Arizona Raft Adventures—or AzRA for short—organized all our river logistics. Their large, motorized rafts would carry the tons of gear and food so we could concentrate exclusively on safely kayaking the river. AzRA was the same company that had taken me and the blind teenagers down the Grand Canyon with Harlan and Marieke years before, so it was all coming full circle. Since that first trip, the owner, Fred Thevenin, had been a huge supporter and had gone out of his way to make sure we had everything we needed.

When all was ready and the three support boats loaded, we eased into the river under a clear sky. There had been many months of preparation and buildup, so it felt good to finally be on the water. A soft breeze blew against my face. Later in the day, that wind could rage, a result of rising heat that forced the air up the canyon. Often it blew so fiercely, it canceled out the effects of the water current, so you had to fight your way downriver. However, for now, the sun and breeze felt perfect. I did a practice roll, and when I came up, I took a deep breath and listened to the muffled sound of the river funneling skyward, filling the canyon and reverberating off the sheer rock walls to either side. I could already sense the majesty of this place, as well as its menace.

24

As we passed under the Navajo Bridge, just a few miles below the put-in, Rob paddled up to me, excitedly reporting that he had seen a California condor right overhead. Their population had been decimated due to lead poisoning. By 1987, there was just one remaining bird in the wild, but with conservation and reintroduction efforts, they were slowly making a comeback.

“It’s a good omen!” Rob said excitedly. “Although I don’t really believe in omens,” he then corrected himself.