It’s 9 am at Lees Ferry Landing in Arizona. The sun is already cooking us like we’re in an oven. I’m wearing my oh-so-unfashionable-protect-me-from-the-sun clothes, which make me feel like a total dweeb. I want to wear a sign saying, “This is not how I dress at home.”
Soon, however, my ego’s need to look good will be the least of my concerns. I’ve already faced Major Fear Number 1. Having no tent to sleep in – for 18 days. But I’ll get back to that.
As our two groups circle up around the Ranger to listen to his talk, I scan the 15 other people I’ll be floating with, along with the hipster 30 to 40-something group who’ll be leap frogging with our posse.
It seems everyone is pretty athletic, adventurous, and they all seem to be taking the Ranger’s words in with no apparent shock to the system.
Me, on the other hand, despite my tiredness, as I hear the words “scorpion,” “rattle snakes,” “bats,” I perk up and pay attention.
We’ve heard of people waking with a bat biting their lip, says the ranger in a calm voice. Scorpions can run across your hands if you sleep outside a tent.
Make sure not to pee on the land, and you’ll have to cart out all of your excrement. Each group will have a “groover” and a pee bucket to set up as your bathroom area
My mind begins to twirl with fear. I’m nearly doubled over with quiet, hysterical laughter.
OH….. MY…. GOD….is all I can think.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Seriously?
I look around. Everyone else seems pretty calm. I feel like my head is about to explode. I am more of a “Cabiner” kind of gal – one who sleeps in a cabin, enjoys the silky sheets, has coffee in bed and then goes out for day hikes.
All I can think about is, if I get ON that boat, I’m stuck.
For 18 days.
Unless I break a bone, or have some other God-Forsaken emergency in which case I could be helicoptered out.
I can see my group looking at me, thinking, Oh yeah, she’s freaking out.
And right they are.
What was I thinking? Eighteen days on the river with mainly people I don’t know, surrounded by scorpions, rattle snakes, bats, slippery rocks to climb and no way to get home except to raft the dangerous rapids ahead. Or break a bone to get the helicopter rescue.
AND we have no tents – for those of us who rented them. There was just a little “glitch” – the person who had it on his check list to rent them, well, forgot that detail.
Onward! Tentless!
My main other concern, is, well, my very fast metabolism and how often I might have to USE that groover.
What if I’m on the river and I have to poop?
Then what?
The idea of only being able to use the “groover” in the morning and evening sent me into another tail spin.
The Ranger continues his talk, clipboard in hand.
Best not to use altering substances on the river. The landscape is harsh and dangerous, so you want to be in a clear state of mind.
Fair enough, I think. Seems reasonable, I think.
At this point, I can barely hear anything the Ranger says. I begin obsessing with my next decision – whether or not I’m actually going to embark on this 18-day bucket list journey I signed up for 2 years ago.
My brain is foggy.
I have to take a shit.
I realize this is the last real toilet I’ll see.
And if I step on the boat in just an hour, with my life vest, and dry-bagged valuables, I’m in for the ride.
I walk the sandy path to the toilet, and once there, relish the last moment of plumbing and running water.
Ok, I’m in, I tell myself.
This is it!
Lets go! Now or never!
