Thankfully, the next two days were light on rapids, with long stretches of flat water. Harlan and the other guides could rest their voices, and Steven cleverly attached his iPod to a couple of waterproof speakers, which he slung over his back. Lonnie and I fell in behind him, paddling in rhythm to some high-energy tunes. The music sounded clear and sharp with the beats echoing crisply off the canyon walls. Since following a constant sound was way more efficient than responding and readjusting to voice commands, it made the miles go pretty quickly, except for the occasional times Lonnie and I would unexpectedly collide, paddles clanking or Lonnie’s boat spearing mine in LonDart fashion.

At the end of the day, I was pretty fatigued, not only from the burning heat that, in my dry top, made me feel like I was stewing in my own personal sauna, but from concentrating so hard on following Harlan’s commands, which were increasingly difficult to decipher through the radios. His voice had begun sounding so distant, it was like he was calling down to me from the moon.

I shouted over to Skyler, “Sky, can you snag me the sat phone?” We’d planned to use it only for emergencies, but I figured failing radios after only a few days of paddling qualified.

We managed to scramble up to an open place on the ledges where we got a decent satellite signal, and I called the radio communications company in the United Kingdom. Luckily, Derek, the owner, answered and readily agreed to express-air two more units. However, a lot of moving parts would need to come together. Derek would have to build and test the units and ship them overnight from Europe. They’d need to clear customs in Phoenix and be driven to Flagstaff. Then Marieke, Harlan’s sister, would have to drive them to the South Rim, where one of Harlan’s friends would hike them down to Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the canyon. We’d be at Phantom in less than a week, and if there was one mishap in the chain, I’d have no working radios for the biggies that were to follow: Horn Creek, Granite, Crystal, Upset, and, most important, Lava Falls.

That night, the crew hung out pretty late after dinner, telling river stories. As usual, Timmy provided the entertainment by dragging out two giant dry bags, which clanged and jingled. He reached inside and began handing out musical instruments: old guitars, drums, triangles, cowbells, tambourines, and percussive shakers. Everyone took an instrument and began jamming in a circle, with Timmy whimsically leading and improvising lyrics, usually about someone on the trip like Papa Duck or Lonnie the LonDart. Then he’d call out a name and that person would have to make up and sing a verse.