(c) 2010 Lydia Hinshaw
Rafters getting ready for the big trip
The important stuff gets loaded firstLEE'S FERRY, AZ -- My mission Thursday was to drop off six co-workers at the headquarters of an outfitter in Page, AZ.
Then I got to kill four hours (one of my specialties) before meeting them 40-some miles away at Lee's Ferry. During the four hours, they would be riding rafts on a float trip some 20 miles down the Colorado River.
I dropped them off and hit the Safeway for snacks. Then I went to the Page Public Library, which is a beauty, set into a hillside with vast views of the desert and mountains. The acres of windows are only occasionally marred by bullet holes, a reminder that there is still plenty of Wild West in Arizona.
After catching up on a few printed periodicals (and recalling fondly the good old days when that phrase would have been redundant), I climbed back into the company van and set out for Lee's Ferry.
It was hot, but there was a large picnic shelter for shade, and I'd brought a camp chair. I waded into the Colorado in my sandals. It's reputed to be 48 degrees, a number I don't dispute.
While I thawed my feet, I watched river guides preparing for eight- and nine-day rafts through the Grand Canyon. This proved entertaining, as did the banter of guides on break who came up to my shady spot with their large sandwiches.
I observed that cases of beer seemed to be loaded first, and with great enthusiasm.
After about 90 minutes, three rafts from Page hove into view, and my co-workers disembarked from one of them.
They slept most of the way back home the North Rim.
Then I got to kill four hours (one of my specialties) before meeting them 40-some miles away at Lee's Ferry. During the four hours, they would be riding rafts on a float trip some 20 miles down the Colorado River.
I dropped them off and hit the Safeway for snacks. Then I went to the Page Public Library, which is a beauty, set into a hillside with vast views of the desert and mountains. The acres of windows are only occasionally marred by bullet holes, a reminder that there is still plenty of Wild West in Arizona.
After catching up on a few printed periodicals (and recalling fondly the good old days when that phrase would have been redundant), I climbed back into the company van and set out for Lee's Ferry.
It was hot, but there was a large picnic shelter for shade, and I'd brought a camp chair. I waded into the Colorado in my sandals. It's reputed to be 48 degrees, a number I don't dispute.
While I thawed my feet, I watched river guides preparing for eight- and nine-day rafts through the Grand Canyon. This proved entertaining, as did the banter of guides on break who came up to my shady spot with their large sandwiches.
I observed that cases of beer seemed to be loaded first, and with great enthusiasm.
After about 90 minutes, three rafts from Page hove into view, and my co-workers disembarked from one of them.
They slept most of the way back home the North Rim.
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