That night, Seth, one of Lonnie’s guides, presented me with a drawing he’d been working on at various camps. He described it to me as a dark river cutting through a deep canyon. “The boils,” he said, “often the worst when least expected, represent the unpredictability and hardship of the expedition. The imposing walls, massive and confining, forced us to confront our greatest challenges and our greatest discoveries.”

Penned across one of Seth’s canyon walls was a poem, written by Katie Proctor, one of our AzRA guides. She read it aloud:

Some say seeing is believing.

But I’ve been a witness.

To truth being felt.

The unseen is understood when experienced.

The open-heart policy.

Paddle in hand.

Each stroke leaving a wake of inspiration behind like currents expanding out to distant shores.

You will never know the magnitude of their impression.

The momentum of possibility.

You will not be eddied out in your quest for experiencing the fullness of current.

Strange how having the courage to live from a place of nonsense can lead to the living of your wildest dreams.

Through the journey, children will ask you about faith.

Just trust and ah … give it a whirl.

On September 27, 277 miles after putting in at Lees Ferry, our team rounded the final river bend, and I could hear the canyon walls shrinking and widening as the Grand Wash Cliffs gave way to the Nevada desert above Lake Mead. My mind swirled with conflicting emotions and memories from the river as our paddle strokes cleaved the smooth water. Harlan called out his final commands to me—“Small right. Hold that line”—and I heard his voice crack a little. I thought he might be crying. Then my boat touched the shore, and, as I climbed out onto the sandy beach, I heard soft, smiling voices.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Arjun? Emma?” I now fully understood the source or Harlan’s tears. I began crying, too, as I reached out and swept them up in my arms. Ellie then stepped forward and joined the embrace, her warm voice whispering congratulations in my ear.

Then we were all hugging and swaying together. That’s when I understood the source of Harlan’s tears. He’d been bearing a lot during that last stretch as he saw my family waiting silently and expectantly on the beach. He’d also been carrying a burden throughout the entire project. He’d taken on the daunting responsibility of guiding me down a river that had once nearly taken his life, and he’d delivered me safely into the arms of my family, from his home, and now back to mine.

EPILOGUE