Not all of us like to be yanked about in extreme white water. So it was that I joined a group of adults and children for a smoothwater raft expedition on the Colorado River below Glen Canyon Dam in Arizona. An added attraction would be the likelihood of seeing giant condors flying free near Lee’s Ferry, the terminus of the raft trip.
“No way to get down there short of flying like a bird,” I declared to a friend, as we peered into the yawning canyon bounded by sheer cliffs. Yet, minutes later we were on a van traveling down to the river through a one-lane tunnel so small, it seemed more like a pipe. Indeed, it was a sort of large pipe — a passageway created to move equipment during construction of the dam at Page, Ariz., in the late fifties, early sixties.
We arrived at river’s edge on a meager arrangement of boards, rock and dirt that allowed a few dozen rafters to assemble. The concave face of Glen Canyon Dam, dedicated in 1966, loomed almost 600 feet above us like a super snowplow.
Four is the minimum age for the five-hour adventure. Non-swimmers and children under 12 donned life jackets. Colorado River Discovery, an authorized National Park Service concessionaire, let the rest of us board the pontoon rafts as we were — a good thing, too, because temperatures were in the 80s, even in April.
Once loaded, we shoved off in the broad, powered rafts for a 15-mile trip down the Colorado. Just a mild adventure, no wild waves or terrifyingly swift water, a float trip that anyone could enjoy. The fabled rapids of the Colorado do not begin until after Lee’s Ferry, the start of the Grand Canyon.
Rafting Through History
A few private rafts and boats were on the river. Fishermen tried their luck. Breaks in the steep banks of the river were dotted with cottonwood trees and, here and there, sandy shores. In April, globe mallow, a relative of the hollyhock, brightens the landscape with orange-to-scarlet blooms.
 Photo courtesy of Colorado River Discove |
Our guide, Kelli Wiggins, described how Major John Wesley Powell, the one-armed explorer, came down the Colorado in 1869. He must have heaved a sigh of relief to reach a tranquil stretch and called it Glen Canyon. Above the dam, Lake Powell, more than 450 feet deep, buried some of Glen Canyon’s striking rock formations, while opening access to picturesque slot canyons and creating new panoramas.
Kelli cruised near the cliffs to point out petroglyphs made by ancient inhabitants. About halfway to Lee’s Ferry we pulled ashore and walked a short distance to view more petroglyphs, wondering about the people who carved the images in rock. Children and young adults played in the warm river water.
Back on the river we gazed upward at cliffs up to 1,200 feet high, often broken and serrated by erosion, but many almost sheer from river to top. Greenery clung precariously to the walls wherever a bit of eroded dirt attracted seeds.
The wind quickened, creating small whitecaps, delightful if you enjoyed getting splashed to cool off. An enthusiastic teenager rode the outer pontoon like a horse, shrieked defiantly into the spray and grinned sheepishly at her companions. Passengers not on the outer edges sat dry and warm, sipping their soft drinks, and smearing on sunscreen. Accordion music wafted to us on the wind. We tracked down the sound and clung to another raft, where a passenger was giving an impromptu concert.
Lee's Ferry
As we neared Lee’s Ferry landing, old cable bastions appeared on the shores. Here, at the mouth of the Paria River, was the only way for a wagon across the Colorado River for 550 miles. When the United States had just declared its independence in 1776, two Spanish priests explored the area. After members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (Mormon Church) settled in Utah, the sprawling Colorado presented a barrier to travel in the southwest. So church officials sent John D. Lee to build and operate a ferry at the Paria River juncture in the early 1870s. He also established the Lonely Dell Ranch — aptly named — at the site to house two of his many wives.
Lee was convicted and executed in 1877 for his part 20 years earlier in the infamous Mountain Meadows Massacre of California-bound settlers by Mormons and Paiute Indians. The Mormons and subsequent owners operated the ferry until 1928, when the Navajo Bridge spanned the river at Marble Canyon.
All too soon, our trusty raft angled into the dock at Lee’s Ferry, where vans and buses returned passengers to the Glen Canyon Dam parking lot. Our voyage covered 15 miles; the road back wound 50 miles around the river and mountains.
When we crossed the Navajo Bridge, a child shouted, “Look, look, condors!”
 Photo courtesy of Colorado River Discovery |
Every head gawking out the windows, we admired two of the giant birds soaring on the updrafts, part of a group “planted” in the area and thriving once more. Scientists started releasing captive-raised California condors into the wilds of Arizona in 1996, and observed their first hatchlings in 2003. About 60 condors now soar over Lake Powell and the Grand Canyon. Seeing them was a fitting culmination of our Colorado River trip.
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