DESERET THIRST and REVENGE OF THE RIVER FROG

    George Taylor, a.k.a. "George Terrance Taylor, the Terrible Termite" for short, was an adventurous friend. He was an avid hiker, runner and adventure seeker. He had run the Colorado River with the famous explorer, John Cross. Now George was recruiting friends to do it again. This would be the last summer before Lake Powell would cover that part of the Colorado River forever.

Colorado River.

    Dave Beck, Dave Clark and I signed on. The scenery was incredible, each bend in the river revealed a new view of burnt red, sandstone cliffs towering hundreds of feet above us. It was a 10-day trip and John Cross insisted we row downstream. George was at the back of the rubber raft directing us away from dangerous rocks and currents with the rudder. The sights were great, but the heat reflecting off the water was greater. 120 degrees at least it seemed, and no shade to protect us.

    Don't drink river water. Don't pee in the river. Don't stand up. Don't splash. Keep your toilet paper wrapped up in plastic at the top of your duffle and row, row, row! We slowly paddled along, occasionally stopping to examine petroglyphs, old Indian dwellings, outlaw grottoes, and pioneer crossings. 

    One of the highlights on the expedition was Rainbow Bridge. We pulled ashore about sunset, laid out our sleeping bags and tore the plastic off our toilet paper. We would leave the next morning to make the 5 or 6 mile hike to Rainbow Bridge. The fresh water we carried in the boat was running low. "Don't fill your canteens. There is a spring about halfway. You can fill them there," instructed John Cross.

Floating along on the Colorado River

    In the morning, while shaking out my sleeping bag, a dead scorpion fell out. We had spent the night together! I must have rolled over him during the night. With empty canteens strapped on we were off, hiking the desert sandstone and sandy washes uphill toward Rainbow Bridge.

    The sun rose higher in the sky and the temperature rose with it! We hiked on, looking forward to the cool water gushing from the desert spring. Time dragged on, the lack of water and the heat was dehydrating us. Hours passed. With dry tongues and parched throats we welcomed the cry, "The spring is up around the next bend." Like race horses bolting from the gate, we were off. The race was on to see who would be first to splash into the cool water and quench their thirst!

    What spring? What cool water? This must not be the right spot! There stood the mighty explorer, John Cross, scratching his head in puzzlement in the middle of the waterless, sandy remains of our desert oasis. "There must have been a drought out this way," he reluctantly announced. He searched the banks for the source of the now dry spring. He found it. From the downward tip of a desert plant water was slowly drip, drip, dripping from the now defunct spring. Drip, drip, drip.

    We lined up with our canteen lids in hand, captured our ten drops, swallowed, and went to the back of the line. Repeating this process for over an hour, our thirst somewhat satisfied, we set out for Rainbow Bridge. I have never appreciated water so much! If it sold for $100 per canteen, I would have gladly paid it.

Rainbow Bridge

    Hours later we finally reached Rainbow Bridge. It was fantastic -- all it was cracked up to be! We spent some time just soaking in the beauty of this natural wonder. The quiet peace that surrounded us was inspiring! This was a sacred place.  Very few people had enjoyed this desert gem in person. It was just too difficult to reach. Today you don't have to make the hike. You can float very close to it by boat on Lake Powell.

    In hopes for finding water, John Cross decided to take a different trail back. We were going downhill. Maybe we could make it back to camp without water. But we did find water! Pools of it, captured in bathtub sized holes in the hard sandstone. Most likely these had been filled by desert thunder storms. We frolicked in the pools until we had our fill. Then we were off again. Back at camp we slept like babies, dreaming of gushing desert springs and cool water. 

    The next morning we loaded the rubber rafts, picked up our oars and were soon stroking our way to the famous pioneer crossing, Hole in the Rock. 

Hole in the Rock Pioneer Crossing

    The closer we got to Hole in the Rock, the more my stomach began to gurgle. I knew what that meant. There must have been something in that spring water! It was horrible trying to hold off the need to go for hours on the river. My sphincters were ready to blow! There was a reason we kept our toilet paper dry and at the top of our duffle bags. I began eyeing the duffles trying to spot my bag. Just my luck it was buried under the pile. A desperate plan began to take form. Dave Beck's bag was right next to me and he was rowing away, two places ahead of me. I discreetly unlatched his duffle and snatched his dry fluffy roll, quickly stashed it under my shirt, and relatched his bag.

    After what seemed like an eternity we finally reached the shore. I was off like a shot, safely behind bushes before the others could even locate their duffles. Having satisfied my urge, I made my way back towards camp. Just then, there on the side of the trail, half covered by brush, I spotted the largest frog I'd ever seen. It just sat there. It wasn't trying to get away so I carefully picked it up thinking, "I'll give it to Dave as a peace offering."

    As I entered camp, there was Beck frantically tearing through his bag. "What's the problem?" I chirped. "I can't find my toilet paper. I know I put it right at the top of my bag!" he squawked in desperation. Extending my hands with the giant frog I said, "Look what I found for you!" No sooner did I get the words out of my mouth when the beast cut loose, spraying a quart of stinking yellow liquid all over Beck and his duffle bag. Rapidly shrinking to half its original size the frog leaped away. "What the heck?" Beck croaked. Pulling his roll of toilet paper from under my shirt I said, "Would you like to borrow this?"

    One more night at Hole in the Rock and we would be on our last float. Bobbing along on the river the next day we made our final landing. After dragging our rafts ashore we waved goodbye to a six foot long dead carp floating by. A fitting ending to our 10-day saga! The best part of the trip was savoring ice cold watermelon at the closest café to the river. What an adventure, thanks to "George Terrance Taylor the Terrible Termite!"