“Above all he learned from the river how to listen, to listen with a still heart with a waiting, open soul, without passion without desire, without judgment.”
–Herman Hesse
I’m lying in my silk sheet sack under the big spread of stars on a beautiful sandy beach in the Grand Canyon. The moon is new and the sky is as black as can be. The Milky Way is a dazzling silver brushstroke through the glittering darkness. The stars are bright enough to light the night like a marquee for a show that I want to see again and again. Music is the only elixir that can get close to the purity of these moments. I wish so much that I could write a song to it, but there are already so many perfect songs in the world, one for each moment and any attempt I make falls short of capturing the sentiment.
I don’t want to sleep, only to just lay awake and stare into the brilliance and never want it to end. The transience of it is inevitable because each day we wake up and pack our camp and travel down river and closer to the end of our time here. Our days are simple, with few decisions to make. Others are in charge of what to eat, drink, only stopping along the way to complete vegetation transects and kill an occasional non-native plant.
There are very few ways of communicating besides stories and songs. There is no e-mail, cell phones or text messaging. Everything is now. This is comforting, the simplicity of it. And as we familiarize ourselves with each other and the rudimentary tasks of our existence as a small tribe, there is more time to take in our surroundings. Such as the Devonian river channels around South Canyon and the gushettes of clear spring water pouring out of the limestone at Vasey’s Paradise. Even though our tasks involve looking closely at plants, we also find time to wonder many other things in our path. Everywhere the trials of life are all around us and sometimes our paths intersect and we are lucky enough to observe a small part of their existence. We encounter a muskrat alongside the river gnawing happily on a tender phragmites runner, then watch as he dives into the river, swimming steadily upstream.
It has been more than two years since I did a river trip. For nearly a decade it was a place I made thousands of memories. Now each beach and side canyon I pass stirs these recollections of other times. I cannot separate the place from the memory of the people, who we all were 10 years ago, and who we have become. At each camp my heart is full of all the wild moments spent there, mingling with my current company.
On this trip we fight to stay awake past 8 p.m. every night. I wondered about our ability to make new memories. Where is the whiskey and daring spirits? We can’t be that old. But it seems as though many of the times for collecting new memories are behind us. Grand Canyon is as much about the people and stories as it is about this magnificent ditch of rock, river and fascinating living things.
I know that some great benevolent force looks down on us while we are here, I can feel it. I think of all the times that this canyon has given me just what I need and created such magic in groups of people, and unfathomable beauty hitting you squarely around every bend. I miss everybody when I am here, but I also feel so close to myself and the people I love. I feel protected and powerful and small and confident—as if there will always be so much to know and learn and be.
