TALES FROM THE CANYON Day 4

TALES FROM THE CANYON

August 17 – 24, 2022

Sunday, August 21 – Day 4

“I will not be joining you. Nor will Seneca Howland. Nor will O.G. Howland.”

~ William Dunn

(Men On Boats by Jaclyn Backhaus)

After returning to my cot, I slept pretty soundly until I was awakened by a spotlight that seemed to drill through my eyelids. Ah, the moon was out. The two previous nights it had remained hidden behind the clouds, but not tonight, Baby! It wasn’t even a full moon, thank God! Hatch needs to add an eye mask to their list of things to bring. Funny how incredibly bright a thin sliver can appear out in the middle of nowhere. I don’t think I was able to sleep very well after that, and tossed and turned until the sky began to lighten.

When I decided it was probably time to get up, I approached the tent to retrieve my toiletry bag from inside and noticed Donna’s sheet sticking out from the open flap of the tent. I went to move it aside, so I wouldn’t get any sand on it when a monotone voice said, “That’s my foot.”

“Oh, sorry!” I said, slightly startled, while several questions flashed through my mind: 1) Why did Donna remain inside the tent after it stopped raining? I had to get out cuz it felt like a sauna after a while. 2) Why were her feet sticking all the way out of the tent? And 3) Whyyy was she still lying diagonally?!

While we began our morning routine, Donna told me that she wasn’t aware that I had left the tent, so she never moved from her original position, and the awkward c-shape she was in helped stretch out her back, so she had a really great sleep. Go figure. It turned out that the son of the OBYN and orthopedist was the only person who figured out the proper tarp method in order to stay dry, and he and Donna seemed to be the only two who slept well all through the night. Everyone else looked bleary-eyed as we packed up our camp and ate another gourmet breakfast of green apple pancakes, sausages, eggs, and fruit.

Sean had told us to expect some of the best rapids today, so Donna and I were determined to have everything ready in order to experience at least some of them from the front of the raft. There were still one or two people who had gotten so cold that first day, they did not ever want to sit up front again. Others were open to it, but Donna and I were perfectly willing to sit up front whenever possible, and we donned our matching Frog Toggs rain suits as soon as breakfast was over with the intention of volunteering if no one else wanted the front. In the afternoon, the warmer air temperature makes getting wet very desirable, but in the morning it can get a little nippy on the raft after you’ve gotten drenched a few times. We were completely willing to wait for our turn if others wanted to sit in the “bathtub” first, but our perfectly matching Frog Toggs seemed to indicate to a certain somebody that we were taking over the raft! This resulted in some gnarly tension as we were getting ready to embark.

All Donna was suggesting was that we discuss who wanted to sit where, and when we could switch so that everyone got a turn to sit where they wanted. As theatre makers and teachers, she and I understand the importance of cooperation, collaboration, setting clear expectations, and effective communication. But “The Problem” seemed to take our assertive behavior as a challenge to their fragile ego. The day before, I had already witnessed this person roll their eyeballs like a petulant teenager at a comment Donna had made, and I could tell this person was gonna be bad news. Donna said she also witnessed the same eye rolling towards me. Give me a break.

I often say that if I hadn’t selected Theatre Arts as my college major, I would have chosen either linguistics because I love languages, or psychology because I love understanding what makes humans tick. So now I will give you my armchair expert psychological analysis of “The Problem.” They live in some small town in Texas, and no offense to any Texans, but I’ve never heard of it before. As a matter of fact, as I write this, I can’t even remember the name of it. But this person clearly fancies themselves as a big fish in a very small pond. It was obvious to me that they were accustomed to getting their way, not through any leadership qualities, which I could clearly see that they did not possess, but through passive-aggressive behavior and manipulation, thinly veiled with “suthun chaaahm.” They also had the misfortune of having pissed-off-resting-face and practically never smiling. I’ve had experiences with this type of person before and know that they are an almost impossible nut to crack, and with a trip that only lasted seven days, I had no intention of wasting my time or energy on trying to win them over.

“The Problem” immediately began arguing with Donna when she suggested we decide the seating arrangement before boarding the raft, by stating, “We’ll just figure it out.”

To which Donna replied, “That’s why I’m suggesting that we talk about it now. So we can figure it out. That way it’s fair for everyone.”

The dialog continued along this unproductive vein, with “The Problem” remaining testy and argumentative while taking others aside and talking smack about Donna in a not-so-covert whisper. Everyone else stood around, impotently watching and saying nothing.

Finally, I said, “Look, we’re dressed in our Frog Toggs because we wanted to be ready to get wet and cold, but Donna and I are not insisting that we ride up front all day or even right now. It just seemed that some people were not interested in sitting in the “bathtub” anymore, so we’re happy to do that. However, if anyone wants to sit up front right now, just say so.” Silence. Ugggh. I hate chickenshit behavior.

“Anybody?” I repeated. “If anyone wants to sit up front now, I’m happy to sit in the “bucket seat” (the seat on either side of the “bathtub,” which often gets the most wet).

Another awkward moment of silence, was followed by Brian raising his hand somewhat hesitantly, and said, “I’ll go up front. If no one minds.”

“Perfect!” I announced. “I’ll switch with you later. But I want to sit in the “bucket seat” next to you now, so I can hear you scream.” This comment caused a tiny ripple of laughter, and I pushed ahead with more joking in order to dissipate the tension. Brian was our group’s “Class Clown,” so he and I continued our friendly banter while everyone else found their seats on the raft. Sean and Natalia had been busy hoisting down all the equipment on the raft when this was all taking place, so they missed the entire melodrama.

Donna was understandably upset about the unnecessary friction caused by “The Problem’s” stubbornness, but I kept telling her about my mantra for handling difficult people – “Ignore and avoid. They’re not worth your time or energy. Just ignore and avoid.” (I really did avoid and ignore them for the remaining four days, and managed to only speak four words to them. Once when I was reaching to unclasp my carabiner from the raft and said, “Excuse me.” And another time when our paths crossed on the Poop Trail, and they handed me the toilet paper Tupperware, I said, “Thank you.”)

First we hit Salt Creek Rapid and Granite Rapid. Nice soakers. Next, was Hermit Rapid, which Sean and Natalia said was their favorite, and I agree with them. It was like an amusement park ride. Then, came Crystal Rapid, which Sean described as “sporty.” That one was wild! The Frog Toggs only served to keep me from getting chilly, but everything and everywhere was wet. And I made the rookie mistake of not cinching up the drawstring waist on my pants. Not that it would have made any difference. Like I said, the “bucket seat” sees a lot of water. It was fun!

We stopped at two waterfalls. The first one was kind of sketchy when we started on the trail because the water flowing to the river was dark red and stinky! I almost bailed on hiking the whole way because the water seemed so foul, but I continued, and I’m glad I did. As we continued walking, the water looked cleaner and the trek through the stream reminded me of hiking through The Narrows in Zion. When the waterfall came into view, it was quite pretty, and the water was relatively clear(ish)

The second waterfall was at Elves Chasm between mile 117 and 118. A beautiful waterfall of clean water, decorated with dripping moss and ferns. To the right of the fall was a short trail leading up to a “platform” where a few people jumped off into the green pool below. I did not because I pride myself on not succumbing to peer pressure. And besides, I’ve seen what can happen if you miscalculate that kind of jump. I recalled a young man I saw being led back by his friends to the main road with a bloody head after attempting a jump into a pool along the road to Hana in Maui. No, thanks! But I had fun watching others do it. Especially when Sean performed a perfect cannonball!

Donna did jump off the platform and told me, “It’s really not that bad.”

“Nope.”

“But you’ve jumped out of an airplane!”

“It makes no sense, I know. I can’t explain it. And also, I did not jump of my own volition. I was Baby Bjorned to my instructor, and he did the jumping. I just literally went along for the ride.”

I sat in the “bathtub” for the remainder of the day, and we hit a few more small rapids. After that, the river became quiet and still for several miles. It was also after we had eaten lunch, so it was a sleepy raft. The quiet had me thinking of the Powell expedition, and how those men must have felt flowing down this river and seeing the canyon for the first time, literally not knowing what awaited them around each bend. It is no less than an absolute miracle that any of them survived at all. Four of the men did not make it to the end of the expedition. Frank Goodman, the Brit who was that group’s “Scapegoat,” left when he had decided he had had enough “frontiering.” He made it safely out of the canyon and went on to eventually marry and settle in Utah. The other three – William Dunn and the Howland brothers – left when they no longer trusted Powell’s judgement and leadership. They did not survive. No one knows exactly how they died. There are many theories, but it is not surprising that they did not make it. The surprise is that any of them made it out alive at all.

Maybe the friction that began our day brought all of that to mind because there was certainly friction on the Powell expedition, causing three men to leave the expedition by climbing out of the canyon. Lee Ann, the director for Men On Boats, always described my character, John Colton Sumner, as “the peacemaker.” In real life, Sumner carried the guilt of the loss of those three men for the rest of his life because he was unable to convince them to stay, and perhaps also because he was unable to get Powell to convince them either. The scene where we said goodbye to the three who departed was always one of my favorite moments in the play. And on closing night, the tears were genuine.

While motoring through the calm water after the earlier turbulence, both physically and emotionally, I thought about those brave explorers. If it hadn’t been for them, I wouldn’t be here in this magical place. Nor would I have experienced Men On Boats, and I felt my throat constrict as we passed by the impossibly high rock walls.

We arrived at our next camp site, and it worked out that Donna and I found a spot separated from the rest of the group by the kitchen area. It wasn’t intentional, but I think both of us were relieved to have some distance from the others. It also happened to be on the side where Sean decided to set up the Poop Box, and our cots were just a short distance from the start of the Poop Trail. So we dubbed ourselves the Poop Trail Sphinx, and required that everyone treat us to a joke in order to pass through. Most people were good sports about it, and it further helped to dispel the earlier friction.

Dinner was Mexican Night; with fajitas and the most delicious guacamole I’ve ever eaten. This was followed by a group staying up late, playing games, and being SUPER LOUD. Perhaps, it really wasn’t that late, but there was no chance of sleeping with that racket going on. Of course, no one asked us if we wanted to join in on the games. It felt inconsiderate, to say the least, and I was annoyed after starting the day on such a sour note. Finally, the revelers ended their party, and all was quiet. Hopefully, the remainder of the trip would be free of any further anarchy.