Bonding on the River

By Jennifer Norris, M.D.

Great sandstone cliffs of copper and rust fly by on the drop into Moab. My son enthusiastically photographs from the passenger seat of the car while discussing ecology, geology, and geopolitical theory. Full of college freshman idealism and boundless interest, we head toward the river in the desert.

After hooking up with a motley collection of fellow rafters we gear up with supplies of sunscreen, life preservers, trash novels, big hats and beer and head off for the put-in. I am anticipating a chance to unwind from my usual life of doctoring; to just “be” on the planet without giving advice; to wander with the flow of the river, the stars and the constantly evolving sensuous landscape. I hope also to reconnect with my son and learn how he has changed and who he is now after a year apart. During the chaos of loading up the bus, packing the boats, and negotiating divisions of labor, I find my son has become a young man who is helpful to others. He is socially adept and more selfless than even before. Recognizing that the pace of change has probably been steady for the past three or four years and that my awareness was muted by proximity, I see his enormous progression and am heartened by this.

For two days we float on smooth water. Our variously burly, crusty, and inc redibly buff guides regale us with river lore. We hike to examine petrified logs, anthropomorphize the rock formations and investigate side canyons. Splintering off from the main group, an energetic bunch decides to climb up a beautiful formation known as The Doll’s House. Indeed this is a heady undertaking. Now I am the one who needs cajoling and good-natu red prodding to make it to the top. After years of bribing the youngster with gummy bears to finish the hike, the tables have turned.

We collapse near our tents and consume the great grub our guides have prepa red during our adventures. We hang out, just glowing, waiting for the Milky Way to emerge, filling our nightly sky with its magic. I crawl into my tent at night somewhat reticent to give myself over to the elements, but my son sleeps out under the stars every night, fearless of nighttime’s creepy crawly creatures.

A day of rapids awaits; thirty-one in a row! They come upon you with little but a rumble of warning causing furious paddling through the crashing walls of water. We pass through the greats; Big Bertha, Hell to Pay, Little Niagra, Satan’s Gut…..and end up on the far side, spinning and swirling in eddies. Exhausted and exuberant, this is the rush we came to experience!

The best side canyon of all, Dark Canyon, is a hike unlike any other. Steep and narrow with layers of purple rock interposed in white and every color of sandstone imaginable. Clear pools of aquamarine blue water beckon and we all get cool and clean. Scrambling up the streambed over waterfalls, picking our way through narrow crevasses we move from vista to vista. Each seems more stunning than the last. We find ourselves confronting our fears to leap from a high scalloped ledge to the water far below, the youngsters encouraging the oldsters to “just do it”. We all take the leap of faith!

We float and motor the last morning towards the bridge, the marker at the end of our journey. Intense desert heat and sun bearing down reminds us of how fragile we are. Precious little shade. Anticipating the climb up into one of the three small airplanes parked on a sliver of pavement as wide as an alleyway, I am petrified, and wish I had taken the slow dusty road home on the bus. Anything but this thin little metal band-aid box of the sky. But my son, smiling and joking, obviously knows we will be fine, as he tries to calm me down. He is brave, mature and warm hearted and I know he will be able to find his way in our often difficult and challenging human world. My son and I have once again bonded in one of nature’s more beautiful and exhilarating settings, Cataract Canyon of the Colorado.