Salty and Bubbly

RAFTING THE salt

THE SALT RIVER WAS RUNNING WILD AND HIGH with White Mountains snowmelt. Huge waves danced in the rapids below the launch area, and some of the raft passengers yelled as the highest crests splashed over them. Obedient as a well-trained horse, my kayak slid smoothly down the troughs, and I shouted to the nearest raft-riders: “We are so lucky to be on this river today!” We were beginning a white-water adventure celebrated as one of the best in the Southwest. Sometimes called the “bridge to bridge,” our voyage began below the Salt River Canyon Bridge, on U.S. Route 60 about 50 miles north ofFrom bridge to bridge, the spring runoff provides river runners with all the adventure they can handle

Here churn rapids with prophetic names: Overboard, Bump and Grind and Maytag, as in a washing machine spin-cycle.

Globe. It ended three days, two nights and 52 miles downriver at the State Route 288 Bridge. Our little flotilla included three guidepowered oar-rafts, a paddle-raft captained by our host, Donnie Dove, and two of us in kayaks. Two passengers shared each raft with lashed-down food coolers and dry bags containing our gear. Excluding Dove and his guides, only photographer Peter Ensenberger had done the entire bridge-to-bridge run. Dove's company, Canyon REO, holds a commercial Salt River permit, and offers both day-runs and threeto five-day expeditions into the wild country. Our voyage was a scouting trip for the season to follow.

The bridge-to-bridge section of the Salt River is known for its diversity in the rapids, vegetation, scenery and geology. Ah, yes, the geology-rocks. Head guide Don Massman said it's all about the rocks. His passengers learned that a river's personality, ferocious or docile, depends on the hardness of its underlying geologic formations. Relatively soft rocks, like limestones or alluvial valley gravels, create gentle rivers that meander between low banks. Harder, more-resistant rocks mean big, steep rapids and higher banks. The next day we would run the rapids named for Arizona's hardest rock-Quartzite. My mouth went dry at the thought. However, the first day's stretch featured only moderate rapids, a chance to warm up our boating skills. For 20 miles, the river divides the Fort Apache Indian Reservation on the north bank, and Tonto National Forest to the south. Here churn rapids with prophetic names: Overboard, Bump and Grind and Maytag, as in a washing machine spin-cycle. None rates above Class III; I is easiest and VI, most difficult. But the day-run's popular white water can be crowded, particularly on warm springtime weekends when the river swells with mountain snowmelt. Convoys of rafts splash through its rapids, while kayakers crowd the eddies, playing on favorite waves and holes, and shuttle vehicles file antlike along Apache Route 1 on the north bank. Don't misunderstand me, though; the day-run's Dramatic canyon, soaring eagles and abundant rapids have often cured my winter blues. The following day, however, our expedition would cross into a roadless haven of fewer people and much bigger rapids-the Salt River Canyon Wilderness.

After lunch we passed the Salt Banks, where stalactitelike deposits coat the north bank. Someone tasted the dripping water, pronouncing it "very salty, indeed." Sacred to the Apaches, this mineral spring may be the source of the Salt River's Spanish name -Rio Salado. The day-run ends nearby, and Apache Route 1 disappears over the northern horizon.

Beautiful light-colored boulders crowd the shore. At 1.4 billion years, the Ruin Granite ranks as the oldest and hardest rock we had encountered on the trip, and brings technical challenge and nearly continuous white water. We bounced through Ledges, Rock Garden and the nasty Rat Trap rapids. Kayaking here years ago, I missed Rat Trap's "tongue," the powerful current marking the most unobstructed path down many rapids, and Rat Trap snapped me upside down against the river bottom. I rolled up, undamaged, but with new respect for a rapids rated only Class III.

In late afternoon, Canyon Creek entered from the north. Our little fleet crowded the narrow stream, splashing gratefully in its warmer water. Someone wondered aloud how much farther to camp, dinner and our sleeping bags. In those few miles, the granite disappeared, and the river calmed and widened between low banks - "a sure sign of softer rocks," Massman reminded us. We floated along Gleason Flat, where alluvial gravels cover the harder rocks, and glimpsed something appearing ghostlike in the dusk on the north bank. It was a rusty iron hopper, a relic of a former mining operation.

Huge cottonwood trees grow on the riverbanks. We pulled ashore, formed a human assembly line and passed dry bags, coolers and cooking gear up to a campsite under the trees. Opening my waterproof dry bag, I pulled out an air mattress and sleeping bag. And before a good night's sleep, we feasted on tossed salad, chicken, steak and Dutch-oven chocolate cake.

Just before dawn, my dreams echoed the din of rapids. Even Class III rapids can be loud, but they lack the bass belligerence of IVs and Vs. It's the difference between a poodle's bark and the roar of an unhappy mastiff. I awoke with apprehension, for this day we would run Black Rock, Quartzite, Corkscrew and Pinball-the Salt's bad boys and serious tests of boat-handling for raft guides and kayakers alike.

After breakfast, we stretched stiff muscles, loaded the rafts and pulled out into a deepening gorge and quickening current. We were entering the Redmond Formation, at 1.7 billion years the oldest rock in the Salt River Canyon. Described as "chocolate ice cream with vanilla chips," it is a confection harder than steel.

A mile farther, we threaded tricky Eyeof-the-Needle, then pulled ashore to scout Black Rock, the first of the Salt's Class IV rapids. A necessity for difficult rapids, scouting involves hiking downstream to inspect the challenge. Like generals surveying an opposing military, we planned our point of attack-a tongue just right of midriver that missed rocks and a maelstrom of a hole. The rafts went first, single file, with no problem. Then Jerry and I flew down the tongue, kayaks submerging briefly in the white water below, amid cheers from our raftriding friends.

We ran Class IV Pinball after lunch. One of the rafts LOCATION: 130 miles east of Phoenix. PHONE NUMBERS: 800 series numbers are toll-free. DATES: The Salt River can rise to the 1,000 to 5,000 cubic feet-per-second level necessary for good rafting anytime between March and early June. Check water levels on the USGS Web site: az.water.usgs.gov. FEES: Private day-run permits cost $15 per person at the Salt River Canyon Store, on U.S. Route 60 north of the Salt River Canyon Bridge. Enter the lottery for Salt River Canyon Wilderness permits by writing: Permit Coordinator, Tonto National Forest, 2324 E. McDowell Road, Phoenix, AZ 85006 or by calling (602) 225-5200. WARNING: Beware of rattlesnakes; river rafting can be extremely dangerous. ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: Canyon REO, (800) 637-4604; Mild to Wild (800) 567-6745; Blue Sky Expeditions, (800) 425-5253; Far Flung Adventures, (800) 231-7238.

Wedged against a rock, but the following oar-boat knocked it free. A mile below Pinball rise prominent white quartzite ledges. After tying our boats well upstream, we straggled down the left bank to scout. Sweat fogged my sunglasses, and I emptied my water bottle. Until a few years ago, sane boaters lowered rafts on ropes through Quartzite Falls, or carried kayaks around it-backbreaking, time-consuming work over nearvertical quartzite fins.

Dangerous beyond its Class V rating, Quartzite's lower ledges generated powerful circling currents that had previously pulled swimmers back into the falls. At least three drowned before a river guide hiked in during low water to illegally dynamite the lower ledges. Today, Quartzite remains a Class V rapids, certainly a healthy V-plus, but the lethal recycling currents are gone. We stared at Quartzite Falls, like hobbits

surveying a sleeping dragon. A tongue of current along the opposite shore looked hopeful. The rafts went first, working to the right in an eddy above the drop and sliding over to the tongue. Congratulatory yells echoed from below. Jerry and I paddled upstream, crossing above the eddy-causing boulders. The water quickened and we flew down Quartzite Falls without so much as a bump. On the gravel bar below, I felt like a rodeo bullrider who had "stayed" the full eight seconds.

A hundred yards below Quartzite awaits Corkscrew-another white ledge, hardrock rapids. Its rotating namesake hole lurks below the drop, but a safe tongue pours down the middle. After my perfect run on Quartzite, I didn't fear any mere Class IV rapids. But approaching the drop, I realized I had failed to memorize the tongue's location-then I saw it, 6 feet to my left! With No alternative, I paddled hard, trying to punch through the hole. Upside down, my helmet and life jacket scraped against the bottom in what kayakers call “a trip to the green room.” Rolling up past Corkscrew's main chaos, I acknowledged the lesson: Always scout big unknown rapids and memorize the approach in detail. One of the rafts also hit Corkscrew's hole, but recovered without capsizing. Nearby, Cherry Creek flows in from the north. After photographing the Eden-like tributary, we continued downstream and pitched camp on a sandy beach on river left. This last night's camp was special-chicken fajitas and salad-then river-story swapping around the fire until past 10 P.M., scandalously late for bone-weary river runners.

Day three featured beauty over brawn, serenity instead of adrenaline. Without hard rocks to gnaw on, the river runs fast but flat through Horseshoe Bend and Redmond Flat. In the distance, bizarre rustcolored hills caught my eye. Cones of fused volcanic ash, the Apache Leap Tuff resembles illustrations from a Tolkien mythologybut bald eagles rather than dragons nest atop these mounds.

Since entering the Salt River Canyon Wilderness, we had all been impressed by its forests of healthy-looking giant saguaros, ocotillos, yuccas and other agaves. Rounding a bend, someone exclaimed, “Look at all those weird saguaros!” The hillside bristled with immense barrel cacti, shorter and stockier than the multiarmed saguaros, but taller than their kind usually grows.

Our wilderness journey reminded me of James Ohio Pattie and his 1826 party of beaver trappers, probably the first non-Indians to trespass into the Salt River homelands of the Apaches. What an exotic place this canyon must have been with the grizzly bears that Pattie recorded. Suppose Pattie's group could see the river nowmulticolored watercraft ridden by strangely garbed people. He'd probably record a tribe of savages conducting some bizarre rite of spring. Perhaps he'd be right.

With considerable regret, we pulled ashore near the State Route 288 Bridge. A few miles past there begin the dams that humble this wild desert river.

During the half-hour shuttle to Globe, my companions and I shared our most memorable bridge-to-bridge moments. Vicky cited her inverted “pirouette” out of the raft on the first day's rapids“rotating like a clock's arm around my left hand which held fast to the raft.” PK was awed by a huge black-tailed rattlesnake that undulated across the river. Billie liked Pinball Rapids, where her raft slammed and liberated another pinned against a rock. Mary wished her home bathroom had a view like the expedition's “groover” toilet had faced that morning. As for me, I cited my upside-down lesson in the hole below Corkscrew. We were all impressed by the easy, good-natured competence of Dove and his guides.

Mary summed it up: “It was great to share adventure with people who make their living outdoors following the seasons-without appointments or deadlines all day long - sleeping and rising as the sunshine tells them to.” We agreed to return in the spring when the White Mountains snow melts, and the Salt River roars to life once more. AH

humor "Some heads are made to carry brains. And some just carry hats." * Unusual Perspective

In 1989 the Phoenix suburb of Queen Creek became an incorporated city with about 3,000 residents and one employee. It's a great town, but the city staff picnic was a little boring. although it was real easy to become employee of the month.

QUESTION OF SEMANTICS

Not far from where I live is a field ideally suited for duffers like me to practice our swings. Unfortunately, the parks department recently put up a sign that reads "No Golfing Allowed." Disregarding the sign, I arrived early one morning and urged my golf club to do as directed. When I tried to take turf properly, the divots kept getting larger and the hole I created began to resemble the beginning of the Panama Canal. Absorbed in correcting my slice, I failed to see an approaching law enforcement officer. He caught my attention, pointed to the nearby sign and asked, "Do you know what that sign says?"

I replied, "What sign?"

"It says, 'No Golfing Allowed.'"

I pointed to the huge hole I had sliced into the grass and said, "You call this golfing?"

SOUR NOTES

Recently I took my 8-year-old granddaughter, Caitlin, to a concert at the Sundome in Sun City West, featuring the Arizona State University Concert and Marching bands. As we

EARLY-DAY ARIZONA

Willie: "Say, Pa, my Sunday school teacher says if I'm good I'll go to heaven." Pa: "Well?" Willie: "Well, you said if I was good I'd go to the circus. Now I want to know, who's lying, you or her?"

As were seated, the concert band began its "warming-up" and tuning exercises. After about a minute, Caitlin turned to me and asked, "Are these guys bad or what?"

EMPLOYED

The line to pay at a gift shop in Pinetop-Lakeside kept getting longer and longer due to the teenage clerk's careful attention to details. The last question I overheard the frazzled girl ask the red-haired woman in front of me was if the address on her check was current. Finally confident that all the information was obtained, the girl put the woman's purchase in a sack.

"Oh, no," the girl exclaimed as I stepped up to the counter. "I forgot to ask that lady if she was working anywhere."

"I certainly hope so," I replied.

SPEECH AID

In the morning of my scheduled afternoon speech at the Globe Women's Club, my husband, a high school speech and drama teacher, said, "Come on, let's hear your talk. I may need to edit it for you."

"Oh, Don," I said, "I'm not too worried about the speech. What really bothers me is I don't have a thing to wear!"

"Hold on," he said, disappearing to the closet in the back bedroom. I could hear metal clothes hangers clinking together. He soon reappeared to announce, "You know, I don't have a thing you can wear either."

CANYON EXPERIENCE

In our way home from a trip with some friends and their 7-year-old daughter, we decided to see the Grand Canyon. All but the little girl thought it would be quite an adventure. From her we got the bored and resolute look so common for one that age.After lunch and a short drive, we arrived at a parking lot on the South Rim of the Canyon and began what turned out to be a walk of about a quarter-mile.

With all the time in the car and being altogether unhappy for most of the journey, our young friend walked with her head down and scuffing her feet. Not until we told her to look did she raise her eyes. After several wide-eyed moments and a sharp intake of breath, she took her daddy's hand and asked with total awe, "Is that real?"

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Reader's Corner

The Grand Canyon truly is magnificent. If it weren't, it would be called the Mediocre Canyon.

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