Red Rocks, Blue Skies and White Water

From shore, the sound of rushing water is paradise itself. But bobbing against each other through the night, the rafts groan like they're thinking about things.

* * *

Day Three is ashore. You can sit in the blistering sun, hotter for reflecting off the sand, or make the hard hike to the Doll House, a phantasmagoria of sandstone atop the canyon rim. From the top you also see the La Sal range, almost empty of snow after a week of 100-degree highs.

We return to find the river a couple of feet closer to our cots. When we left Moab it was running at 45,000 cubic feet per second. It's higher now. The record was in 1984, more than 90,000 cfs. The rafting companies ceased operations.

"Oh, these are itty-bitty," Brian said as we hit the first wall of brown water on Day Four. Everyone in the boat got soaked, yelped and loved it, but the initial stretch was so manageable he let two of us ride atop the coolers, the tall orange ones highway crews use.

Ahead, a tree lay sideways in the center of the rapids, held by the current against a huge rock. "That's called wrapping the boat," Brian says, pointing out the furious "back current" curling upstream against the boulder. "You could stay in there forever."

Marcus's boat disappears for a moment. Never a good sign. The river's hydraulics folded it forward at two points, "taco-ing" the raft with a violence that tears open Pedro's toenail, his foot caught in the seam.

"I've never seen that happen before," Marcus says. "These boats are really stiff."

It's that kind of day. Another mile down the river, beyond the stretch of water waiting around the bend, both guides will declare that in five years on the river they have never seen a day so intense and chaotic.

We are three rafts now, a second tour from World Wide linking up for the run, bringing a second S-rig. The third raft guide is new and evidently nervous. As we wait to take off, several passengers observe that he keeps needing to pee.

* * *

Brian takes off first. The plan is to swing around the bend, then drop Pedro on the left bank and wait while he photographs the action. But it becomes clear the current is going to carry us past the drop point. Trying to help, Lorenzo steers the S-rig our way, hoping to nudge the raft toward shore.