The muddy, red-brown water flows like chocolate through the narrow chasm between vertical sandstone walls. My rubber raft smoothly glides along the current, laden down with pounds of food and equipment. As I pull on the oars, I see three other rafts swing around the corner of the canyon. Deep in the heart of the desert, we are miles from anything and anyone.
As we continue down the river, the sheer cliffs begin to fall away. Soon, the ribbon of water is coursing along an open expanse of rock. Scrubland stretches for miles on either bank, with desert towers, buttes, and mesas dotting the horizon. With the sun dropping low, we find a sandy beach to set up camp. With the heat of the day behind us, everyone quickly and efficiently unloads the boats, gets the camp kitchen set up, and dinner started. With four boats for only four people, we have plenty of space for delicious food and beer. Steaks, bacon, pasta, salmon, we have it all. Truly, no luxury has been spared on this trip.
The plan was simple. Pack four rafts with enough food, beer, and supplies to last up to five weeks on the river, and float through the canyon country of Utah. In addition to the food, camping equipment, and kitchen, and the real reason we set aside five weeks of our lives to meander through the labyrinth of southern Utah, was clear in the piles of ropes, clanking nuts and cams, harnesses, and shoes. We would float the river, scoping out lines on the nearby towers, stop whenever we found a promising line, and climb. We had no plan, no guidebook, and more than a month on our hands.
A few days into our trip, we found our rhythm. We’d row for a day or two, scoping lines from the river. When we found an area that looked promising, we’d beach the boats, hike to the tower, climb, hike back to camp, cook up an incredible meal, sit around a driftwood fire as the temperature dropped, and watch the Milky Way sparkle over the desert. The next morning, we could either hike back to the lines, if any others had caught our attention, or continue down the river. Days pass in unhurried excitement. With no itinerary, each day is an adventure. Climb, eat, sleep, paddle, climb, eat sleep.
Five weeks pass in a blur. My body is sun-tanned, lean, and beat up, but I feel reborn. My frayed nerves have been soothed, my frantic thoughts calmed. Nothing, not even the looming return to civilization, can disrupt this blissful feeling of tranquility.
I take a breath and roll over. I’m back in my bed, struggling to fall asleep. Thoughts of emails I need to send, progress I haven’t made on projects, and random song lyrics restart their frenzied flight through my head. For those 5 minutes, I can turn off the incessant stream of consciousness and transport myself to a place where the hustle and bustle falls away.
I love getting outside. I try to get out as often as I can. But I also appreciate the fact that wilderness and adventure can help me, even inside. I appreciate that I’ve had experiences that I can draw on for inspiration, and that there are still things I haven’t done that push me to develop my skills as an adventurer. Mostly, I appreciate my mind for giving me the opportunity to visualize my greatest dreams.
The Dirtbag Wannabe 