COLORADO RIVER Bridging Famous Waters

THE NEW MARBLE CANYON BRIDGE SPANNING THE COLORADO'S TROUBLED WATERS

February, 1993. I'm standing on the limestone rim of Marble Canyon. After years of studies, consultations, engineering, and planning, a new bridge will soon materialize at this spot. Today, if I were to take one more stride toward the opposite rim, I'd travel several hundred thrilling but ultimately unfortunate feet toward sea level. Patience is paramount. Just upstream, Navajo Bridge (first known as Grand Canyon or Lees Ferry Bridge) arcs across the gorge. It's a landmark for both road and river travelers. Yet it's difficult today to fully grasp the importance of that old span at the time of its construction in the late 1920s. Flagstaff's Coconino Sun headlined the bridge completion as the "Biggest News in Southwest History." In June, 1929, 7,000 people were here for a gala bridge dedication. This was the only bridge crossing of the Colorado River for nearly 300 miles in either direction. For the first time, the Arizona Strip was linked to the rest of the state by the luxury of a road! The governors of Nevada, New Mexico, Utah, and Arizona said a few words. Two airplanes flew under the bridge. There were marching bands, horse races, ribbon-cutting ceremonies, choral programs, historical skits, and Indian dances. Someone counted 1,217 black automobiles. Of the 130 miles of road between here and Flagstaff (population 5,000) 123 were dirt. Without a Glen Canyon Dam to strain them out, the Colorado ran rich in mud, silt, and uprooted trees. Because Prohibition was in effect, the bridge was christened with a bottle of ginger ale.

MARCH, 1994. LYNN JOHNSON, engineering specialist with the Arizona Department of Transportation, offers a tour of the skewbacks, the excavations that will anchor the arch: Because the footings for the steel must be founded in solid rock, the weathered cliff face is stripped away. We hop into a basket suspended from a crane. The crane operator plays the levers. The basket rises a few feet then swings out over the gorge. The effect is breathtaking. Lynn points out how they've retrieved nearly all the rock that would have fallen into the canyon and river. Careful blasting and a mesh of cable bolted to the cliff face have saved the spoils for removal from above. JULY, 1994. NEARLY A THOUSAND tons of steel reach out into space from the edge of Marble Canyon. The destination of the gray arm is a point where no one, until this week, has stood before. In a single word, it is "airy," 470 feet above the Colorado River, more than 350 feet from the nearest rim rock. Very, very airy. Rick Schilke, lead inspector, takes me to the base of the cantilever. He gives me instructions on how to behave in the steelworker's environment. "Always, ALWAYS stay clipped into the safety cable. We'll take it slowly until you become acclimated." Acclimated? I step out and begin to walk a beam; it's a little less than a foot wide. I'm wearing a hard hat, luminescent vest, harness; and I'm double clipped into a safety cable. Should all else fail, there's a net down below. Reassuringly, there's one edge of Marble Canyon. The destination of the gray arm is a point where no one, until this week, has stood before. In a single word, it is "airy," 470 feet above the Colorado River, more than 350 feet from the nearest rim rock. Very, very airy. Rick Schilke, lead inspector, takes me to the base of the cantilever. He gives me instructions on how to behave in the steelworker's environment. "Always, ALWAYS stay clipped into the safety cable. We'll take it slowly until you become acclimated." Acclimated? I step out and begin to walk a beam; it's a little less than a foot wide. I'm wearing a hard hat, luminescent vest, harness; and I'm double clipped into a safety cable. Should all else fail, there's a net down below. Reassuringly, there's one (PRECEDING PANEL, PAGES 14 AND 15) For motorists, the new Navajo Bridge, left, spanning Marble Canyon in far northern Arizona, replaces the bridge opened in 1929 and now used as a pedestrian walkway. The old and new bridges are just 150 feet apart. (LEFT) A steelworker on the new bridge goes about his duties with the added security of safety nets drooping below him.

(ABOVE) About 7,000 people arrived for the dedication of the old bridge in June, 1929. Two days of festivities celebrated the first roadway linking of the Arizona Strip with the rest of the state.

PHOTO COURTESY UTAH STATE HISTORICAL SOCIETY; A.L. INGLESBY COLLECTION

MARBLE CANYON BRIDGE

safety device that's missing - a life jacket. As I shuffle along, the ground angles gently down toward the ancient rim. I experience no difficulty until I reach the point beyond which there is no rock below, only air. Now here's what I would term an acclimatization point! If there is so much air, why am I gasping? I concentrate and continue. I'm extraordinarily aware of gravity, balance, and my slightly clunky boots. I try not to whimper.

Rick leads as we leave the rim behind. It is miserably hot. A fast-moving Navajo steelworker says with mock envy, "Nice boots!" Another one wears a hard hat emblazoned with a "No Fear" logo.

Near the brink of the steelwork, Rick explains the construction process. Fresh beams are trundled out on a sled to within reach of a 15-ton crane. The crane wheels around, picks up the next beam, and swings it to the tip of the cantilever. Steelworkers position and bolt it. I wonder just how long that 10,000-pound beam will hover here nearly 500 feet above the river. A hundred years? Two hundred? Five hundred?

Beam by beam, bolt by bolt, steel plate by steel plate, the contraption grows. The crane assembles the steel path out into space then creeps out upon it.

Rick and I stand on the westernmost tip of the eastern cantilever. A zephyr sweeps by and strums the steel; the cantilever throbs. A steelworker whacks on a defiant bolt; the cantilever quivers. My sense is that this creation is, indeed, alive.

I, unfortunately, feel like I'm going to expire, like a hot dog broiling at the focus of a solar oven. After three hours of scrambling around on and under the bridge, back at Rick's office and then in my car, I guzzle two and a half quarts of water and lemonade.

The old Navajo Bridge, its simplicity and history, has for me marked the threshold of hallowed ground, the desolate beauty of Lees Ferry and its Grand Canyon river trip embarkation point, the ponderosa pine forest of the Kaibab Plateau, and the enchantments of the North Rim. I enjoy the unnerving narrowness of Navajo Bridge, 18 feet curb to curb. It's sporting. It allows drivers an opportunity to demonstrate skill, fortitude, good sense, and courtesy. If a hulking 18-wheeler is oncoming, I wait. If an RV is approaching, I size up its driver before continuing. If tourists are gawking and weaving, I'm reasonably tolerant. But from now on, I must savor every remaining old bridge crossing - for soon they will be no more. The new bridge deck width will measure a comparatively giant 44 feet.

OCTOBER, 1994. WIND GUSTS LASH the bridgework as rain squalls sweep up the canyon. The two cantilevers are about to be aligned and bolted to form a working arch. Steelworkers crawl over the beams where they almost touch.

I'm standing with my elbows resting on the silver railing of the old bridge, watching the crucial process 150 feet downstream. Four 500-ton jacks tweak the cantilevers

MARBLE CANYON BRIDGE

Persuasion, the arch halves align and are locked into place with forged hinge pins 16 inches in diameter. The jacks relax. Four million pounds of steel float gracefully across the gorge. Robert Turton, chief bridge designer, smiles. “Relieved?” I ask. “A little,” he says easily. Then we dash for cover as another curtain of gray rain envelops Marble Canyon.

SEPTEMBER, 1995. IT'S DEDICATION day. Dignitaries from the National Park Service, Native American Indian tribes, local and state governments, the Arizona Department of Transportation, and others arrive to mark the occasion. Though Prohibition is long over, the new bridge is christened with another nonalcoholic beverage, a bucket of Colorado River water. I'm impressed by the ceremonies, neither too informal nor too stuffy. But I'm also a bit saddened by this climactic day. The heady months of construction are over - there are no more flying beams to walk, no explosions to witness, no hard hats required. The new bridge has been rendered pitifully predictable.

DECEMBER, 1995. I STROLL OUT ON the old Navajo Bridge. It's in semiretirement. Vehicular traffic has been diverted to the new span. The old bridge is now a pedestrian walkway to stunning views. A visitors interpretive center is under construction at the west end, so I park on the Navajo Nation side and stroll out on the deck. Sunrise has yet to occur, and not a soul is stirring. At the midpoint of the upstream railing, I stick my chin over and peer downward. The river sighs in its bed. A great blue heron and its synchronized reflection silently fly upcanyon. A minute later, I turn around and find the Vermilion Cliffs afire with the rising sun. It is a place of great peace and majesty.

The new Navajo Bridge cost $14 million, an awesome amount of money expended to make the crossing safer, faster, more convenient - and much less interesting.

Yet just as noteworthy are the gifts now bestowed by the old bridge upon pedestrians.

The lofty and easy observation of the beginnings of the Grand Canyon, with its sculptured cliffs, swirling river currents, and wildlife, is a windfall. This alone is worth 10 million bucks.

So let the traffic roar across the new bridge. I'll always be a devotee of the old one with its assortment of multicolored “historic inscriptions”: fender scrapes, mir-ror hits, and bumper kisses.

Photo Workshop: Join Gary Ladd and the Friends of Arizona Highways next Septem-ber for a Photo Workshop that features a rafting trip on the Colorado River as it wends its way through the majestic Grand Canyon. In addition to the excitement the adventure offers, participants can pick up photography tips from Ladd, whose images frequently appear in the magazine. For details about the workshop, call the Friends at (602) 271-5904.