We got back to Utah in time to rig the river trip and still have enough light to take little Jiminy down to the river for a test run and rechristening.
We called it a success in spite of a few issues with the motor and a few rescues. The following morning we headed down the Green River from the state park, with a wild assortment of rafts, dories, and motors. With the river bottoming out at 2,000 cfs, rowing the 120 miles of the Green River seemed a bit impractical.
Once we got through the rockiest section we rafted up and ground up a fair amount of mud with our props.
Brin’s fancy custom motor mount. I am jealous.
Sunset and moonrise.
Amid the plethora of recent graffiti at the River Register is a 1928 inscription by the ill-fated Glen and Bessie Hyde.
Cricket contemplating doing the thing at Fort Bottom
I guess people have always scratched on the rocks.
The fabulous White Rim Sandstone emerges as we enter Tower Park.
Typical footwear for this trip. My god, what a lot of mud.
Running the Pickle River. The two upstream tomato dories coming toward us are lining up for the notorious Gherkinator wave. The poor tomato in the foreground did not fare well.
Geoligist RJ trying to get respect for his lecture, wearing a dress and pearls.
Oh Tower Park! You are so beautiful!
On into Stillwater Canyon. Check out the giant lizard tracks on the two slabs in the middle.
The Colorado (left) meets the not-so-Green.
More graffiti. The Kolb brothers were here, having a hellacious trip 111 years ago.
And we are expected to run wooden dories full of people through this? Big Drop Three at a tad above 4,000 cfs. Maybe it will look a little better from the other side of the river.
Nope. Well, we ran it anyway. Two boats needed little bandaids but nothing too serious.
Entering the silt of former Lake Powell. We had quite a few miles of rake. Or liver. Hard to know what to call it.
A very rainy lunch and a few dozen waterfalls.
The “take-out” at North Wash. Insane. We sent three boats out here and Andy, RJ, and Cricket drove around to Bullfrog to get houseboats, pontoon boats, and Jiminy.
Meanwhile, the rest of us continued downstream though crazy mudberg rapids.
We finally found a wacky camp on mud-shored green water. We’re just a mile or two from Bert Loper’s old Hermitage, still well beneath the waves.
Tapestry Wall is remaking its trademark stripes.
All the gray in this photo is sheets of dead quagga mussels. Ick.
Toto–we’re not in Kansas anymore.
The rest of the trip continued exploring the re-emerging tentacles of Glen Canyon for another week, but I had to return home to deal with pressing issues. Here is the old boatramp at Bullfrog, now far from any access to the reservoir. There’s a new makeshift one a mile or so farther.
A view of the old Hite Marina on my drive home. Also far from the reservoir. Or river. Or liver. Or rake.
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