The Music of the Waters in the Grand Canyon

W A T E R W O R L D S OF THE GRAND CANYON

IMAGINE THIS: YOU ARE STANDING UPON A PLATFORM

about five feet square and encircled by a

cushioned railing. You are floating high

and motionless. The air is cool and sweet;

clouds slip by overhead just out of reach.

Down there, spread out like a contour map, is one of Earth's greatest treasures, the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River. The view is staggering - a desert enclosed in forested rims, strewn with a maze of side canyons and cleaved by a noisy river. Hear it? The roar of the rapids often reaches the Rims. And on a calm day, even the clouds are bathed in the tumultuous music of the river as it rails against the boulders that dare stand in its way.

(ABOVE) The waters of the Grand Canyon appear in many guises, from powerful river rapids to quiet pools, delighting visitors in every season. White Creek offers a study in contrast on an early October afternoon.

(OPPOSITE PAGE) A springtime trek leads to this reflecting pool and chute in the north part of the Canyon.

Let's go for a spin. Our mobile platform will slip from location to location virtually silently and with a swift but prudent speed. Keepyour eyes peeled for hidden waters (“burbles,” I call them) and hold onto your hat.

Allow me to make some location suggestions. First let's cruise on over to the gorge of the Little Colorado River.

As we go, take a peek down to your right. See those occasional brilliant flashes below the South Rim? They're sun reflections. As we sweep by, each seep, creek, and wa-ter pocket winks its presence. There are scores of them. Each is a spar-kling hidden oasis tucked into the immensity of the Grand Canyon.

Here's the gorge of the Little Colorado River. And there is Blue Spring. A vigorous flow spills from the foot of a cliff even when the upper Canyon is mud-cracked and adrift in dust. Blue Spring and other lesser springs nearby spin out a rib-bon of aquamarine. Look at those travertine dams! Each inhibits the flow just enough to create a shim-mering liquid bead of turquoise. It's extraordinary. But watch out. That incredibly beautiful stream is spiked with salts and minerals. I've had to drink it, and it is positively ghastly. Go no closer. Dodge that spray.

Now let's take a look up north. Yes, maneuver a little to the left and . . . hold it. That is Vaseys Paradise. When explorer John Wesley Powell first saw Vaseys on August 9, 1869, he wrote, “The river turns sharply to the east and seems enclosed by a wall set with a million brilliant gems . . . On coming nearer we find fountains bursting from the rock high overhead, and the spray in the sunshine forms the gems which bedeck the wall.” One hundred twenty-five years later, today's river runners come upon the same glorious surprise.

Drift southward, now westward. Good. You'll notice flashes of water in many of the side canyons below the North Rim. A few years ago, I was a member of a backpacking group looping from Nanko-weap Canyon to Phantom Ranch. We dropped into Vishnu Canyon in early afternoon and immediately began a water search. A tiny pool was discovered near an alcove. It was an encouraging but insufficient

((PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 24 AND 25) In late June, the sound of Havasu Creek rushing past the rocky terrain can be heard long before the stream is seen. (BELOW) In late fall, Kanab Creek becomes a quick-change artist, manifesting itself in boulder-choked narrows and chutes, cascades, and quiet pools. (OPPOSITE PAGE) A plunge pool in Olo Canyon whiles away a summer afternoon playing games of reflection.

Continued from page 23 amount. We searched farther up the canyon. It was late June. Air temperatures reached 110° F., even 115°, with daily numbing regularity. The cliffs of the Grand Canyon, so perfectly magnificent, gracious, and noble when viewed with full canteens, turn utterly compassionless when water bottles go dry. Nearly an hour later, we discov-ered a modest flow through the gravel just below a cottonwood tree. Water! Enough to top off the empty bottles and quench our anxiety. I carefully collected a share of the liquid and pondered how odd it is to find such a precious commodity just lying around on the ground. There are a number of excellent streams west and south of Vishnu Canyon: Clear Creek, Bright Angel Creek, Pipe Creek, Hermit Creek, Crystal Creek, Shinumo, Royal Arch, Tapeats, Matkatamiba. Each is a world in itself, a private garden within a great national park. Shinumo Creek is burble-rich. River runners often pull over for a swim in a pool alive with caressing bubbles. But the source of Shinumo lies miles to the north. Along the way, the stream frolics between ancient walls and polished boulders, chattering and giggling in the short hours before it merges with the Colorado River. Down the Canyon in Conquista-dor Aisle, I and my fellow boaters were once caught in a sudden summer cloudburst only minutes after arriving in camp. We alternately were sprayed with sand, hosed by downpours, and riddled with winddriven rain bullets as we chased our cartwheeling lawn chairs and tents up and down the beach. But when the storm subsided, we received a consolation prize: a spectacular waterfall burst from the cliff top, plummeted 500 feet, tumbled through a chaos of limestone and sandstone boulders, and spilled, blood-red, into the Colorado. Soaked, sand-encrusted, and smiling, we watched, privileged to participate in such a grand event. Explorer Powell witnessed a sim-ilar sight just below Vaseys Paradise. Text continued on page 31

He wrote in awe, “As the storm comes on, the little rills increase in size, until great streams are formed . . . and now the waters, loaded with these sands, come down in rivers of bright red mud, leaping over the walls in innumerable cascades.” Train your sights on Kanab Creek now. Here is a truly wonderful canyon. When the creek is not in flood, its floor is a series of cascades, boulder-choked narrows, pools, chutes, and cobble-lined corridors. Miles from the boisterous Colorado, hikers, if they're lucky, will tiptoe into Whispering Falls Canyon and through the columbine-decorated pool chambers of Scottys Hollow. Both are sequestered in the labyrinthine twists and turns of Kanab Canyon.

Let's try just one last niche. It's called Big Point Canyon, and it lies just this side of Lava Falls.

Look there, just above a rockfall and beyond a garden of sacred datura. That low cliff is a highly emotional piece of rock. It weeps unceasingly onto a stairway of ledges. Some teardrops patter into tiny water pockets, some explode on glistening wet rock, some belly flop directly into pools, some slide down wisps of maidenhair fern, some fall and vanish into hummocks of brilliant green moss.

Listen. Each seep is an instrument. To hear the patter of the drops is to listen to the living canyon.

The music of the hidden waters was not lost on Powell. He caught their hushed tones and wrote, “The Grand Canyon is a land of song. Mountains of music swell in the rivers, hills of music billow in the creeks, and meadows of music murmur in the rills that ripple over the rocks. Altogether it is a symphony of multitudinous melodies. All this is the music of the waters.” Powell was a perceptive observer. Despite the hardships of the river journey and the din of the rapids, he was alert to the quiet voices whispering from the wings, the tinkling in Elves Chasm, the showering of Deer Creek, the tittering in Big Point. Powell was attuned to the sound of creation.

(PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 28 AND 29) In early summer, upstream from the Salt Trail in the Little Colorado River Canyon, the stream cascades over travertine dams on its way to the Grand Canyon. (OPPOSITE PAGE) Crimson monkeyflower flourishes in early May, set against the backdrop of a cascade in Matkatamiba Canyon. (BELOW) Windblown dead grass at the base of a quiet waterfall foretells the coming of winter in the Canyon.

(PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 32 AND 33) In full summer, Havasu Creek roars along its rocky course, spilling over boulders in a show of raw power. (BELOW) Stepped and free-flowing waterfalls cascade from the cliffs in Vaseys Paradise in late May. (OPPOSITE PAGE) A rosey Echinocactus polycephalus perches on a Redwall rim high above the Colorado River in early spring.

Continued from page 31 We've ranged far and wide on our platform. Now, as we watch from near Mather Point, dark clouds sweep across and engulf the Canyon. A thunderstorm soon trails rain curtains into the depths. Then suddenly the sun breaks free of the mists in the west, and a brilliant rainbow convenes in the east. It arcs up from O'Neill Butte, soars high over Desert View, then plunges down into the piñon-juniper forest. A promise. The rains will nourish the seeps and creeks. And the seeps and creeks will speak and sing anew in a thousand secret corners of Powell's, Arizona's, and our Grand Canyon of the Colorado River.

WHEN YOU GO

While the South Rim of Grand Canyon National Park is open year-round, the North Rim is open to automobiles from about mid-May to mid-October. The Inner Canyon offers a range of rugged, scenic terrain for day hikers and backpackers. But nearly all foot travel within the Grand Canyon involves large elevation changes, very limited drinking water availability, and extreme heat during summer. Permits are not required for day hikes. All overnight hikes into the Canyon require a permit from the Backcountry Office, Grand Canyon National Park, Box 129, Grand Canyon, AZ 86023; (520) 638-7888. The interior of the Grand Canyon also may be reached by whitewater boat. Twenty commercial companies offer trips from a few days to more than two weeks. For a list of the companies, write Grand Canyon National Park, River Permits Office, Grand Canyon, AZ 86023.