River Journal 9-5-25

Day 6 "Storm Stories and the Return" (Mile 186.4 to Las Vegas)

Friday September 5th, 2025

It was still sprinkling in the morning, and I heard Nicholas and family packing up outside. I made my way over to the circle of chairs by the front of the campsite, to find a tent was pitched in the middle of the circle of chairs which hadn't been there when we were playing music the night before. Lattimer had set it up for Will to protect his head wound once the storm started. At breakfast (cantaloupe, bagels, and cereal), people were telling all their storm stories. Young Nicholas had wanted a tent, but Matt (his dad) had decided against it, and their tarps in the end had failed them. Nicholas had burrito’d himself in the tarp, but and the water pooled into his sleeping bag below and created a little river along his back. Annie and Ken had been on their cots in the open air when Lattimer came by before the storm to offer to a tent. Ken had spoken for both of them, saying, “We’re good!” The couple were hashing it out both playfully and with some real frustration during breakfast, Annie saying, “You decided for both of us? We made it to 36, this is the end!” Angela and Mike had gotten pretty soaked in tarps, and one of the twins on the hill had lost his in the wind and had ended up huddled in only his rain gear on the cot. Scott, Bethany and Carol had camped close to the wash, which had gotten high and loud, but not high enough to flood them. Becky simply proclaimed, “I’ll be dry one day.” Good thing this was the last day of the trip and not the first - the final morning vibe was "frustrated to be cold and wet" but also "at least we have a real good story now!"

Dry footprints of our tarps surrounded by basalt and wet sand

I felt nostalgic already as we washed our plates and silverware that we’d held onto all week for the last time, piling them all in their places for the guides to pack up for the next group that would run the last leg of the Colorado in the canyon, 3 more days downstream. Our ritual of a fire line to pack the dry bags onto the rafts was full of good humor. Since our own duffels were now staying with us on the beach, we passed the extremely light dry bags containing mostly wet sleeping bags and tarps with lots of laughter. We were running late, but Bethany set up a phone on an overturned bucket for a group picture on the beach before we left, to commemorate the trip.

It felt strange getting on the boat with no day bag to hook on, and no rain gear for a morning of rapids. I started to feel sad the trip was ending. We had probably 5 or 10 minutes of floating and no rapids before we pulled off to the left at what looked like just a small beach, but was in fact the landing for Whitmore Heli Pad! I had expected something resembling a tarmac. But no, it was just the side of the river with a relatively flat area big enough for people to walk up to a helicopter! The helicopter was later than us to arrive, so we got to hang out and say thank you and goodbye to our guides.

Nate, me (Kenzie), trip lead Lattimer, and Sam at the helipad

The choppers had to be balanced with passenger weight distribution like the small scenic propeller planes, so they took trips of 5 or 6 people at a time throughout the morning. Dad was called in the first group out. Ironically, the helicopter organizer guy then announced to the rest of us, “we’re gonna try not to split any families up." Well, too late buddy! Dad had a nice morning playing pickleball at the ranch outside the canyon while Nate, Sam and I hung out on the ridge til the last flight out at 10am. I don’t think any of us really wanted to leave, it was the nicest place to wait, right up closeto big flakey walls of rainbow shale, with the river and the canyon to admire.

Layers of "Rainbow" Bright Angel Shale you could walk right up to!

The helicopter ride was gorgeous. It was surreal to see the canyon walls fall behind us. We flew low to the ground and could keep watching the rock formations from above for a long time, even outside of the canyon. One ATV ride later, we found ourselves at Bar 10 Ranch, a waypoint designed as a liminal space between being fully in the canyon or back in a city. Just a small cafeteria, a shaded patio, some bathrooms and showers, a single Grand Canyon Airlines check-in desk that listed all departure times as “1:00ish,” a gift shop, a pickle ball court and a ping pong table. The weather was perfect and I took the opportunity to brush up on my river notes. I asked Will what it was like to be in the cave and get his head wound. Sam showed him the bird book entry of the “Common Poorwill.” Nate and Sam and Dad played some racquet sports with Max and Jake, and we were served a sandwich lunch just like we had on the river, with a few extra vegetables.

Nate admiring the canyon from the chopper

We loaded up in an old bus out front to the runway at 12:40. Full of fellow feeling, we cheered as the last person got on the bus (Naomi) - just like on the river, when she would show up last to dinner from her exploratory wanderings. We rumbled down the road to the smallest runway I’d ever seen. First Officer Glynnis from our trip out was co-piloting us! She had a different pilot, a jovial guy who had lots of dad jokes to try out on us. A few of us joked about making a fire line to get our bags on the plane - we had all really bonded over the camp and river routines.

Leaving the canyon behind on Grand Canyon Airlines

Back we flew to Boulder City, in the same plane as we arrived, but this time we knew everybody on it. It was all Marc’s boat, minus Claudia and Dan who were heading to another location. “Suck rubber!” shouted Sam as we lifted off, to a chorus of laughs. A few of us (including me) fell asleep on the ride back, despite the gorgeous views. Back to Boulder City we flew, over the pine forests of the North Rim and the shadows of lumbering clouds. From there we got on another bus, but no Pressley this time (a nice Filipino guy instead). More camp routine jokes continued, and at the airport stop Becky hugged almost every single person on the bus before departing.

Then we were back at the Marriott in Las Vegas, with lots of nostalgia and love for the canyon and our new friends that would surely follow us home. Previous River Journal