Words by Greg
Photos by Greg and Trina
Another day in the desert. We loaded our packs and headed out to search for water. Sure, we were camped by a trickle, and not far from a river. But that did not deter us from hoisting our rafts and our paddles onto our backs and doggedly strolling about the desert for hours and hours, looking at anything there was to see and exploring the rich canyon country.
We poked our noses into flowers. We pondered layer-cake layers of sedimentary rock. Hoisted hunks of petrified wood. All while wandering further and further from the river we were supposed to be heading for.
At last, though, we turned and made our way down off the mesa and toward the sinuous curves of the brown river. Then into our little boats and onto the water where we floated lazily back to camp.
By the time we floated the same final riffle/rapid as the previous day (Twice, this time, because why not?) we had once again happily wasted most of the day. And there was nothing left to do, really, except cook dinner and then take a relaxing evening stroll -- amid more flowers and red sandstone and the glow of the setting sun.
Death Camus
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