We tumble off the bus, anxious to get going, to cross over that invisible line, to lose ourselves in that promised other world. The 8-dayers go off to their motor-rig, leaving us to face three dories and our own motor-rig (which follows us, normally out of sight and sound, carrying the food and camp gear). We 14-dayers mill around, trying to sort ourselves into 4-person groups and attach ourselves to a dory.
Lees Ferry is the beginning, Mile 0 as the Colorado is measured. Actually it's Lee's Ferry, being named for John D. Lee who operated a ferry in the 1870s. But official maps don't allow apostrophes in place names; so now it's written Lees.
We are warned that as this is the last flush toilet we'll see for 14 days, we'd better take advantage of it. We do and then we are off. The water here is unnaturally icy cold, blue and clear, the result of the Glen Canyon dam, which holds back the silt in Lake Powell and spews water from the bottom of the lake where the sun never warms it. These days, Lake Powell is very low and the water is about 10 degrees warmer (55F degrees). Still, the moment the boats slip into the river, you feel a delicious chill, a veil of cold air lifting from the water.
About 5 in the afternoon, we set up camp at the curve in the river before Mile 17 left, above House Rock Rapid. AJM and I choose a campsite up the beach from the boats in an enclave of salt cedar (tamarisk). SAM pitches his gear across the path from us in a spit of sand surrounded by rocks, looking downstream. We organize our gear and wander a bit, not yet used to the rhythms of camp life, its routines or etiquette. AJM reads to SAM and I draw a picture of the canyon looking down river.
While dinner is being prepared, Chuck calls a camp meeting. We have already learned how to form a bag line to unload the motor rig. They have provided sleeping bags, pads, and mats in gray bags each assigned a number which will be ours for the trip (ensuring that the dirt in our beds is our dirt alone). They have tents, too, in case of heavy rain. Chuck shows us how to put one up, but although we are sprinkled on from time to time during the trip, we never resort to the tents.
Chuck covers kitchen rules next. Two buckets are set up with river water for washing our hands before we touch anything near the tables. Before going back for seconds, we must always wash our hands again with a waterless disinfectant. Getting sick on this trip, especially if diarhea were involved, would be a miserable experience. And it's happened before. So we must all be careful. Washing up is fun. Four galvanized pans are filled with silty river water. We use the first to rinse off the big particles; the second is hot and sudsy for washing; the third is hot for rinsing, and the last has chlorine bleach added to disinfect. After we rinse them, we place our dishes in big nets under the table to dry.
Which brings us to the toilet. The rule is: "Piss in the river; poop in the can." The can is literally that; a large rectangular metal can with a hole in the top which is fitted with a toilet seat. All our solid waste, even our feces, must be taken out of the canyon. The motor rig has four such toilet cans and every time a fresh one is set up, a cheer goes up from the group. The can is situated in a secluded spot, downwind from camp. One compensation for the smell is the view.
