I had the fortune of relaxing, or at least attempting to, for the last several miles leading up to Vulcan Anvil, with my co-captain Dave rowing the sticks. I desperately needed to save my strength for the infamous Lava Rapids. Lava has always seemed to have a hold on most people, especially in our group. There’s a reason we don’t chant “Hance,” “Crystal,” or any other of the larger rapids on the Colorado.
I am very adamant as we round the corner for our first view of the anvil for Dave to let me row. I’m typically not a superstitious man, but by not doing this simple act of good luck, it may get into my head later on. Some folks like to place a penny on the Anvil, in my dad’s case, a quarter. I’m satisfied with a simple kiss from the bow of my boat, and another from my hand after a light kiss to my fingers. I attempt to grab all the good anvil vibes it has to provide, and hope my offering has sufficed. Dave had the unfortune of potentially ruining his luck with a true kiss to the rock. In his efforts, he attempts to grab the Anvil, which was consequentially futile as he accidentally broke some of the rock off, forever making it smaller. I can’t even begin to fathom the wicked juju from such a horrid act. I was however content with both my own intentions and actions, and will let the river take care of Dave, hopefully not at my expense. I decided instantly to let go of his mishap, as I had plenty of other things to worry about.
After the Anvil I was quick to oblige in Rachel’s request in wanting to listen to some Led Zeppelin. Rambling Man was played and afterwards I was vehemently against any music thereafter. These next few miles of silence were critical. It’s hard to articulate these mixed feelings of anxiety, beauty, fear, excitement and awe, all simultaneously as we slowly approach the behemoth of a rapid. This section seems to be one of the smoothest, quietest and most ominous parts of the Colorado River, as Lava Falls has created a dam that slows the water for miles. I attempt to row extremely quiet, with my crew not making a peep, hearing only crickets and the occasional water droplets falling from my oars. Not many other sounds to drown out my increasing frequency of breath and heartbeat.
This part of the canyon looks so desolate, bleak and dead, yet so beautifully different than anything we have yet to see. The more we venture through it, the more alien it seems, all thanks to the lava that once flowed here hundreds of thousands of years ago. Looking up on river left, you notice the beautiful red and browns of the layered rock walls, expanding hundreds of feet tall. Then, glaring down river just at the next ridge, you see something completely different. As if it rained black ink that killed everything in its path and forever stained the rock with a macabre, obscure color. The beautiful white rocks transition into black. The red, now engulfed by the dark. Vegetation is scarce where you would typically see it.
Looking north, river right, you can see exactly where the lava flowed from. It’s a familiar sight to that of the south, but more blackness. Taller lava rock faces, and greater monoliths, as far as the eye can see. So many complex and unique hexagonal shapes. Sometimes square. These unseemly nature extrusions layering on top of another, twisting and moving in and out of sandstone and conglomerate rocks. Both canyon rock and lava alike, eroding with time. I’m curious when the colors and plants will bring it back to “normal.” Considering it has been a several hundred thousand years, I doubt it’ll be anytime soon. It’s interesting to think that humans have never known what it looked like prior to the spills.
Still over a mile to go, the roar of the beast come within earshot. Very quiet, very subtle at first. Can barely hear over the bugs or other whisperers, even over my loud, beating heart. I tell Erin and Dave to quiet, to listen, to feel what the being is trying to tell you. Unfortunately, it’s rarely anything good or sweet. A few more strokes down river, and somebody quietly starts the chant: “laaaava, laaaava, laaaava.” Pitch and amplitude the same as that of the beast grumbling back at you. Slow and low. It speaks, you listen, and you return a voice similar in its tone. No point disrespecting it this early. We listen back after a few chants, and it keeps talking back, louder. And louder. Along with it, my heart still beating louder and faster. Faster and louder.
The lava around the walls are now more prevalent. Completely taking over where sand and limestone used to live. I’m curious to how much lava actually crawled though here, how thick the darkness goes until you hit once what was. What did this section look prior to? Still, there’s awe in these large vertical walls, in these glacier-like structures. Desolate blackness forming in the valley between red and brown peaks, not looking like it’s done slowly traveling downhill, engulfing everything in its path. Most flows seem to have originated from the top of the walls, flowing over and creating frozen lava falls hundreds of feet high. Others, it seems as if they flowed through vents, like a spring shooting out of rock pores. It’s interesting to see large lava structures hundreds of feet across, just laying in solitude at the base of the red wall. Still, my favorite sights are the rectangular shapes, creatively placed to construct towering cliffs. It seems these sights go on for over 20 miles.
All of us are still practicing our silence as we round the last bend. The rumble intensifies, and triples in volume. We instantly retort, even louder and quicker than before: “Laava! Laava! Laava!” This time along with the beating of our oars against the water or our hands on the boat like drums, perfectly timed to the mantra. With more of us joining to the beat, I’m convinced the monster can finally start to hear us coming.
It’s a strange thing to anthropomorphize a rapid, and sure it’s even stranger to first timers who have yet to meet it. I’m confident by this point they start to understand, but their true and full comprehension won’t be fully apprehended until you dive into the belly of the beast. Stories of such a goliath and unforgiving waters can only prepare one so much.
It now feels like the calm before the storm. Our first view of it, but not much is seen. Just calm water heading to edge, then nothing. Nothing but the dry walls of the canyon is what is seen past the dam. A few splashes here and there make it into our field of view, but otherwise seems like a relaxing row. You’d almost miss it if it wasn’t for the constant bellowing. Always talking it is. Always taunting. Taunting as rowers quietly approach it, only to speak its name when spoken to. One final chant as we dock our boats, nearly shouting this time, now taunting the rapid as it has done to us for miles. Letting it know that we do not fear it, but are here to conquer it in all it’s glory! “LAAAAVA! LAAAAVA! LAAAAVA!” Not one person isn’t shouting. Not one person afraid to chant back.
Fear does however creep in as we walk on top of the hill, getting out first full look at what the rapid has to offer us that fine day. At first glance, I automatically think “fuck, this is going to be a tough run.” Instantly obvious to run river right, we attempt to plan our line, but regardless of one’s intentions, Lava Rapids always has a different fate for you. Plan for success, prepare for failure. Failure seems imminent as every possible path has you going through some of the biggest waves and holes in the canyon.
Three boats wait up top as two enter. First Ian, followed by Chad. Ian lined up decently and was successful except for some beating up along the cheese grater, just right of the lower laterals. They seem to really kick right this year. Chad followed with an extremely impressive line, and did well until the last laterals next to the grater. From above it seemed he hit the wave perfectly, straight and with enough force to power through. But luck was on the rivers side with poor timing on Chad’s. A large crest powered through on his left and pushed the boat nearly 90 degrees, and toppled both Chad and Sam off the boat. Commemorations to Chad for holding on as long as he did, he was just no match for Big Kahuna. Sam seemed close enough to the boat for a decent swim back, as Chad swam over to Ian’s. Kyle taking the oars post rapid to help eddy out. All was now well. All people and boats above water and ok. Was indubitably scary in that moment. Scarier to think of what could have been. It did not help my confidence after seeing two rough runs.
I exclaimed to my father that after mediocre rows at both Crystal and Upset, that it was now my time to shine. I did everything right; I kissed the Anvil and was due for a great run. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. If one wasn’t nervous at this point, you’re either stupid or just plain ignorant. Respect the river, and it will respect you. Dad goes first with me on his tail, and Rachel coming in behind. I double, nay triple check all straps, lines and dry bags. I’m not fucking around with anything loose. My gloves are on, and my heart is out of my chest. I’m breathing so hard I feel as though I sprinted a mile.
The first thing I notice is how far right my dad is. I can’t see our bubble line this far up, but something feels off. My assumptions are correct as I see him past the first hole. Way too right. After his first hole, it was too quick to the second, and within no time he lost control of the boat, then lost his co-captain Corey. I believe my dad thought it was all over with the boat nearly flipping, so he insisted in swan diving right into the water instead of hanging on like Chad attempted to. 7/10 on the dive, I guess. The boat was now manless and going down the rest of the way backwards, with Corey unfortunately riding most of it out directly underneath the boat with no air to breathe. Luckily, he was relatively quick to surface and then proceeding to hop onboard. Dad on the other hand rode out the rest of the rapid clutching to the side of the boat. I fortunately have yet to have had this view point of Lava, but the day is still young.
I’m almost near. I don’t have time to think about the last few mishaps. I need to focus on my own shit, this is MY run. Mine to own. No one else’s. I heed dad’s errors and follow my line. It’s just so damn close to the ledge hole. A hole that could swallow a whole damn school bus! Luckily the water is pushing away from it, not necessarily towards the drop off. I hit the first wave properly and for the first few seconds of the run, I’m satisfied and feeling confident. The water is unfortunately kicking so hard right that it’s almost impossible to stick to plan. Lava has a plan for us all. The second wave we couldn’t have hit better, but it still forces an oar out of my hand. I’m quick to regain a hold of it after dousing the whole boat, completely soaked from head to toe, bow to stern. I quickly gained my orientation and straighten us out for the last laterals. Being so far right, we seemed to hit them flawlessly, with plenty of room between the cheese grater and the hole where Chad nearly flipped. Wasn’t our strategy, but Lava already had something devised differently. We listened and obeyed, and came out the other side. Once in sight of the other upright boats, we were quick to our voices, shouting with glee and excitement.
Once in eddy, we turned to see the final run. I couldn’t see most of it, but Rachel apparently picked a similar line to myself and had an equally as successful run. Boring indeed for her and her mates. But the smile of her and her crew’s faces showed us it was one of her best runs to date.
We quickly pulled into Margarita Beach for a celebration of such a feat. All of us on ground, sand between our toes, whiskey in hand, and many cheers are given while we chant even louder than before. “LAVA! LAVA! LAVA!” What a glorious feeling. What a rush that’s rarely felt. THIS is why we’re here. To conquer what only a few have. To conquer the beast that most of us have dreaded for months. Many hugs are given while we sing and dance, “not today Lava!” Although we defeated it, and have it disappointedly grumbling behind our back, we will meet again, and I will still dread the day. I will continue my Colorado River superstitions and it will continue having a hold on me, because even though we just survived it yet again, we are still and forever, always above Lava Rapids.
