The All-American story of a boy, a wild river, plenty of danger, excitement… and some naked women.
What more could a 14 year old want?
And, in Part II, how the experience would end up shaping most of my life.
It was September, 1976, and I was a typical, impressionable west Texas 14 year old just starting high school. I had spent a lot of time outdoors as we did in those days doing things like riding motorcycles out in the desert, occasionally camping up in the mountains, or fishing with my grandparents up in New Mexico. But, I had never really done anything that could be classified as an adventure. My dad owned a business that operated seven days a week, which didn’t leave much time off for long family vacations. That’s why I was surprised when my parents did something they had never done before – pull me out of school for a trip. An eight day float down the Colorado River, 180 miles through the Grand Canyon.
At the time, I remember being more excited about missing two weeks of school than the trip itself. I had no idea what to expect. I had never been to the Grand Canyon, I had only seen pictures. And, I had never floated on a river, I grew up in the desert. But, all that changed when we got to Lee’s Ferry, the starting point of the trip and the only place to access the river by vehicle for nearly 200 miles. Lee’s Ferry sits at a break in the canyon wall where the Paria River joins the Colorado. Glen Canyon Dam is about 15 miles upriver and Marble Canyon begins immediately downriver to the south. The entire scene was spectacular; soaring red sandstone walls and the biggest river I had ever seen.
At Lee’s Ferry, the National Park Service has built a long concrete ramp for launching the rafts as well as facilities to check you in. Helps them keep track of who’s supposed to come out the other end. The launch was a busy place that morning. Besides our gang (a commercial tour which consisted of ten guests and three guides), a group of kayakers and another commercial boat were all packing up and getting ready to depart. The giant pontoon raft had been brought in and inflated earlier. Then, a couple of trucks brought in a mountain of gear and supplies.
I eagerly volunteered to help the guides load the boat. What a load it was. Enough to feed 13 people well for eight days plus all the associated gear and everyone’s personal gear. Then, there was the beer. Cases and cases of it along with sodas, juices, and a variety of other beverages. The entire process of loading everything, distributing the weight within the raft, and lashing it all down was incredibly efficient. It was evident the guides had done this more than a few times before and they made it look incredibly easy.
The three guides, Peggy, Larry and Byron, were super friendly and patiently answered all my dumb, 14 year old questions. They were everything you’d expect a river guide to be in a rough, dirty hippy kind of way. I immediately thought that these were the coolest people I had ever met and, I think much to the horror of my parents, I wanted to be just like them.
The kayakers set off down the river first, followed by their smaller supply raft. Having never seen a kayak in person, it looked like fun but wet and cold. The river water is frigid, it averages 50 degrees as it is released from the bottom of Lake Powell. They would move fast and we never saw them again. I assume they all survived.
We were up next, ready to depart. Everything was lashed down, life jackets were distributed, and we were briefed on the possible dangers and what to do. Of course, the danger talk only heightened my enthusiasm. As we pushed off, I positioned myself at the very front of the raft. I was not going to miss a thing.
The river moves swiftly and the canyon walls rapidly rise up and close in. The world beyond is left behind. It is just the river and the canyon. At this point you realize there is no turning back; a plunge into the unknown – the true definition of adventure. For a 14 year old boy, life couldn’t get any better. Or could it?
It was at about this point that the guides Larry and Byron couldn’t contain their excitement any longer and burst out with new and important information: the third group that was loading up that morning were Playboy Playmates, photographers and assistants to do a shoot in the canyon. They were on our same itinerary and we would be seeing them often.
I don’t remember my immediate reaction to the news as I was probably staring off, slack-jawed, my chip was way overclocked.
Sure enough, several hours later as we were having lunch and exploring a little side canyon, they floated by. Unfortunately, we were about a hundred meters from the river and my view was fleeting and much too far away. Of course, my dad had the binoculars and a grin pinned to his face for the mere seconds that they were in view as the river quickly carried them out of sight. I learned at that moment to always be the keeper of the binoculars.
We continued to play leapfrog with the Playmates for the next few days. I was always delighted when we rounded a bend and I spied their boat tied at the edge of the river. Everytime we passed each other, short but enthusiastic greetings would be shared. They never failed to be in some state of semi nudity; sometimes only wearing life preservers. I’m sure they were wondering about that creepy kid with the binoculars or maybe they were just used to it as they never tried to hide anything. Their river guides were all smiles and seemed to be having a great trip.
We finally met up with them at Deer Creek Falls, 136 miles downriver from Lee’s Ferry. Their boat was beached at the landing and we tied up alongside. I was instantly out of the boat and several of us hurried up the trail in anticipation of what we may find. We met them as they were returning down the trail. They came bouncing around a corner, appearing out of nowhere, wearing only skimpy bikinis and inappropriate footwear. I was in awe. As Playmates Patti Mcguire, Hope Olsen, and Cindy Russell greeted our band, all I managed to squeak out was a weak “Hi”. Thinking back on the experience, they seemed really tall and intimidating.
It was almost a year before I saw the pictures that were printed in the magazine. If only we had gotten to Deer Creek Falls 30 or 45 minutes sooner.
I led the way as we hiked back to the boat from the falls and as we came into view of the river and the boats, there they were. Two photographers were busy snapping photos as the girls played around on the sand and boat. It was truly a sight to behold in the depths of the Grand Canyon. It lasted maybe ten seconds, but I can remember every single one of them as if they ticked off yesterday.
That Grand Canyon adventure was full of firsts.
I experienced my first earth tremor in the bottom of the canyon. We had set up for supper one evening when it struck, lasting only a couple of seconds. It managed to knock a few things off of the table – nothing major. I remember the excitement over the event was quickly dampened when one of the guides asked “Wonder if the dam held?” Simultaneously, everyone went quiet and turned to look upriver. A real buzz kill.
Then, there was the helicopter ride out of the canyon at the end of the trip. Before we got on the river, that was the thing I looked forward to the most. Once we were on the river, with all the rapids, Playmates, and earthquakes and such, I had pretty much forgotten about it. We caught the helicopter just downriver from Lava Falls – the biggest, baddest rapids in the canyon and the crescendo of the river trip. I got to sit in the co-pilot’s seat. A glass elevator ride up and out of the canyon. A small plane met us on the north rim and flew up back to our vehicles. My first time in a little airplane, too.
Those were the eight days that changed my life.
Time went by and life moved on. I went to college and then to work in commercial real estate and banking. It was the antithesis of adventure and I never had a passion for any of it. Those eight glorious days of adventure would weigh heavy on my mind at times.
