River Run

Of all the journeys we might take in a summer, the ones down this beloved river are most important to me. 

It is a gift to return again and again to the same place, and to come to more deeply know its shape and being.

I know the views that lie around each bend, but can’t always predict the light or weather. 

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 I love to see what flowers will be blooming in June vs. late July, and have learned which stretch is filled with Western tanagers and which with swallows.

Geese fill the full length of our 33 mile run. 

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Safety patrol is really my chance to daydream and drift. I did fall in once while craning my neck to identify a bird.

On these journeys, our growth during the past year becomes most apparent. I gauge it against the bare bones of the canyon and the eroding tug of the river.
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Take a peek here to see how much these two have grown since their maiden voyage down the river four summers ago.

They come back to the “mother duck” to rest and eat, and then launch back out on their own. 

The trip almost always ends in monsoon rains. The smell of sage and willow surrounds us as a last storm passes over and the rapids carry us downstream. We reach the final eddy just as the sky clears. 

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