(Well, two tales of one river...)
Part 1, by Webb Wright, age 14

I have to admit, aside from how much I love visiting the San Juan River, when my parents wake me up at 6 a.m and rush me to get in the car while only half of my bags are packed, I would trade every single river in the world for my warm, hot comfy bed that doesn’t want anything from me but sleep. This trip was no exception. But I dragged my lazy self out of bed and forced myself to pack my bags, (which I was supposed to pack last night) and hopped into the car. More sleep. Almost immediately.

After three hours of nothing but trying to sleep and listening to my parents try to sing along with The Doors, we were finally there. Beautiful. Greater than I remembered it.   The San Juan river: a blissful way to escape loud tourists and stress.

We unloaded all of our gear, and eventually we all had our rafts placed on the shore and ready to go. It was a sight that we all knew too well. There were five families, 10 kids and 9 adults. It took a while to motivate everyone to finally get on the boats and start going, just because they couldn’t stop giving toasts to everything and talking with everybody. (That’s something that every kid must endure.)

Eventually we were all on the river, floating along happily, singing songs and echoing in the canyon. After about six miles of river, we reached the Tabernacle campsite, which is just a plain half of a beach with mild swimming and lots of ants. But every river trip needs a plain site.  

The next morning I asked myself, What was I thinking?   I had faced my sleeping bag to the east side of the canyon, and to a crevasse in the canyon wall. So in the morning, the microsecond the southwestern sun had breached the top of the canyon, I was no longer laying in a sleeping bag, I was laying in a sandy desert sauna. Despite my sleepy body, I dragged myself out of the sweaty abyss and made my way down to the kitchen area. Bacon, blueberry muffins, and oranges.  

Feeling refreshed and awake, we began our second day, to Ross Rapid. After 20 miles of playing in mud, swimming, talking and singing with my friends, we reached good ol’ Ross Rapid. Ross Rapid was dedicated to Kenny Ross, who was a long-time river runner, and is famous for the quote: “Recognize, don’t memorize!” To honor him, my dad left a can of beer next to his plaque last year. It wasn’t there when we arrived this year.

The next day was a layover day at Ross. Nothing but running around, swimming in the warm water, playing bocce ball, fishing for catfish with homemade fishing rods and, of course, the annual boat race. In the boat race, everyone makes boats out of tamarisk and driftwood. I personally made a Blair Witch Project figure, with the intention of using it to scare my friend.

It was at least 8 p.m. after dinner, so Ben and I set up our cots on duckies, and began talking about everything. Mainly life. Both of us are 14-year-old kids with no idea of what we want to do with ourselves. Neither of us have jobs, and those are out of the question until . . . later. I’m happy living myself to death for all I care. As for a job, and money . . . Well, in the words of the Beatles, “money can’t buy me love.”

This is what the river has taught me.

Part 2, by Anna Wright, age 12

Day 4: We finally pulled into the Slickhorn Gulch campsite. It was windy and the sun was hidden behind a mass of clouds, but I was just happy to be there. We unloaded some stuff and then all the kids headed up the canyon toward the pot holes hidden in there. It started out with small, shallow pools filled with tadpoles and then progressed into ones deep enough to swim in, but still not top quality.

Finally, we got to an opening where slickrock made walls around a clear turquoise blue pool about 20 feet long and 15 feet across. It was the pool we had been looking for, the pool that we called the Rainbow Pool because of the way the water sparkled and changed colors in the light. We scrambled around the rocks and quickly dove into the cool aqua water.

Once we had gotten used to the water we climbed the dark rocks and went to the very edge looking over the pool. Webb and Ben were first to go, taking a few steps toward the edge and then jumping into the swirling depths. The rest of us followed soon after. It was awesome. We swam for a while until we were tired, and then we headed down the canyon. When we got back to camp we played a few rounds of Uno, ate dinner and before long we were all sitting around our campfire talking and laughing. The wind was still going lightly but nobody thought much of it. We soon headed into our sleeping bags and talked for a while, slowly drifting off to sleep one by one.

By midnight the wind had picked up hard and it carried sand with it. We all woke up feeling the sand coat our faces. We all pulled our sleeping bags over our heads and curled up inside, and fell back to sleep. But five minutes later, I was awoken again by the wind tackling my sleeping bag. The trees were rustling very loudly then quieted. I fell asleep for another five minutes until another gust came. I heard groans and more sleeping bags rustling as more people took cover. I took a peep out but not for long as sand slapped my face and crawled into my eyes.

I ducked back into my sleeping bag and tried to get as much sand out of my eyes as I could. Soon it quieted but I knew it would be no use going to sleep because I would just be awoken again in five minutes, so I stayed awake listening to the loud wind and sand, the trees and the river. While it was calm, I would take that time and get as much sand out of my sleeping bag as I could. I then settled myself, pulling my bag over my head and pulling my pillow and whatever else inside with me.

Uh oh, here comes another wind, I thought, as I ducked for cover, hearing it hit our sleeping bags hard. Even though I was completely covered, the sand still found a way to sneak in. Basically, we all spent the night cleaning out our sleeping bags, wiping sand from everywhere and entertaining our selves waiting for the storm to pass, and sleeping every once in awhile for a few minutes.

The next morning, we woke and packed our stuff with the wind and sand still going, just not as bad.   Nobody really wanted to stay here in this wind, so we left for the next campsite, hoping the wind would die down. I still felt all sandy. Gosh I couldn’t wait to get home and take a shower.

I still love the river, though, even with all its wind and sand storms. You can never predict what the next river trip will throw at you, and that’s one of the reasons why we keep coming back for more of the river. It’s all part of the experience.

Webb and Anna Wright live in Durango, where they endure their parents’ singing The Doors and toasting everything and talking with everybody. Aside from being offered the chance to write about the river trip, Webb and Anna had no editing or assistance with these stories.