The captain sits in an ancient, cutaway car sedan while operating the cables.The next morning, splitting off from the main highway, our road has good intentions but soon turns into a rock-strewn, rutted trace, which turns into a streambed. I elect to continue on to Phoenix with three other guys. Up ahead is Rainbow Bridge, and seeing it has to be the zenith of nature’s splendor. How long will the odds last?In the morning, it’s depressing to see that the big boat has sunk down. A 6-mile hike leading to the bridge starts as a small streambed. Two larger logs bring firmness to the underside of the vessel. The large raft is virtually an empty hulk.Yesterday’s problems seem to be over. This works well. There’s a rush to get everybody together. Later that evening, we camp where the new dam might be built. Sharp eyes point out a row of ollas, large ceramic pots, sitting undisturbed on a ledge.Powell, during his second and more successful river trip in 1871, inscribed the date and his name, along with those of F.S. Very filling. And it does. I meet Lew Griffith of the Phoenix Y. All of which makes the truck’s bed a tight fit. It can only be the rush of water. The American Indians thought so, too, for only a god could have conceived handiwork of such magnitude. Taylor Graham’s film “Seldom Seen Sleight” – winner of the Yale Environment 360 Video Contest – shows the magnificent landscape lost and offers hope it might someday be restored. Like pioneers, we lash old logs to the underside of the raft for floats. The current takes us around a bend, and there the sound is revealed: It’s a giant waterfall. Clay deposits are found along the river, and some crude pottery specimens may have been made there. A few of our group have gone to the other side and appear tiny, the size of ants.
A rusted boiler plate, corroded iron stanchions, a capstan missing its hawsers, bent railings that go nowhere ... they’re all tacit evidence of a river’s retribution.Just beyond the swimming hole is a slot canyon like no other. Work was slow and tedious, but on January 26, 1880, 250 men, women and children in 83 wagons slowly made their way down this precarious “road.” Following the wagons, a thousand head of cattle, in a churning cloud of red dust, poured downward through the chute, forming a torrent of horns and hooves, bawling in fright. I picture myself, after all these days, in the water, not knowing how to swim. The paper, however, never used any of his photographs. (Michael Friberg, special to ProPublica) What Powell wrote then could just as easily summarize what the Department of the Interior is relearning today. By supreme effort, we dislodge ourselves, cut our rope and row furiously to quiet waters. It looks as though at any minute, the entire contraption might take a dive to the bottom of the Colorado. Each of our small crafts must now take on an extra member.Following their own agenda, the truants appear with skinned arms and scratched noses. I start humming. Glen Canyon is one of America’s — and the world’s — greatest natural wonders.Because dams are built to store water, they also store the sediment that all rivers carry. They’ve extricated themselves from exploring the canyon’s side labyrinths and feel proud. I’m carrying an Exacta around my neck and a Speed Graphic in my hands. But now, I must go. The Colorado seems to be biding time, a young river building future determination to gather strength for its encounter with hidden shelf rock, flinging skyward waves in a frenzy of crashing water. It’s now the width of half a football field, and placid. If the Glen Canyon Institute and others have their way, we’ll bypass this dam, fill Lake Mead, and designate Glen Canyon a national park…. The change leaves Lew and Jim to take on the raft’s problems and manage them the best they can. But Lew decides to reduce its weight. The truck groans as we slog through a narrow, one-track-wide defile known as Water Pocket Fold. If we act soon, we can ensure a sustainable water supply and heal much of the damage to Colorado River ecosystems. Portions of it still lie scattered along the sandbars of Glen Canyon.My 14-day furlough is over. By noon the next day, after floating for 154 miles, we arrive at Lees Ferry: “Mile Zero.” A fellow from Del Webb is waiting with the truck. A registry stands nearby for all to sign. It seems like bliss for both of us. It’s surprising how quickly the boys can deflate the rafts and reload while shouting and kidding. … “I would like to donate them to Arizona Highways.” Like a grizzly during the salmon run, I jumped at the chance, figuring it would make an interesting portfolio. Stop The Spread!