I could still hear Harlan in my ear, reminding me to have faith that the journey down the river was a good one.

36

Without much sleep, the next day, I crawled out of my tent. I heard soft voices and found Harlan and Rob already awake. They were next to the kayaks, talking quietly. I approached, swinging my trekking pole in front of me, and realized Timmy, Skyler, and Steven were there, too. I pulled Harlan aside and said, “What do you say we … maybe … try it again.”

“You know,” he replied, “I’ve been thinking the same thing. In fact, I was hoping you’d say that.” It was unanimous. Everyone agreed and began quietly suiting up. Lava Falls was one of the few major rapids on the Grand Canyon that you could actually portage around upstream and run again. So even though it felt backward, Harlan, Rob, Timmy, Steven, Skyler, and I began carrying our boats toward the top of Lava, wordlessly bushwhacking through the thick tamarisk scrub. This time, although the rapid was just as loud as it had been the day before, it sounded less menacing, and I felt calm.

Just below Lava, the navigable terrain ended, and we had to cross the river to reach the top of the rapid. As I paddled across the squirrelly water below the tail waves, I flipped over in the clash of the eddy line and struggled to roll up again. I got up on my second try, and as soon as my head rose above water, I could hear the crash of Lava above. Again, I felt that panic shoot through my body like lightning.

“I’m having second thoughts,” I said. “Maybe I should rethink this.” But the team ignored me and kept paddling. I knew that was their way of spurring me on. Soon we were across to the other side. Everyone grabbed their boats and kept trudging along the shoreline upstream. I followed. We finally dropped the boats at the put-in, and Timmy lightened the mood by enthusiastically proclaiming, “It’s time to get a little bit of Lava 2.0!”