After another day of paddling mostly flat water, we made it into camp with enough time to spend the late afternoon heading up the steep switchback trail to the cliffside Nankoweap Granaries, hundreds of feet above the river. Small hollowed-out rooms were carved into the sheer wall where ancient Pueblo peoples, ancestors of the current-day Hopi, had stored seeds and grain to protect their food source from critters and rot.

As Harlan and I sat on the rocks in front of the ruins, I said, “They must have been an industrious people to carve out a life in this desert.”

“They were deeply connected to the river and this canyon,” he replied. Then he took my hand and pointed upstream. “They also had salt mines a few miles from here,” he said. “Some of the walls are still white as chalk. It was a rite of manhood for Hopi boys to take a pilgrimage from high up on the mesa down to the salt mines. They’re sacred grounds.”

Just then, the early-evening winds began picking up, descending from the canyon rim. It felt so peaceful up here, I was in no hurry to leave. “This is my home,” Harlan continued, “and I want to share it with you.”

I had to admit, it was quite an impressive home. I could hear the huge canyon wall across the river and the open expanse of the sky above. Somewhere above I could hear the cry of a red-tailed hawk, and far below, I could hear the ever-present churn of the river as it pressed on toward the sea.

“I’m still afraid,” I said, waving my hand in the direction of the river below. “I’ve tried to fight it, but sometimes I think the fear is winning … and the real big rapids are all still ahead.”

Harlan paused, and I could tell he was also surveying the river, both upstream and down. “In kayaking, you’re interacting with something that is bigger than you,” he said, “something that is moving randomly in different directions. No matter how good you get, you can’t always predict it. And once you’re headed into the rapid, there’s no stop button. It’s not like other sports where you can throw on the brakes and regroup. Once you’ve made the decision to go, you have to be okay with it and accept what happens. That’s daunting, but I think it’s also beautiful. The river does what it does.”

“But how do you ever master that mind game?” I asked.

“I think it’s a balance between control and letting go,” he answered. “Try to control it completely, and the river crushes you. Give in completely, and the river will also crush you. It’s ultimately about harnessing its energy and riding it for a moment.”