Up next was Hermit, which Harlan noted had the biggest waves in the canyon. “Think of it as a big, fun wave train,” he said. But that “fun” included about a dozen waves in succession, some of them over twenty feet tall. As I dipped down into the troughs, I tried to keep my kayak pointed straight. Then I felt myself rushing up a wall of water so steep I was certain I would flip over backward. “Hang on!” Harlan yelled. “Lean forward!”

I pressed my torso against the hull of my kayak and managed not to tip. My kayak caught air off the lip of that three-story wave, and I straightened up for the big drop into the next one.

At the bottom eddy, Lonnie and I compared notes. We’d both flipped once, but then Skyler mentioned he’d gone over three times. “Blind guys rule! Sighted people drool!” I shouted to Lonnie, reaching out and finding his hand for a fist bump. We both pumped our fists in the air and cheered to Skyler’s amused chagrin.

After a stop at camp, we headed out again and immediately encountered a six-mile stretch called the Gems: six rapids, spaced one per mile—Agate, Sapphire, Turquoise, Emerald, Ruby, Serpentine. Although they were giant, they retained a feeling of friendliness. There were no monster holes or complex navigation to twist my gut. I just had to point ’er straight and ride the bucking river serpent.

After the excitement, Harlan had us pull over to a spot he’d discovered on one of his previous trips. He told us that the heavy thunderstorms early in the expedition might just awaken something special. We hiked along the beach, through some tamarisk bushes, and came to an alcove with a giant bedrock pothole that had been filled in with rainwater.

“Shhhhh,” Harlan instructed. “Sit down and await the surprise.” Within seconds, on cue, a cacophony of croaks emanated from the pond, as if Harlan the conductor had just waved his baton. We laughed hard, and then someone stupidly chucked a rock in the pond, probably thinking the frogs would respond by croaking again. Instead, they went totally silent, and I feared that had ended our encounter. Then Timmy let out his own frog song: “Err err err err, err err err err. BREEDEET.” He simultaneously screeched and rolled out a clear click in the back of his throat. It was a near-perfect impression, and the frogs all belched right back at him, like they had a new leader.

Lonnie whispered, “Timmy, I’d be careful. I think they’re in love with you.”

“That’s right,” Harlan said. “That’s their mating call, and looks like Timmy’s got a few hundred admirers over there.”