Trip Report: Desolation

Sand Wash Utah.
It’s still high use season on the Green River at the put-in for Desolation Canyon. This morning, boats begin to stack up on the ramp any place they can get. The river is lower than I’ve ever seen. It’s hot and pooled. To my relief there are no bugs at Sand Wash this day in August to feast on the blood of boaters. June and July must have been good eating for the swarms. We arrivied late the night before and quietly quartered in the Major’s Cabin under nearly a full moon. As always when in Sand Wash, we celebrated. Here was to the best of destinations: Desolation.

In the morning I met Katie the ranger and we chatted sand life, boating and public lands. I could tell we had much in common. She checked off our gear, talked about the BLM having to relocate a bear this season and put down another, asking us all to keep clean kitchen’s and avoid one camp, School Section altogether. I asked where her favorite sand bars were as she handed our boat tags and that was it. The river rangers of Desolation are in a class all there own and have been for some time. They are kind, warm, colorful people with the rye twinkle in there eye. They have seen the canyon in all its prismatic splendor and deafening thunder. They are fiercely protective of this place.

Word’s out that you need a motor for Deso… Bullshit. Although we were the only ones without at this boat ramp. The top 20 miles can be pretty dam slow and buggy as shit but on the bright side I can hear the canyon wrens and keep pushing the oars, bugs and slow water are no problem. We launch before the other groups, all of them being huge 20 plus squads. I let out a coyote call in delight as we’re back on the river again and folks from all groups join in.

No one knows where Desolation Canyon begins but it sure as hell isn’t Sand Wash (It’s 20 miles upstream at Wild Horse Bench). Heading downriver from Sand Wash I’d alternate between rowing, looking at the canyon, reading the river for shallow water and where current goes. At first impression seeing this stretch of canyon it’s easy to understand why Powell called it “Desolation”. From Sand Wash the first dozen miles are truly an intimidating environment devoid of vegitation beyond the river. It’s rumored that on Powell’s first expedition he and his whole crew were tripping balls when they rolled into Deso having consumed stolen potato greens from a Ute garden. Potato greens contain a toxin called Solanine, that when ingested can induce vomiting, dilated pupils, hallucinations, delirium, loss of sensation and other unfortunate symtoms. I can see them floating through this land, with eyes big as an eclipsed sun mesmerized by the terrifying beauty.

At Tabyago we pull off the river to climb a low bluff and observe some curiosities. Clouds and light wind begin to cool the day and one of the other groups finally catch up. We exchange a few waves watching boat after boat roll by under a light rain and quietly wait it out under a small overhang. Suddenly we see movement across the river. A light blond animal, at first mistaken for an pronghorn, lopes around the Tabyago debris fan. Turns out to be a large solitary coyote pacing along the bank and shallow water. We say nothing and watch until in one fluid moment the animal vanishes into the brush. Two members of our trip had recently lost their own dog to pack of coyotes and this sighting stirred their emotions. Saying simply, “she wanted to be wild”.

Low water has its perks, there are beaches for days. Beaches that calibrate with the scale of the setting, beaches you can take a 10 minute walk across. This is a slow pace time of year to stretch out and enjoy. I’m an instant convert to deep summer Deso trips.

We pick our way down. Stampede Flat, Jack Creek, Flat Canyon, Steer Ridge. Ute land runs the extent of Deso on the East bank of the river with public land (BLM) on the West. I always get a permit from the tribe to stay on thier land and always will. As a non-tribal member visiting the Ute side has always been subject to a complex and sensitive interplay of politics and history, not to mention privilege. A perspective we boaters should task ourselves to know more about.

Pool-drop, pool-drop, pool-drop. Dripping Springs, Firewater, Wild Horse. A pair of peregrine’s scream overhead. A raspy coopers hawk in the cottonwoods. The clouds build. We scout Steer Ridge and get pinned under a cottonwood by a downburst of rain. Big ole thick drops of cold water smack down and explode. Steer Ridge is in classic form with massive jams of wood lodged on the center boulders. Passing left of these logs and boulders brings flashes of old memories that seem impossible, but the river covered these features at 42,000cfs. A full 20 feet above our heads.

Rockart is on a higher level in Deso than any other plateau river trip. Every time I’ve visited familiar panels or realized something new the sense of wonder and awe of this canyon system grows. it’s clear that great saga’s have unfolded here. Their stories are recorded across these canyons like a library on every block. So much to say about life in Deso. I read them for detail of any recognition. Hunting, the cycles of movement, the planting of crops, the charismatic leaders and maps of time. For long periods I will look at a panel but for even longer I’ll look at the landscape around it. I will grow old here. I already have.

Our trip being small (5 people) allowed us to easily intermingle with several other groups. In these social encounters I’ve developed a secret metric that sets rafting parties into three overall categories (there are sub-catagories for one of these groups but that’s another story). This is based on years of observation and hard earned experience. Upon meeting another trip in an instant I’ll have evaluated in priority:
-The group composition
-Lifejackets
-Boat type (brand new everything?)
-Do they wear rowing gloves?
-Rigging style
-hailing techniques and so on.
This method is complex but it has served me well. Luckly this trip down Deso there was nothing but good times and kind, capable people.

Most of our group had never been down this river and the range of daily activities really showcases why this trip is so special. We did the full Rock Creek program walking up to see sites along that magical mountain stream. We went to the old Seamount Ranch and marveled at the stone work. We ran rapid after rapid; Snap Canyon, Belknap Falls, Moonwater, Old Cow Swim. Most if not all of the water was read and run, just flash it. Many side canyons had fresh debris plugs from monsoon season. The fluvial action in Deso and potential for new rapids is something to behold. This place is alive.

Everyday the afternoon thuderheads would build and the winds carry the scent of rain. The Dine (Navajo) believe that you’ve never seen a person’s face until it is illuminated by lightning. In that instance I can assure you will see something more. Not only in the faces of our friends and family but the world around us. Storms would provide a nightly show all the way down.

Wire Fence and McPherson Rapid (Three Fords) are by far the biggest rapids of the trip at this level (3000cfs), and they are so fun. Wire Fence with a far left run has an impressive drop at any flow but it seems extra steep at these levels. McPherson is immediately below that with a far right entry into an impressive wave train. The wave hight and pushy-ness in this train seem relative to those at higher flows like 5k and up. This was our only legit whitewater on the trip. I just wanted to de-rig and do laps.

Grey Canyon sets in and the water slows way down. Working downriver you can watch the Deso cathedrals pass behind on your way into the Bookcliffs. We run across a NOLS group at the Range Creek beach. Looking at these young kids I can’t help but thank my folks for sending me on that exact trip 20 years ago (almost to the day 20 years ago). Looking at these kids I wonder how they see this canyon and how much they like it. I wish this kind of opportunity was made available to all young minds regardless of their station in life. I’m thankful to have seen so many parents doing just that with their own. Desolation is a place to pass on the torch.

During our last evening a strong downburst pelted our camp for half an hour. Hunkered together under a shelter we watched sheets of rain dress down Grey Canyon. At some point we noticed the river had become two distinct shades of green and red. Rattlesnake Canyon had carried a modest flash of old pinion nuts and orange tomato colored sediment into the main stem. August is a time for these canyons to breathe.

The next morning the river swiftly became saturated from who knows what creeks above Rattlesnake. Wire Fence? Three Fords? Florence? Trail Canyon? Doesn’t matter really, on a river there is no better omen of renewal. This is a place to grow old and grow old with our loved ones. To sculpt fresh the old flows and find new.

A heartfelt thanks to my trip companions and my love to those who couldn’t make it. You all were in my thoughts.

Dispatches From Deso, Rig To Flip.