I gazed high up on the canyon wall behind the Spring, scouting for signs of the elusive, and supposedly very difficult and exposed “Blue Springs route,” but did not find any markers distinguishing it.  I would not be sharing this spot with anyone else this day.  

Looking down canyon from Blue Spring, the official beginning of the LCR.

Down-canyon from Blue Springs things slowed down dramatically, but became really fun.  The river was now running a solid 3-400CFS as it made its way to the confluence in Grand Canyon.  We spent the next few hours boulder hopping, crossing in swift waist deep currents, and gawking at absolutely incredible, pristine scenery that made us constantly talk about how we wished we had more time.  Tall red sheer walled sandstone cliffs plunged straight down into the turquoise blue waters of the LCR, bounded by occasional white sandy beaches.  Eventually, about two miles down canyon from Blue Springs, our path petered out into chest deep water.  It was time to get out the inflatables.

Heading down canyon with good easy walking

Based on some awesome advice I had received pre-trip, we decided to purchase very cheap but light pool doughnuts.  They had been included in our cache at Horse Trail and I originally thought we may use them briefly, but didn’t take them very seriously in our initial planning.  We had finally come to a place in the canyon however that warranted their use.  Downstream of where we were standing the current picked up dramatically and, because the river was already just over waist deep, a stand-alone crossing didn’t seem to doable.  This, taken in conjunction with the fact that we were both very hot and wanted a break from the heavy packs, served as a catalyst for inflating (which was a long, slow, pain in the ass) the tubes and floating the packs.

First pack-float

We had lined the inside of our packs that morning with trash compactor bags and had put all of our electronics in an NRS dry bag, which we had also cached.  Thankfully Jarrod had brought a waterproof camera for just this stretch or there would have been no photo/video documentation!

After what seemed like an hour of blowing up the tubes, we looked at each other with an excited, schoolboy like giddiness.  Jarrod would stay back and film as I attempted the first official pack float.  Now, I can honestly say, I was so excited to try this I didn’t really think about the finer points of physically carrying out said “floating.”  Walking out into the current I eventually came to a point where the swift current was pushing me downstream at a chest level and, with my pack not so firmly secured to the tube, “let go.”  At first it went great, I thought to myself, “Hey I am making distance without having to do any work!”  I looked up canyon and saw Jarrod putting in behind me.  It was at this point that amateur hour began.  Jarrod dropped an earplug and in my attempt to grab it as it floated towards me (I was flailing around like a little kid who didn’t know how to swim) my pack fell off my inner tube and I lost contact with both pack and tube. 

Realizing that I could not touch the river bottom and that I could only grab one object before losing contact with both I naturally grabbed my pack as the inner tube took off by itself down river.  I had also missed grabbing the earplug.  I swam frantically towards the rocky shore and checked my backpack to make sure nothing vital had been lost.  Instantly I realized I had lost one of my potable water bottles (1.5 liters and half of my remaining supply!).  I tried to let my frustration go as I thought about how much it would have sucked to have lost my entire bag.  Jarrod and I regrouped, found a good place to cross back to a long rocky stretch on canyon left and headed on.

Typical amazing scenery in this stretch

A little down canyon we came to a beautiful sandy beach overlooking a particularly gorgeous calm and deep turquoise pool.  There, sitting on the beach and gently rocking in the water sat my little green pool doughnut, looking almost as if someone had parked it there.  Shortly after which Jarrod yelled down canyon that he could see my water bottle bobbing in the current and coming towards me.  Eventually I saw it, dropped my pack, and swam out to the center of the river to retrieve it.  We both took this as Karma.  A year ago, during a river crossing coming back from the Sipapu, Jarrod had dropped his camera right in the center of the river.  Out of pure luck I had reached down, and just feeling around, had found it laying on a rock.  The camera was broken but the memory card (which held pictures from his recent trip to Europe) was ok.

We decided to take a quick lunch break.  It had been hard hiking since Blue Spring but was some of the most enjoyable I had ever experienced.  20 people could hike the section we had done and every single one of them could have a different way of getting to the rocky beach we were now sitting on eating our food.  Not having a trail or path to aid in our thought process forced us to make decisions as a team about where to cross, which route to take, and what looked like it might go.  It didn’t always work out and there were multiple times where we both realized that the particular path we had chosen was the wrong one.  But we never got frustrated, if anything, it made us more determined to find a way, adding to the sense of adventure and providing us with a cheerful sense of accomplishment when we did progress. We were the ones making the calls on where to go and how to get there. 

Me at the start of the long float section

Pushing off again we came to a sharp L hand bend and stopped at rivers edge.  There was nowhere to cross and the river appeared to be the deepest we had yet seen.  We scratched our heads and decided to blow up the doughnuts again.  After doing so we walked into the river to the point where we could not touch.  I had finally figured out a great way to travel with my pack on the tube and was no longer worried about losing it.  We were also in a particularly calm stretch of the canyon with a mild current and no rocks to provide obstacles.  We ended up floating for quite a long stretch and I remember looking up, watching the canyon pass by me as the river took us onward, and, for the first time on the trip, being completely present in the moment.  It was such an odd feeling to be moving without having to expel any energy and I felt as though I were literally floating down canyon.  Time seemed to slow down, the world became silent as I was allowed to simply look around and take the canyon in. 

Jarrod's vantage point as we continue down-canyon on the long float.

Eventually we came around a sharp R handed bend and noticed two cots set up on a sandy beach on river left.  We walked out of the water briefly to look over the camp, but noticed there were no people occupying it, and put back into the river.  We floated a short while longer and eventually noticed a young man sitting in a lawn chair listening to satellite radio.  We got out of the water and walking up to him he looked at us with a curious amusement.  We learned he worked for Fish and Wildlife doing work restoring the native Humpback Chub population and that this was the most up-canyon camp of the four that dotted the lower river.  What was crazy is that he was from Hood River, Oregon, about an hour from where I grew up.  He obviously was way too comfortable, not working at all, and we got the vibe he wanted to be left alone, so we headed out.  Before we left, as we were about to get back in the river he yelled while pointing to canyon R, “hey, there is a trail from here all the way to the helicopter pad at Salt Canyon if you want to take it.”  We could not believe our ears.

After hiking for 3 days and 50+ miles of trail-less wilderness, coming upon a trail was a surreal experience.  We were so used to making our own decision as to where to go, moving at a snails pace, and picking up on signs of animal trails that finding hard packed trail completely changed the dynamic of our trip.  We flew!  In fact, we couldn’t believe how easy and fast it really was.  After a long day of crossings and scrambling we were reinvigorated and kept yelling to each other how awesome this was.  We continued to fly down canyon, following the narrow trail hacked out in the forest of reeds, for another mile or two. 

Though we were enjoying the trail at the time, at the same time we lost touch with the canyon.  What had previously been a journey of decisions, evaluated on the fly in an attempt to find the path of least resistance became a spoon-fed defined and constrained passage.  In losing touch with the canyon we substituted difficult slow miles for fast easy miles, and in doing so our senses, so heightened over the previous days trek became dulled and blunted.  We also no longer interacted with the environment in the way we had previously.  Before hand, we would come to spots where an obstruction would present itself in some form and have to really survey the land, analyzing the geography before making a decision and (frequently) have to deal with the frustration of making the wrong call.  Now, we had no decisions to make, they were already made for us, all we had to do was walk.  We detached from our surroundings, looking only ahead at the packed dirt trail ahead of us instead of at what surrounded us.  As bad as it sounds, at that moment, late in the afternoon on the third day, we did not care.  The trail seemed like the greatest thing to us as all we cared about was making good time.

The view from the third nights' camp

Eventually we came to a small sandy beach on canyon L just big enough for our two small tents. The campsite we chose was so intimate, and was so different than the typical backcountry campground in the SW, surrounded by other hikers who had applied for their permit months in advance in order to secure a designated camp-site where fires were not allowed.  At the base of a huge travertine waterfall we built a small fire, dried our clothes, reminisced about the previous three days, and, for the first time since leaving Cameron, got to enjoy the late afternoon. We were two miles above Salt Camp, we had trail from here to the confluence, we felt truly safe and for the first time, what we had done the previous days really sank in.  

Getting the fire going and drying out

We stayed up late, listening to the falls reverberate off the canyon walls, taking in the massive starry sky and eating, drinking, and laughing until we could stand it no longer.  It would be the last night where it would be just the two us, where the canyon still felt “wild,” and our last taste of the overwhelming peace that I imagine accompanies such raw environments.  The sleep I had that night was the deepest and most satisfying I’d had in a long while.  Tomorrow we would be at the confluence.