Our original plans changed over the weekend. Not because we wanted them to, but because the weather had other ideas, with the storms predicted to land right in the middle of our planned trip.
Long miles on a dirt road with thunderstorms rolling through do not make for a good weekend. Getting bogged down out there sounded miserable. I’ve done enough of those trips to know the difference between stubborn and stupid. This one leaned toward the latter. So we adjusted.
Instead, Joan and I headed toward a canyon we’d wanted to visit for a while with no big plan. We’d camp, wander, and see what we could find.
We dropped off the rim, worked our way to the canyon bottom, and came across a panel with a mix of styles we don’t usually see near our Moab home.
Someone shot it up years ago, but the size and uniqueness still stand out generations later.
On the way back up, we checked out an alcove we spotted from above. On a hunch, we climbed up, poked around, and found more images along with other archaeological remnants.
An intricately carved set of sandal prints especially caught our eye.
We took a break, had a snack, and enjoyed the quiet.
We climbed back to the rim, found a campsite tucked into the junipers, and stayed out of the wind as the storm built.
From camp, we watched the light shift across the canyon walls, made dinner, and let the day wind down.
Those sandal prints have outlasted everything the people who made them knew. I’m not sure the river will outlast what we know today.
The next day, we met up with Stephanie and Kevin for a float on the Gunnison River, putting in near Delta and taking out upstream from a stretch I’ve packrafted before.
Conditions were not ideal, with overcast skies plus blustery winds. And this low snow year? Flows around 800 CFS. Lower than what I’ve seen in past seasons, and I bumped bottom a few times in a packraft.
The wind and lower flows slowed us down, but we still had a good day on the water. Good company, quiet canyon walls, and a steady current carry you along even when conditions are less than perfect.
We took out just before the storm hit. You could see it building upriver. Dark clouds stacked up, the wind shifted, and the air changed just enough to say it was time to finish.
From Joan.
We loaded up, drove back, and spent the evening at Stephanie and Kevin’s place: good food, good conversation, and rain on a roof instead of a tent.
The trip brought me back to an earlier piece I wrote, The Last Journey.
The way we move through these landscapes is changing, not in some abstract sense, but in real, measurable ways.
A well-known local land manager put it bluntly:
“Pushing the low water limits of a fully loaded 16 foot boat with 360 cfs on the San Juan. We put on the San Juan with 480 cfs and watched it drop every day. I was surprised to see it was 360 when we pulled off the river yesterday. Unfortunately low water boating is going to be the norm this year, the only river with decent flows will be the Green as they dump water from Flaming Gorge into Powell to save it from deadpool. Reality is catching up to us on the Colorado Plateau and across the west. I’ll keep floating until the water runs out, but it might be time for smaller boats.”
You feel that reality even on a modest float like ours. Eight hundred CFS on the Gunnison still works, but it makes me wonder. What does this look like in July? In another dry year? In five years?
You start thinking about smaller boats. Shorter windows. More flexible plans.
You start wondering how long the trips you’ve always taken will still look the same.
The land endures. It always does.
We just move through it differently now.